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CMV: Males are genetically predisposed to gambling

Gambling or betting on things seems to be an extremely male-dominated behaviour, especially here in Australia (and we spend the most on gambling per capita worldwide).
On a subjective level, almost every one of my male friends and colleagues gambles daily, and social conversations amongst friends often tend to steer towards what's going on in the horses/greyhounds/NRL betting/AFL betting/under-12 disabled Ukrainian volleyball if that's all that's left. Blokes will make bets with each other over things like the coin flip before a game, the exact time of kick off and if a racecaller will say a catchphrase during a race.
I believe that part of the reason is that betting advertising has become part of our daily life here. TV ads, radio, print media, social media; literally everywhere you look. They've even managed to seamlessly entwine betting watching sport - every ad break or pre-game show there is a representative from one of the bookmakers showing live odds, tips and gambling strategy. They have TV pop-up ads showing live odds. They even have banner advertising that is cookie-generated so you literally can't escape being marketed to if you're online at all and have looked up a sports result that day. In recent years, gambling ads are now primarily for racing and sports betting rather than, as in the past, for lotteries.
On the flip side, none of my female friends or colleagues have any interest in gambling. Quite a few follow sport here but never put any bets on or talk about gambling.
Is this because sportsbetting marketing is extremely targeted towards the male demographic? Here in Australia we also spend the most on gambling advertising over all other countries in the world. Our major bookies (Sportsbet, Ladbrokes, Neds, BetEasy) have incredibly male-oriented advertising with TV ads that specifically target men from 18 to 40 - this is obviously their bread and butter market but why? Sports betting advertising often features men standing together, drinking and watching a sporting match. Have a look at some examples of this targeted advertising all showing the single male demographic.
Is this due to the fact that sports in general are more popular with men, and this is the reason for the propensity to sports bet?
I think men are genetically predisposed to gambling or betting. From an evolutionary point of view, men have been more likely to be competitive with each other in providing for their family/tribe and having the ability to fight for alpha male status.

END NOTE: I am not referring to casino gambling. For some reason Casino gambling is a lot more gender equal.
submitted by travelator to changemyview [link] [comments]

Why does gambling/betting seem so male dominated?

Gambling or betting on things seems to be an extremely male-dominated behaviour, especially here in Australia (and we spend the most on gambling per capita worldwide).
From a subjective level, almost every one of my male friends and colleagues gambles daily, and social conversations amongst friends often tend to steer towards what's going on in the horses/greyhounds/NRL betting/AFL betting/under-12 disabled Ukrainian volleyball if that's all that's left. Blokes will make bets with each other over things like the coin flip before a game, the exact time of kick off and if a racecaller will say a catchphrase during a race.
I believe that part of the reason is that betting advertising has become part of our daily life here. TV ads, radio, print media, social media; literally everywhere you look. They've even managed to seamlessly entwine betting watching sport - every ad break or pre-game show there is a representative from one of the bookmakers showing live odds, tips and gambling strategy. They have TV pop-up ads showing live odds. They even have banner advertising that is cookie-generated so you literally can't escape being marketed to if you're online at all and have looked up a sports result that day. In recent years, gambling ads are now primarily for racing and sports betting rather than, as in the past, for lotteries.
On the flip side, none of my female friends or colleagues have any interest in gambling. Quite a few follow sport here but never put any bets on or talk about gambling.
Is this because sportsbetting marketing is extremely targeted towards the male demographic? Here in Australia we also spend the most on gambling advertising over all other countries in the world. Our major bookies (Sportsbet, Ladbrokes, Neds, BetEasy) have incredibly male-oriented advertising with TV ads that specifically target men from 18 to 40 - this is obviously their bread and butter market but why? Sports betting advertising often features men standing together, drinking and watching a sporting match. Have a look at some examples of this targeted advertising all showing the single male demographic.
Is this due to the fact that sports in general are more popular with men, and this is the reason for the propensity to sports bet?
What's going on here? Are men just genetically predisposed to being competitive?

