all bets off
IN THE end, Bob Moore was the biggest loser in town.
Reputedly one of the world's most successful racing punters, Moore committed suicide two weeks ago having made - and squandered - millions. His efforts to sell the secrets of his gambling success had come to nothing. He died alone, at the age of 44, in his apartment overlooking Happy Valley race course. A week later, a few said goodbye at a pauper's funeral.
Larger-than-life, self-styled legend and genius of the turf, New Zealand-born Moore was a high-roller who had more lows than most. He struck it rich at Happy Valley in March, 1993, with a 9-1 shot on a horse called Wonderful Moment, an ironic foreshadowing of the days of plenty . . . which would be followed by paranoia, cash crises and an untimely end. A diagnosed manic depressive, he was one minute doling out largesse, swearing death threats to his mates the next. The violent mood swings which had become so much a part of his life, it seemed, had finally taken over.
'It sounds harsh,' said long-time friend and fellow punter John Bellingham, 'but Bob died as a colourful professional punter, and not the has-been he was shaping up to be.' FOR SOME, gambling on horses is about passion: the slick gloss of muscle on a thoroughbred animal, the smoke-filled halls of gossip where a tip might be picked up, the adrenalin of watching jockeys in garish silks pound through humid night air down at the track.
For Moore, it was a way to make pots of money.
This was the man at whose apartment Happy Valley police would turn up every week with a basket of fruit - to offer thanks for the succession of winners he tipped. This was the megalomaniac multi-millionaire who would gamble HK$10 million on a race and win at enormous odds, sometimes of 130-1. This was the man who made HK$55 million in one day in the 1994-95 season. The cash rolled in for the man who called himself The God of Horses - the man whose life ended with a bucket of pills and a lung full of gas. Moore couldn't beat the odds when it came to tackling his manic depression, diagnosed two years before when he was referred to a psychiatrist. Colleagues and friends saw the medically designated 'hypomanic' become increasingly volatile and impossible to relate to. The lithium pills he was prescribed were flushed away, Moore refusing to take them because they made him lethargic.