Could higher forces get me in the winning habit?

Byline: Paul Haigh

THE possibility of divine intervention is always a tricky subject. Some pray for it to sow misery and confusion among their personal enemies; some to get themselves or loved ones through illness or economic crisis. Every side in almost every armed conflict tends at least to appeal for it, if not expect it. A few more cheerful souls have even been willing to give it a shot in the hope it might make their kids behave in the way they'd like them to, or improve their golf game, or just make their roses grow.

Until yesterday, I must admit that, as a confirmed agnostic, it had never occurred to me that it might just make the difference between successful multiple betting - an important goal towards which most of my life's work to date has been dedicated - and . . . how can one put this delicately? - getting hopelessly and comprehensively stuffed, as usual.

That was before I read the stunning news about how the nun in California, and some "supporters" of the school of which she is principal, each put the equivalent of pounds 15 into a pool (this sounds wrong doesn't it? Why would anyone have a whip-round for $23 each instead of $25?) and then got down to some really hard praying, intended to make sure that if they bet it on the Santa Anita Pick Six they would get themselves some sort of a decent draw.

Apparently, whoever deals with such requests in the celestial domain was fairly alert that morning and neither on his (or her) coffee break nor answering a call of nature (have you ever wondered, by the way, whether they actually have any need for plumbing up there? I can't find anything about it in the Bible - not even in the Book of Revelations) because the outcome - predictable, no doubt, to Sister Mary Catherine Antczak, the nun in question - was a payout of around 50,000 quid.

Some of this will, no doubt, be going to patch up the gym roof or some other such ludicrously wasteful project. The rest, presumably, if Sister Mary Catherine has anything at all in common with the members of those religious orders who turn up at Cheltenham each spring, will be reinvested at the same track, or else spent, just as sensibly, "on the pop".

NOW, nobody knows for sure whether those Santa Anita nags finished in the order they did purely because Sister Mary Catherine got on line (as it were) and nobody ever will.

Cynics and atheists will already have framed cogent arguments about sheer beginners' luck and the delusions created by coincidence. But this column, I'm afraid, is just not prepared to take any chances - because when you're dealing with what I, at any rate, always think of as the Forces of Darkness, you need any sort of edge you can get.

It is with pride, therefore, as well as an appropriate leavening of humility, that we wish to announce that our Department of Trifectology, of which your correspondent has the honour of being professor, has now been redesignated and will in future be known as a church.

As the Church of Trifectology (International Inc.) we will be eligible for all sorts of tax breaks; legal protection from persecution, and - I'm hoping - immunity from prosecution for whatever we fancy getting up to, particularly late at night, under anything but our own canon law.

But the acquisition of these benefits is not, of course, the main purpose of our redesignation - delightful, as well as

money-saving, though these benefits may be. That purpose is to formalise the conversion of all us form students, pin-stickers and wild-stabbers, all us trusters in the reality of the

life-changing Lucky 31, all of us who believe implicitly in the hunch as the distillation of accumulated wisdom. It is to recognise our acceptance that there are forces out there of which we know little - and are yet willing humbly to respect.

Christianity is fine, particularly the Catholic brand, which clearly worked for Sister Mary Catherine and the gang. But it is our intention to draw the best and most productive from all the major religions of the world - although I'm afraid we do draw the line at Satanism, Scientology and that silly one they have in parts of Polynesia where they think the Duke of Edinburgh's going to turn up in a big silver plane and somehow make their coconuts grow bigger - because you can never be too lucky, I think you'll all agree.

So, ladies and gentlemen, let us pray: Ommmmmmm. Big bucks, big bucks, big bucks. Quids! Big bucks, big bucks, big bucks. Quids!

Big . . .

Bless you my brethren. You know it makes sense.

Read Paul Haigh in the Racing Post Weekender,

out on Wednesdays