END NOTE: I am not referring to casino gambling. For some reason Casino gambling is a lot more gender equal.
submitted by travelator to NoStupidQuestions [link] [comments]

Off Track Betting

I recently moved and am now just down the street from Retama Park in Texas. They do some live racing, but mostly off-track betting and I want to get into that!
I’ve never actually bet horses before, only dogs, I used to hang around the greyhound track in Corpus Christi before they closed (miss it a lot!). Just what I see on-line it looks like there are a LOT of races at a LOT of tracks every day. I haven’t gone yet, but will next week.
My question is, are there any particular tracks I should be following? I have heard in horse racing to watch the jockeys, no one hires a good jockey for a bad horse, but there are really a lot of them. I want to start learning horse racing and bet with a strategy. Where’s a good place to start?
submitted by ArlenM to horseracing [link] [comments]

The Game Master

From under my blindfold I could detect the flickering of lights as I was led to the basement floor. Echoes of dripping water splattered against something metallic. My nose filled with the stench of mildew and something rotten. A man pushed hard into my back to make sure I wouldn’t try escaping. Like that was an option. He removed my blindfold once the door to the basement was shut and led me into a small room with no windows. Once inside, I was met by four other men and one female. Each of them had a captor of their own. I had just enough time to see all of their faces before being thrown into a chair.
“What’s going on?” I asked, my voice shaken.
“I dunno,” the man in front me said. His arms were as large as my head and were covered in tattoos. He wore a white bandana that had splotches of blood on it. I’m assuming his trip to the basement hadn’t gone without protest.
“You’re here to play a game,” a man walked into the room holding a revolver on a black cloth.
The woman to my right started sobbing.
“I’m sure you are all familiar with Russian Roulette,” the man said.
Each of us seated at the table exchanged glances.
“We play the game a bit differently here,” he said, putting the gun at the center of the table. “There are five shots in this gun instead of one. I’ll spin the gun and whoever it points at will pick it up.”
A short black man to my left began struggling in his seat. “Fuck that, man!”
The man behind him pulled a pipe of some kind from behind his back and swung it to the side of the man’s head. The impact made an awful sound that rang out in the basement like sneakers on a basketball court.
“You’ll play or we’ll play for you,” the man behind him said. “And trust me, you don’t want us to play for you.”
“I have a wife and kids at home,” the man who sat between the tattooed guy and the black guy was tall with glasses. He looked like the smart scientist from the Ghostbusters movies.
“Me too,” the guy sitting next to the girl said. He had long black hair and wore a hemp necklace. I couldn’t be sure in the lighting but it looked like he may have been wearing eye liner.
“Good, I’m glad we have something at stake,” the man walked away from the table. “My name, eh, my name doesn’t matter. I’m the Game Master.”
What a stupid name, I thought to myself. I guess it didn’t matter if his name was dumb or not. He had us all hostage and we were his players whether we liked the idea or not.
“Now back to the rules,” the Game Master said. “When you pick up the gun you will choose who to shoot. That’s what makes our game so much more fun than the boring ol’ Russian Roulette. We give you the choice.”
I looked at each of the other “contestants” and could feel them all doing the same to me. I would have to kill them to survive. Or, at the least, get them to like me enough to not kill me immediately.
“I’m not killing anybody,” the man with the glasses said.
“That’s fine,” the Game Master said. “After two minutes we will make your selection for you if you won’t. And I promise that you will not like our decision.”
I wasn’t sure what that meant but I was positive I didn’t want to find out.
“Let’s see who is first, shall we?”
The Game Master put his hand on the gun and spun it on the table like a top of death. The flickering light flashed off the weapon as it rotated in slow-motion. The faces of the people sitting around me became blurred together as I watched the gun’s momentum slow to a halt. Its position pointed to the tattooed man, then to the man with long hair and finally stopped on the lady next to me. Her eyes were swollen and tears fell from her chin, splashing on to the table.
“Two minutes,” the Game Master said without even batting an eye.
The woman’s blond hair stuck to her face from the sweat and tears. Her hand trembled as she reached for the gun at the center of the table. The gun looked massive in her small hands and from the looks of it she had never held a weapon before. Sensing her confusion the Game Master stepped in, spun the barrel and placed it back in her hands.
“Ninety seconds.”
