Gambling. There's a bloke in Tasmania who appears to have it sussed. He started a syndicate with a bunch of mathematicians and they developed a betting system, on the horses. I'm led to believe that is so successful that now their biggest trouble is working out how to spend all the money they're continuously winning.
Out of guilt at all this easy money the Tasmanian, David Walsh, set up MONA - the Museum of Old and New Art - which, running at a loss, has become a major tourist destination in Hobart.
I'm a member of a slightly smaller scale affair (we haven't quite got our benevolent donations happening just yet) which assembles at the local every week.
We do have our moments but it would have to be admitted that our trajectory of success is a little less fixed and predictable than that of the MONA bloke's. Still, we too have our system.
One of our number, who enjoys the process, assembles "The Stats" He'll have information on the form, on the jockeys; there'll be speculation on the various manoeuvrings of the owners and trainers.
We'll know about track conditions, weather forecasts, the movement of the odds, what the bookies and the commentators are saying and all the other stuff you need to know if you're halfway serious about this caper.
The group then all get together and we go through all the "intel" before placing the educated type bets of "those in the know".
It's this form of attention to detail that keeps our syndicate liquid - like recently when one of our members, "Parko", in perusing the guide, made the stunning discovery that there was a horse running called Parko.
Armed with that type of knowledge you'd be mad not to shift your investment, which we did. 'Parko' came in at 11-1,
Such extensive research can lead to over-confidence. My old mate Gary Harley recently declared from a race meet in Scone, "If this horse doesn't win I'll walk home". I imagine he must still be trudging.
She wrote to the Jockey Board requesting a licence, and, upon her request being denied, wrote again, and again - a letter a month, for 14 years - until eventually they relented in 1979.
Everybody betting has a system. From just choosing names that appeal, to the more sophisticated "number one in race one, number two in race two..." type approach - which is surprisingly popular, despite the more usual result being in accord with "number seven placing seventh in race seven..."
Backing whatever the star jockey's on in the last is another approach.
My wife will only bet on the grey. Name? Odds? Of no concern. The grey it is.
Some won't back a horse with a female jockey; others will only back female riders, which is sort of where I'm heading with this, because this an area of real change in the racing world.
A card at Moree Racecourse not too far back saw women astride all seven winners on the day. About 30 percent of jockeys these days are women and women apprentices comprise at least 50 percent of the trainees with, in some localities, the numbers tipping in their favour.
Racing has become one of the few sports where men and women compete against each other on an entirely equal footing. The women are often dominating.
Given that women were not allowed to compete until as recently as 1979, it's been quite the turnaround. Everybody knows about Michelle Payne and her tremendous game-changing Melbourne Cup win in 2015.
Less well known is Pam O'Neill. O'Neill grew up near Eagle Farm and, early in life, decided she wanted to be a jockey. She wrote to the Jockey Board requesting a licence, and, upon her request being denied, wrote again, and again - a letter a month, for 14 years - until eventually they relented, in 1979, and she became the first woman licensed to ride in Australia.
Immediately afterwards, at age 34, O'Neill rode three winners at Southport on the Gold Coast, setting a world record for a jockey's first race meeting. A true trailblazer.
Thinking about it - I bet there have been plenty of women riders competing, riding disguised as men.
Bill "Girlie" Smith (actually Wilhemena) was a successful jockey in Queensland in the early 1900s. Obviously there were suspicions, as demonstrated in her nickname, but nobody really knew for sure until her death in 1975.
And then there is Elizabeth Williams Berry, who raced, disguised as a man, as "Jack Williams". Berry was born in Melbourne in 1854 and began racing at age 13. Off the track she donned derby hats and smoked cigars to convincingly perpetuate her deception.
She moved to the United States in 1900, married, and became a trainer. She died in 1969 aged 114.
In an interview in 1968 (aged 113) she described having to be careful when around other women because of the blue tendencies of her language due to her having "learned to curse from the jocks".