The Code of Coincidence

Dear Dr Spiegelhalter - not a 'coincidence' story, but a short story about coincidence that may provide some light relief from your labours! The Code of Coincidence "There are three elements that impose themselves on the affairs of men," said Charlie, putting his beer on the table and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, "The first is Chaos. Mother Nature at her most weirdest and wildest with no rhyme or reason for all the irregularities of events. Simply by sticking a pin into a list of riders and runners and hoping that you might pick a winner merely adds to the disorder." This philosophical response resulted from my asking how it was that Charlie was so successful on the horses. We were having one of our occasional drinks in the Pig and Whistle. It was his treat, having pocketed a tidy sum following a bet on the four o'clock at Kempton. Charlie was the most successful punter I knew. He asserted that he was a betting man but never a gambler. "Coordination on the other hand," he continued, "is mankind's attempt to put order and purpose into the proceedings. Coordination results in the details that accompany the runners and riders, giving the odds, the weight carried, the history of the horse, its rider, the trainer and the condition of the course. It serves only to fill out the racing pages of the newspaper, burden matters and unnecessarily cloud them." He paused and took another drink of his beer. He sat there in silence, contemplating something or other, and then took another swig from his glass. "And the third thing? You said three things." "Have you ever noticed?" he responded, apparently ignoring my question, "that often someone will say something or mention a place and shortly afterwards you hear of it again in another context?" It was my turn to think. Yes, he was right! In fact, only that week I had received a Christmas card from an old friend of mine who told me his brother lived at Holbrook, near Ipswich – I had only recently moved to Woodbridge, also near Ipswich – and that he would come and see me the next time he visited him. I had never heard of Holbrook so I checked it on the map. It was no more than a dozen miles from me. Then this morning, the local radio warned motorists to avoid the place because of a burst water main in the High Street! I recounted the story to Charlie. "My point exactly," he said, "Coincidence." "Coincidence?" "Yes, coincidence, the third thing that impinges on our lives. Chaos, Coordination and Coincidence." "But what's that got to do with your success as a gambler?" I said, despairingly. "Not a gambler Bob, not a gambler. A betting man, remember?" "What's the difference?" Charlie looked at me as one might a tedious youth. "A gambler, Bob, gambles. He sticks his pin in a list of names hoping that chaos might stabilize and 'Lady Luck' chooses him a winner. Alternatively, he will study 'form' until his eyes ache hoping that all the coordinates will somehow settle on what he is looking for, the first horse past the post at Exeter in the three-thirty! He's a gambler because by and large he's trusting on luck." "And a betting man?" "This betting man chooses a system that has a proven methodology; that of coincidence. I rely on the simple phenomena of coincidence. And to prove my point again, it earned me winnings of a hundred to one at Kempton this afternoon that treated you and me to a pint of best bitter; do you want another one?" As he went to the bar, I thought about what he had said. I had to admit that he seemed to win every time he placed a bet. Was it as simple as he described? He came back with a couple of pints and a bag of crisps for each of us. "I got you 'salt and vinegar' is that OK? "Fine." We busied ourselves with our refreshments without speaking. "Can you go over it again," I said tentatively when we had finished eating, "how did you work out today's winner, for example?" He smiled and drew out a newspaper from his overcoat pocket. He opened it out at the racing pages, folded it over and turned it round toward me. Under the section marked 'Kempton' was the name of a horse running in the three o'clock race ringed round in red biro – 'Charlie's Aunt'. I looked up at Charlie, with a wry look. "Come on," he said, "it was too much for me not to!" "I call that a lucky chance," I said. "Not so," Charlie responded, "and to prove my point again, take a look at the runners for yourself." I took the paper from him. To be honest the mass of information was almost too much for me to take in let alone understand. Eventually the names of the horses sorted themselves out as I read down the list. I never realized racehorses have such esoteric and interesting monikers. It was an entertainment in itself. "Take your time," said Charlie, "and carefully read every name and look out for an association in your own experience, however tenuous it may be." In addition to 'Charlie's Aunt', Kempton had some delightful names. I continued down the page; Worcester, Newmarket, Wetherby, again more fascinating names and some, it must be admitted, did carry tenuous links but not enough for me to entrust a couple of quid with. Then halfway down the list of Towcester runners one name did catch my eye more than somewhat. "Here's one," I said – 'Lady Agnes' – I've got an Aunt Agnes and my uncle always calls her 'the Duchess' on account of