She looked at me, her eyes wide, a string of saliva hung from her mouth. She pointed the gun at me and then to the black man next to me.
“Oh, kill the black man,” the black guy said.
Her aim moved to the man with glasses.
“My name’s Ron,” he said. “My wife’s name is Lisa, I have a five-year old daughter—“
“—shut the fuck up!” the tattooed man said as the gun stopped at him. “No one wants to hear that shit.”
“Thirty seconds.”
The gun pointed at the long haired man. He kept his head down, avoiding eye contact. “Just pick someone,” he said.
“Fifteen seconds.”
I closed my eyes. The woman’s trembling leg shook my chair. And in a few seconds my ears were ringing.
I opened my eyes and vomited on myself. The tattooed man across from me was staring at the man with glasses. Well, the man who had glasses a minute ago. His glasses were shattered and were lying on the table in a pool of blood. She had made her choice. I watched the gun drop on the table but I didn’t hear it. Two men approached the table and grabbed the dead player. They drug him away from the table. His head sagging with blood pouring to the floor. She shot him through the eye. Lucky shot for a beginner.
The Game Master picked up the gun and placed another bullet in the chamber. He then placed it back on the table and spun it once more.
This time it pointed to the black man.
I could see the moisture build around his eyes as he placed the gun in his hand. He looked at the tattooed man and then to the man with long hair.
“Please,” the woman said, although it was hard for me to hear. My ears were still ringing from the gunshot.
The Game Master said something that sounded like forty-fix seconds.
The man with the gun pointed it at the long haired man and I closed my eyes when I saw the flash from the barrel.
I opened my eyes because I heard a gurgling sound. I looked at the man with long hair and felt sick to my stomach again.
The man had both hands to his throat in an attempt to stop the blood. The bullet had gone through his neck and the wound was spraying thick red liquid with each heartbeat. The right side of the woman’s face was speckled with dots of the man’s blood. Two men grabbed him and tried pulling him from the table.
I didn’t know a person really bled that much. I thought that was just for the movies.
I wasn’t sure if I’d ever hear again but the Game Master made sure our hearing was present before continuing. I guess he assumed hearing each other’s pleas to be spared would be more entertaining than watching people die in silence.
When my hearing came back I had already given up on living. There were four of us left. My chances were better than they had been but still not great. I planned everything out in my head. I figured the woman would be the last to be killed by a group of men. Her chances were the best. I wanted to avoid stereotypes but I assumed the tattooed man would take care of the black guy for me too if given the opportunity. That would probably go the other way just as easily.
That left me with the idea that my best bet would be to kill the woman. She was the only one without a predator in my mind. If I killed the black guy or the tattooed guy I’d be the only option for whoever I left and only a fifty-fifty for the woman if she got another turn.
The gun spun on the table and the tattooed man picked it up. And pointed it at the black guy. Go figure.
“I knew you’d be a racist fuck,” the black guy said.
“Don’t play the race card, nigger,” the tattooed man said. “This isn’t about race, it’s about survival.”
I could see his finger tightening on the trigger. I closed my eyes in preparation of the blast. I heard the woman gasp before the sound rang out once more.
I opened my eyes and looked at the black man. He was staring at me with his mouth wide and his eyes larger than eggs.
Huh?
The tattooed man was looking at the woman. I quickly turned to her. Her chair had flipped backward and she was lying on the floor with her feet propped on the seat. An entrance wound on her forehead.
I looked at the tattooed man and understood the decision. It’s exactly what I had planned on doing.
Just the three of us now.
The weapon on the table danced and wobbled to a stop. The barrel faced the black man again and I felt my chest warming. Crazy, right? Here I was in a basement playing a game of murder and I was genuinely happy at the thought of another man dying. It’s shocking what your survival instincts will do to you.
“Nigger, right?” the black man pointed the gun. “That’s what you said?”
The man smiled, “What the fuck’s it matter?”
He had a point. When I went over the possibilities and outcomes I hadn’t come up with a winning strategy either. I would have refrained from the racial slur but honestly it wouldn’t have increased his chances.
The black man squeezed the trigger. I closed my eyes and waited.
Nothing happened.
I heard a hearty laugh coming from across the table. I opened my eyes and saw the tattooed man in tears laughing. It took me a moment to realize what happened.
I turned to the black man. He was staring at the ground, tears in his eyes. There was a one-in-six chance of the gun not being fired. Luck had shined down on the man with tattoos. The opposite had happened to the black man.
