The race that stops the nations

Ah that frenzy that is the Melbourne Cup! Suddenly, people all over Australia who couldn't care less about horse-racing or gambling crawl out of the woodwork and pretend to know exactly what a trifecta is, or how the odds work. (Myself included, don't get wrong. I loves me a bit of horsey horsey action on Melbourne Cup Day.) Our Victorian neighbours enjoy a public holiday, while us New South Waleans slog it out at work, but we make the best of it.



My good friend DT and I have had our own Melbourne Cup Day tradition for the last 5 or 6 years, which goes something like this: all morning we pour over the papers (i believe this is called 'reading the form' in racing terms, but i mean really, who cares), discuss the odds, see which horses have been scratched, which are the favourites, which jockey is wearing the prettiest colours. We debate over whether the horse is English or from New Zealand or Australia, and whether that even matters. We check out how they've placed in the last few races they've run, who the trainer is, whether they do well in wet weather or dry, whether they are tipped by the punters as favourites or not. All of this makes us feel terribly clever, and increases our chance of winning by exactly zero percent.




Because he runs the sweeps at work, his desk is flooded with people coming to get their game on. But he shuts down operations at about 10.30am so we can get our booty down to the nearest pub with a TAB and place our bets. This may or may not involve a morning tipple. I'll never tell.

Game on baby

Ah champagne, my old friend. How i love you and your beautiful bubbles.

Placing the bets will inevitably lead to argument, particularly over exactly how you use the betting form. As the conversation gets heated, the bartender has come over to pull us apart because we are disturbing the other patrons. He will also solve any queries we may have pertaining to said forms. I estimate we waste at least half a dozen of them because of mistakes. Since we're usually putting bets on for our other friends as well as ourselves, we have a long list of names, numbers and horses that has to be consulted. DT proclaims embarrassment over some peoples bets, and will thus have to be coerced into actually placing them. Alcohol generally helps us through this time.



Naturally we will also discuss people's race day outfits. My good friend Con the Greek, (who has threatened to start a rival blog unless i shout out to him - so HI CON!) reliably informs me that people liked my outfit today, which of course is marvellous. Con, you were the best looking Greek man (well. only Greek man.) in the whole office today. I shall henceforth call you Adonis.

Holla for the head piece.

When lunch time rolls around, we're off to the pub. We may or may not indulge in more champagne.

DT in his uber-cool aviator sunnies. Turnsie, you are soooooo embarrassing. (Did you think i was gonna say good looking? Sucker.)



Me getting ready to win the dollars

In the afternoon, everyone is abuzz with anticipation for the big race, which starts at 3pm sharp. Usually our office will provide food and drink for us to enjoy, and we all gather in the kitchen to watch on the big TV, clutching our tickets excitedly. The race lasts for over 15 minutes. DT will complain for at least 10.

Now, everyone knows you don't want your horse to be showing up as first, second or third in the first 10 minutes, cause that means they've peaked too early. In the last 5 minutes, everyone starts getting really hyperactive and will yell at the TV, because of course the horses can hear you and will try to go faster at your encouragement. I start to look like i have ants in my pants because i am bopping up and down like a loony, waiting to see who's gonna win. And this year....IT WAS ME!!! YAAAAAAAAY!!! The horse that won the Melbourne Cup was called Shocking, who i had put money on to win, which was very thrilling. Hey, simple pleasures right? I proceed to spend several minutes gloating to anyone who'll listen that I've won the big bucks (well, i did! 95 smackaroons baby!), before making arrangements with DT to go collect the winnings.

Me and DT with our winning tickets

When we go down to collect the dough, there are people all dressed up everywhere, drinking and getting rowdy and really, the atmosphere is a lot of fun, which is what i love about Melbourne Cup day. Today was ridiculously hot, it's still over 30 degrees out, and i reckon it was more like 36 degrees or so today, so the heat combined with the champagne combined with the high of winning eventually led to some fascinating conversation about one of the greatest blue collar musicians of our time. I am talking, my friends, about Bruce Springsteen.

Turnsie is partial to 'Dancing in the Dark', while I'm a mellowed out, 'Streets of Philadelphia' kind of girl. But he did describe to me in detail the music video to that classic ballad 'I'm on Fire', which he claims is one of the most 'poignant' things he's ever seen.

In the clip, our hero Bruce (said Turnsie), is a lowly mechanic whose life is thrown into turmoil by the appearance of a faceless rich lady who needs her car fixed. Her eye contact leads him to believe that when he goes to drop off the car, she'll "get his motor running" (yes, that's a direct Turnsie quote). When he gets to her house, he pauses at the doorbell, about to ring, but ultimately hesitant and wondering whether he can truly ever belong in her world. In the end, he decides she will probably just use him for his smokin' body and rugged good looks. And Bruce has more depth than that. So he walks away, despite how much he wants her. A tragic tale, he said. Of course, this moving portrayal by Turnsie (who really got inside Bruce's head, i thought) meant i had to see it for myself as soon as i got home, and i know y'all will want to too after reading this, so go ahead and check it out here.

And so ended another Melbourne Cup Day, until next year of course. Fun and frivolity had by all - too bad so many trains broke down and ruined it for everyone. Lemme tell you, waiting forever for a train with the sun beating down on your face at Central Station after you've had a few drinks and just want to get home is not a prettiful way to end the day. BOOO CITYRAIL!!!

Adelaide blog coming soon!