her sometimes illusions of grandeur – she's a bit inclined to give herself airs and graces!" Charlie took the paper from me and checked the entry. He smiled to himself, and then looked up at me. "Well, well," he said knowingly, "odds of a hundred to one, a long shot, an outsider – but a fiver would have earned you £250 – it came in first in the four o’clock!" In the weeks that followed, I tested Charlie's theory almost every day. I went on a make-believe betting spree and started with a stake of just £25. Had I have known how to put a bet on and followed through I would have been three grand better off! I continued to be fascinated by the names of the horses and particularly delighted when they coincided with my experience. I noticed that others started to pop up, somewhat vaguely, I confess, but linked just the same. For example, there was a horse called 'Storm Cloud' running at Wetherby – it won at 33 to 1! Then there was 'Shopping Mall' in the two o'clock race at Newmarket; it came in second. One morning I couldn't find my penknife; 'Swiss Army Knife' won at Wincanton (I found mine later in the day). And how I cheered when 'Saucy Sal' romped home at Worcester! It was time for me to have another drink with Charlie. He looked at my log of the bets I had 'placed'. "Yes, very good" he said, "well done, you've got the idea. Remarkable, isn't it?" "Remarkable?" I retorted. "Remarkable? That's the understatement of the century! It's marvellous! It's fantastic, that's what it is!" "Well, I'll drink to that!" Charlie responded, "Especially since you're buying the beer." "The thing I want to know now, Charlie, is how to place a bet; you might not believe this, but I've never put a bet on a horse in my life. Not for real." Charlie pulled on his pint. "That's easily done," he said with an air of authority, "you simply go into a betting shop and ask to put a bet on your chosen gee-gee, pay your cash and wait for the result, or", he went on, "you can open a telephone account and do the deal from the comfort of your own home. Or," he said once again, obviously warming to the subject, "you can open an account 'online', and run the whole business from your computer." "That seems a good idea". "Well, there you go then, open an account online and Bob's your uncle." "That's another coincidence!" I cried, "Bob really is my uncle, he's married to my Aunt Agnes. I was named after him!" For several months, I applied myself diligently to the principles of Charlie's hypothesis and had success at nearly every turn. I had some very substantial wins that enabled me to pay off a large chunk of my mortgage, have some excellent holidays and buy a new car. But gradually, the connections began to dry up. I still managed the occasional win but the old magic had seemingly disappeared. I decided to speak to Charlie about it. We met at our usual watering hole, the Pig and Whistle. "Nice car," said Charlie, as we met in the car park. "Thanks – that was 'Old Salt' at Epsom – the Derby winner." Charlie pulled a face. "Oh, of course! Well done, I missed that one!" We went inside, ordered our drinks and went to our usual corner seat. "I've got a problem, Charlie. I've hit a dull patch. I've hardly had a winner since the summer." Charlie pulled that face again. "I'm not surprised. I should have warned you at the start but I didn't want to spoil things for you." "Warn me? Warn me about what?" He held his glass close to his chest and lowered his mouth toward it but didn't touch the drink. He looked up at me, contritely. "The system isn't foolproof," he said apologetically. "No, I don't mean foolproof, it's…well, flawed." "Flawed? How? In what way flawed? I've had some excellent wins, and some on the most tenuous of connections. Why has it stopped now?" "It's a passing phase, Bob. I've been there – it will pass I assure you. Back in the spring it dried up for me too – I am still not fully back, to where I was. But it will come back. Trust me." "So what's the problem," I insisted. "Where has it gone wrong?" He grimaced slightly. "Well," he said slowly, "it's only a theory I suppose but it's all to do with the three elements we spoke about at the beginning." "Chaos, Coincidence and Coordination?" I ventured. "Precisely. You see, nature must hold things in balance. Chaos might appear to be, well, chaotic, but it isn't. It has a rhythm and a pattern all its own. And nature allows it its freedom. The other side of the coin, so to speak, Coordination appears to be structured and consistent, but it isn't, Bob. In its way it is just as confused as Chaos! And nature holds these two contentious, fractious elements in balance." "But what of Coincidence? You said it wasn't arbitrary but consistent and predicable." Charlie suddenly reacted. "Did I say that? Well, perhaps I did. But this is the point – Chaos and Coordination are like two planets held in place by gravity. But in between them is Coincidence. And sometimes Chaos pulls it to itself and at other times Coordination pulls it. That's what you are experiencing at the moment. Unpredictability! It's a somewhat wayward element, I'm afraid. It only works at its maximum best when it's perfectly balanced between the two." He raised his glass to his lips and drained it dry. "It'll come good again, you'll see. In the meantime, Bob, at least we can depend on Adnam's Best Bitter. Shall we have another?" End