The Game Master sent the gun spinning again and I watched as the barrel landed on me.
The two men stared at me. Thoughts raced around in my mind like greyhounds chasing a rabbit. The choice didn’t matter. That’s a tough realization to come to. Neither choice was a better one. Chances were that both of them could die anyway in this game. I could live. Deciding which life of theirs was more important was a pointless argument to have. I could base it on the racial slur and say the tattooed man deserved to die. I could play God. Or, I could choose the black man just the same.
I pointed the gun at the black man.
“Great, two fuckin’ racists,” he said.
You know, I had had every intention of killing the man with tattoos. I really did. But if there was one thing I hated from people more than ignorant racism it was blaming everything on race. It’s something my parents had pounded into my head as long as I could remember.
“Racism is a fact of life, son,” my father would say. “But it doesn’t mean everything has to be about race. That’s just as dangerous.”
I’d never fired a gun before and the power I felt as the flash exploded from the barrel gave me chills. The rush was intoxicating. The man’s black head shot back and I could see the spot under his right eye where my shot had connected. I didn’t feel guilt. I didn’t feel pain. I felt power.
The Game Master approached the table as the black man’s crumpled body was removed from the room.
“Excellent,” he said. “Now, the two of you get to play by the normal rules. Three bullets, to keep your fifty-fifty odds, and alternating turns. You’ll use the gun on yourself now. Since you took the last shot, you’ll take the second in this round.”
The Game Master slid the gun over to the tattooed man. The man picked up the gun, spun the chamber, and placed the gun in his mouth.
I watched his face turn red as he trembled. His grip on the gun tightened and he screamed as he pulled the trigger.
I kept my eyes open.
The man threw the gun on the table and it slid to me. His breath was short and rapid.
I picked up the gun and felt the hair on my arms standing. My foot tapped on the floor and echoed through the basement. I bit down on the barrel and once again felt the power. Once again I felt like God himself. I didn’t have to use this gun on myself. I could just as easy point it at the man across from me. I could point it at the Game Master. I was in control. It was my choice. I was the Game Master.
I had a strange feeling. I felt liberated with the gun resting on my tongue. It wasn’t fear. It was anticipation. I pressed the trigger tightly. I kept my eyes open. I wondered if I would be able to hear the blast before the bullet ended my life.
Nothing.
The man across from me grabbed the gun and stuck it in his mouth again. Without any hesitation he pulled the trigger.
I won.
The Game Master walked up to me and smiled.
“How’s it feel to cheat death?” he asked.
A blindfold was placed over my eyes and two men grabbed me. I felt a prick on my neck and then they carried me away from the room and up the stairs.
My parents told me I was covered in blood when the police found me outside of the middle school.
The teachers called my parents after recess when they realized I hadn’t come back to class. The teacher that was in charge of watching us had a male visitor that day and was occupied. Or so I was told. It cost her, her job. It almost cost me my life. Some of the kids said they saw me enter a van across the street from the playground.
I have no memory of that happening.
The psychologist said that I was most likely suppressing the memory. He also said that it is odd that I would block that out and still remember the basement scene so vividly.
It’s not that strange to me though.
I was ten-years old when all of that took place. I guess it makes more sense to me now as a young adult why I stayed alive so easily. No one kills women and children.
That was seven years ago.
My family and I moved after the school year to a place in Ohio that I don’t want to name. I got to start over. We made sure that no one knew of my past. They weren’t questions my parents wanted me to deal with.
The feeling I had in that basement never went away though.
My friend’s father lets us shoot cans in the backyard and I have paid close attention to where he keeps the gun. Before I headed home I snuck into the closet where it was stashed and grabbed it along with a box of ammunition and a second gun.
My parents are going out of town this weekend and I’ve invited a few friends over to party. Six friends to be exact. I told them we are going to drink, smoke and play some poker. I also told them I had a game they’ve never played that I want them all to try. They all told me how excited they are for the weekend to get here.
Won’t they be surprised?
submitted by Suspense304 to nosleep [link] [comments]

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Greyhound Betting Systems That Win - YouTube

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