Sound as a hound

Bolton Evening News reporter Dean Kirby spent a night at the dogs to taste the atmosphere

A HUGE crowd of men gathers in front of the bookmaker.

They stand shoulder-to-shoulder inside a corrugated shed beside the track. The night air is cold, but they are warm in their big coats and hats. Some still wear old-fashioned flat caps. Their eyes are fixed on the board.

The bookmaker pulls out a marker pen. He scrawls out the odds in a flash. The men surge forward even before the ink has dried, crisp £10 notes in their hands.

He takes their money and gives them tickets in return.

Some rush over to another bookmaker. Others wait for the right moment.

The odds change, more money goes into the bookmaker's leather bag, more tickets are handed out.

Pot Noodle, Black Tango, Windy Madras. Which one shall I have?

A pause -- then all of a sudden it's too late.

The hare is already running. The dogs dart out of their traps on the track.

The men surge to the railings to watch the four-legged sprinters with numbers on their backs. There are shouts, screams, a coloured blur. The dogs fly past.

Their paws pound the sand on the brightly lit circuit.

Their heads almost touch the ground in the straights, they use their long tails for balance on the bends.

Then they suddenly cross the finishing line. It's all over in less than a minute.

Their handlers run after them. The crowd relaxes. Huge sighs of relief fill the air.

Some of the men have won. They stride back to the bookmaker to claim a pocket-full of money. Others tear up their tickets.

They stand frozen by defeat and stare at the finishing line. Then they head to the bar for a conciliatory pint.

But in a few moments time they will all be back watching the board, trying to pick a winner for the next big dash.

This is racing at Westhoughton Greyhound Stadium.

Excitement like this has drawn hundreds of people here for more than 50 years.

But now the track is up for sale and the men, their wives and their children are worried that they might not be coming back.

What will they do if the lights on the circuit go out for the last time and the dogs stop leaping out of the traps?

There are rumours in the bar. Opinions about the stadium's future differ as much as the views about the next race.

Only one thing is certain -- nobody here wants it to close. They say something needs to be done. It needs investment. That's a dead cert.

Then the next six dogs are led out on to the sand.

The men put down their pints and head back outside towards the bookmakers. Just a few more races left tonight.

My own dog Pot Noodle was beaten.

Will the regular punters and bookmakers have better luck at keeping the stadium open?

The odds may not look good to someone who does not bet very often.

But some of these men have already come back from big losses and are tough enough to put down one more wager.

Step forward a gambling man.