Greyhound Racing in Macao

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SCMP http://www.scmp.com/

 

Monday April 11 2005

 

Tracks of their tears

 

 

After 40 years of racing, Macau's greyhound industry is under threat

as the city transforms itself into the Vegas of the east, writes David

Watkins

 

FOR WHAT MUST be the thousandth time in its distinguished career, the

white rabbit - with legs permanently fixed in a flying-leap - is the only

sure bet in the stadium as it zings along the rail, first past the finishing

post.

 

Five minutes after the greyhounds have come to a halt and the roar

from the crowd has fizzled into the night, Wang Xiaojing returns from the

betting window with a fan of crisp $100 bills in one hand, a well-nursed

beer in the other, and a broad, toothy grin on his face.

 

'With horses you bet on two things - the horse and the rider,' says

the holidaymaker from Guangdong, who is in Macau with a tour package that

has bused him and about 30 companions into the canidrome for an evening's

racing. 'But with greyhounds it is all about the animal and its hunger for

victory. That makes it more satisfying in some ways.'

 

But the track's days of attracting punters from afar may be numbered,

as the Macau (Yat Yuen) Canidrome Club fights for its life. Despite being

Asia's only greyhound racing track, the region's efforts to reinvent itself

as Las Vegas may force out a sport whose allure is fading in the shadow of

the mega casinos.

 

David Chiu Dai-wai moved from Hong Kong to Melbourne when he was nine,

but arrived in Macau with his wife, Stella, last July hoping to steer both

the club and the Australian-imported hounds that race there towards greener

pastures. He admits he has his work cut out.

 

'We can't compete with the casinos, it's impossible,' says the Hong

Kong-born senior operations manager, looking out over the circuit that sits

like a gleaming oasis in the middle of a smoggy intersection of shabby

apartment blocks.

 

'I was told that only a few years ago, the turnover for every race was

something like a million bucks,' says Chiu. 'These days we get a total of

about $100,000 for the first four or five races.'

 

Macau is already looking like Las Vegas: not in terms of the sparkling

neon that fizzes along the Avenida de Amizade at night, or the queues to get

into the Sands Casino at lunchtime on nondescript weekdays. The change is

more due to the gargantuan cranes soaring skyward, giant exclamation marks

looming above the many building sites on the waterfront.

 

This is the true picture of progress - the rampant Vegas-isation of

Macau. When the cranes have finished, the foreshore will have a startling

new complexion. The Fisherman's Wharf, with its incongruous collection of

building styles and a volcano sat in the middle for good measure, will

provide the sense of the surreal that Las Vegas Boulevard exudes today. When

the Galaxy and Wynn casinos open opposite the Landmark Hotel, they will

prompt a battle for betting revenue that can only increase in its ferocity.

 

Buzzing towards the lights like flies are throngs of mainland punters

who will burn through millions of dollars. In June last year, the former

enclave had to cope with an average of 43,358 arrivals a day, 96 per cent of

them from across the border, Hong Kong and Taiwan. Macau has blasted out of

the economic traps like a greyhound in order to accommodate them.

 

It is ironic then, that in the mad, salivating chase for the money

bunny, it's the dogs themselves that are on the sidelines.

 

'My view is that there should be some sort of ruling from the

government that makes allowances towards greyhound racing and also Macau

races,' says Chiu. 'While the rest of Macau has flourished so well in

everything else, more pressure and more competition has been placed on the

canidrome with the greyhounds.'

 

While seemingly at odds with the glitz and glare of the casinos, the

homely feel of the stadium, complete with pristine flowerpots that dot the

entrance, is far more welcoming than the cold, dollar-fixated monoliths

springing up around town. Luck of the draw decides whether a Chinese tour

group rolls up to the gate for an evening's entertainment or not; but on a

good night a swell of up to 4,000 punters roams around the stadium between

the betting windows and the track.

 

But nights like that are becoming less frequent for the club that has

been in operation since 1964. Adding insult to injury is the perception that

these hard times don't have as much to do with the new wave of casinos in

Macau as they do with actions taken by Hong Kong three years ago.

 

'When gambling on Macau greyhound racing was banned in Hong Kong,

that's when the turnover here went right down,' says Chiu. 'It's really

affected us. These days it's a huge challenge.'

 

Chiu is referring to the 2002 Gambling Ordinance Amendment, which

decimated turnover levels in Macau. Regarded by many as a protectionist

policy on Hong Kong's part, the ordinance was amended with a ban on overseas

betting, which among many other restrictions made it illegal for bets to be

placed from Hong Kong on offshore horse and dog racing.

 

For horse racing - the so-called sport of kings - the pinch was

immediate, although the Macau Jockey Club managed to bounce back with big

gains a year later. For greyhound racing - the so-called poor man's sport -

the effects were more severe. And if something doesn't change, Chiu says

it's difficult to see where the canidrome will be in a few years' time.

 

'The ground staff - the people who work in the kennels - they've had

jobs here for 30, 40 years,' he says. 'And they've probably got another 10

or so years to go before they retire, so there's no opportunity for them to

start a new career. But regulations in Macau don't allow people under the

age of 18 to enter gambling premises. In places such as Britain and

Australia, kids under 18 can't gamble but they can still come along with mum

and dad for a day out. Children here can't do that. It means they never

create an interest; they instead get caught up behind computers. Elsewhere

kids can come and see what happens at the track.

 

'The reason jockeys in Macau and Hong Kong do so well, for example, is

because they start young overseas. How do you get your apprentices here? You

can't start when you're 25. They start at 16 years old, working at the

stables for the love of horses, not gambling.'

 

Of course there are those who would like to see the end of greyhound

racing, with the view that it is a cruel sport where animals are forced to

behave against their will. As with horse racing, however, ask any trainer -

the person closest and most strongly bonded to the animal - and they will

vehemently disagree. For those who make their livelihoods at the stadium,

the sport has become a way of life during the past 30-odd years.

 

'The loyalty of the workers here is unbelievable. This place is like

their second home,' says Chiu, who was himself a successful trainer and

breeder in Melbourne for 30 years before packing it in to return to the

Pearl River Delta region. 'When you get people who work not so much for the

wages but simply through love of the sport and the history associated with

it - it's a real inspiration.'

 

In an effort to revive the sport's fortunes locally, plans are in the

pipeline to hold dog racing at the Macau Jockey Club race meetings in the

summer.

 

While both institutions are separate entities, Dr Stanley Ho Hung-sun

is on the board of directors and so both clubs are in a position to

collaborate. Meanwhile, Chiu has initiated dinner deals at the stadium as

well as a betting voucher scheme to broaden the sport's appeal. 'They're

beautiful animals; I had my first greyhound win in 1976,' Chiu says. 'I'm

very sport-minded and am very competitive, and greyhound racing for me was

the best hobby in terms of combining sport and competition.

 

'We need to show people that greyhound racing is a fun, fantastic

sport. It has a whole culture and tradition, compared to the casinos that

are there for one thing and one thing only. Kids might be inspired to become

a vet after coming to the races - if they were allowed; or to perhaps become

a breeder, the same with horses. From a hobby you can make it a livelihood,

but in Macau that dream is fast becoming impossible.'