For one day only, hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of Aussies are allowed to partake in mass, unregulated gambling – and we cherish every second of it.
For many, Anzac Day begins as early as it can with the Dawn Service, then a city march where the fallen are commemorated and the past and present service people are honoured.
But come midday – or maybe even earlier – countless bars, pubs, bowlos, footy or cricket clubs and various other establishments across Australia partake in something truly special.
Vets, current Australians in service and all walks of everyday civilians rub shoulders in a cramped circle, cashed up, having just raided the nearest ATM for some loose gambling money.
I’m of course talking about the Anzac Day pastime of two-up.
Before we discuss what it looks like today, it’s important to remember where this cherished Australian tradition came from – and its murky origins are a far cry from a sunny beer garden, or a lawn by the beach.
While it had been played in Australian gambling houses and mining camps around the country since the early-1800s and among British commoners before that, Two-up became all but synonymous with the WWI Anzac campaign, where the game spread in popularity among the Diggers from across the nation.
Classed by most states and territories as unregulated gambling, two-up is banned in most places every other day of the year except April 25, with some exceptions for special events.
Variations on two-up are becoming a dime a dozen depending on where you are.
Come in first-timers
The game can be a little daunting for first-timers who either arrive late or can’t hear the rules over the hollering, hooting and general rum-fuelled chatter typical of most Aussie bars on Anzac Day.
The bet is one-on-one between you and anyone around you willing to match you.
You can join in and, perhaps more importantly, pull out of a two-up gathering at any time, as long as it’s between tosses.
A “spinner” – the person in charge of flipping the coins – stands in a ring – depending on the venue, and tosses the two coins off a “kip”.
The unique coins, often tailor-made for the game, must spin and be thrown above head height before landing so as not to evoke a “barred” call – or an illegal spin.
The “ringie”, or MC of the event, keeps the event’s order and ensures all the punters are matched with a suitable betting partner.
Usually, the crowd takes turns being the spinner, prompted by a group cheer of “come in, spinner!” when everyone’s bets are sorted.
Actually finding a betting partner is a beautiful, messy free-for-all.
There is no one person in charge of the betting. Instead if you wish to bet, you find your own suitable partner.
Seeking out someone outside your friend group is wise. Picking a mate is one of the number one mistake Aussies make in the game.
In fact, it’s encouraged to mingle with outsiders, as the mini-economy of triumph and defeat you might end up with could make kick-ons seriously awkward.
To attract a bet, you can bet one of two ways; hold the amount of money you wish to bet above your head to bet on heads, or by your bum to bet on tails.
Someone with an opposing bet will match you, and the head better holds onto the cash for safekeeping – or to ensure their opponent doesn’t get away once the coins land.
Once all bets are matched, in a crowd of what can be hundreds of punters, the coins are flipped.
Coins can land both on heads, both on tails, or “odds” meaning heads and tails.
The coins are flipped again and again until a match is shown.
If the coins land on odds five times, it’s called “odding out” all bets are reset, though often spinners will keep going until a match is shown.
Some establishments elect to play with three coins, so an odd throw is impossible.
If you’re brave enough to nominate yourself to be the spinner – you’re generally required to bet heads, and you’ll hold onto the kip and keep spinning until you lose a bet.
And don’t worry about losing big. Any amount of money can be bet, though usually, bets range between $5-$50.
Sydney pubs like you’ve never seen them
Today, we decided to check out two-up at the Beresford Hotel in Surry Hills.
Vets, Servicemen and women, footy jersey-clad sports fans ready for the Anzac Day matches across both codes, and just about everyone else you can think of flooded the pub’s courtyard as betting got underway.
Paul Flynn, general manager at the Hotel who has overseen the last eight Anzac Days said the pub offered two-up to a broad church of patrons.
“Obviously we have the service people, we have our local community as well as our straight and gay community, so it’s a real mixture of communities,” he said.
“It’s always a good day and always a good turn out.”
He expected a “couple of hundred” through the Beresford, and that’s what he got.
The real beauty of two-up is that, unlike any other afternoon session at the pub, you’re all but forced to outsource who you associate with – perhaps so as not to bankrupt your friends or family – or have them bankrupt you.
It’s that which gives a two-up session an unquestionable air of mateship and cheer.
Immediately people scramble the courtyard, checking heads and bums for a suitable bet.
“Ah-ha” I thought, spotting a fiver on top of a man’s head.
With a quick glance and a nod. I handed him my fiver, and we waited for our ringie, drag queen Jacqui St. Hyde, to call last bets.
“Yah-hoo!”
I was among half the courtyard to go up in celebration.
I looked at the man and asked:
“Again?”
He doubled down on heads, and I stuck with tails.
With the following roar, I was another fiver up.
We went again, and I showed mercy.
Thinking, wrongly, that there can’t be three tails in a row, we tripled down on the bet that was becoming quite lucrative for me.
Repeating this method with several others saw me win some and lose some — though I walked away with fuller pockets than I started with.
I started the day with a modest $30 – doubled it in $5 bets but still probably broke even after a couple of hours on the rums.
After a few jovial lean on the shoulders of strangers, laughing with our wins, and empathising with our losses, I walked away having not lost much but having gained something not often tangible in most city bars – a sense of community with complete strangers and collective fun and cheer.
It should also be noted there is no “trick” to two-up (if you’ve cracked it – let me know), and like any other form of betting, remember to gamble responsibly and within your means.
Unlike almost everything, even Anzac Day itself, two-up appears to dodge any widespread, vocal ethical opposition.
It’s only real opposing force is the law itself which outlaws it outside April 25.
Instead, the overwhelming sense of unity, mateship and simple fun involved with the over 100-year-old tradition means its popularity sustains, if not grows each year.
And one needs only to follow the “come in, Spinner” chimes in their neighbourhood next Anzac Day to see why.