Flemington Racetrack will swell to the rafters today for the Melbourne Cup and I frankly couldn’t care less.
Is it not completely bizarre that the whole country collectively pulls up stumps the first Tuesday of November every year to watch 24 horses do a lap around an oval with colourful little people strapped to their backs?
And throw completely absurd amounts of money at it?
The Australian public is expected to spend $140 million on a five-minute three o’clock shindig, with bookies around the country rubbing their hands together at yet another flock of clueless candidates awaiting a friendly push in the right direction, straight into their very own back pocket.
But for me, I’m not as stupid. I don’t know horses.
People who know horses are strange. I’ve been to the races once and I bet on every race simply because I was there and was drunk and assumed that was what everyone did and lost all my money.
I learned my lesson. Hell, I can’t even win money on sports that I know about, let alone punt on glorified four-legged aliens with creepy human teeth.
I don’t care if you got it from the horse’s mouth, can you please keep it away from me? Gross.
There’s a horse in the great race called Sir John Hawkwood. Is that not the stupidest name for a horse you’ve ever heard? Imagine rocking up at the stable one day and your horse trainer person is serving hay while muttering something along the lines of “Oh, Sir John, you were majestic out there today.”
People who know horses are totally strange.
Another horse is called Grey Lion. It’s a horse. Not a grey lion. Stupid.
I have worked at many Melbourne Cup functions before and I have this amazing joke that I always use on Melbourne Cup Day. I am going to use it 700 times tomorrow and you can too. It’s a hoot. It goes like this:
A woman walks into the bar with a fluoro pink spray-painted bent piece of cardboard with a couple stick-on stars from the $2 shop bulldog-clipped to her head. It might have tinsel on it too, or some other variation if she’s real flashy.
Anyway, she’ll walk around all day with her Kindergarten art project stapled to her head, doing nothing in regard to sun protection or style, and people will ogle at her from far and wide. Now what you will do is wait until she catches your eye, then say, “Wow! That hat is fascinating!”
Brings the house down every time. Trust me. Fascinators are stupid. Just don’t do it.
Anyway, that’s where I’ll be during the race. I work in hospitality cause this stuff doesn’t pay my bills (yet!) and that means functions and clients and cash and tips!
So when the great race is won and lost, I’ll be standing behind the bar without a care in the world, with celebratory and commiserative champagne corks flying around, and all my money still in my pocket. – Jackson Barron
Photo of a dog riding a horse from Dear Stupid Horse Owners’ Facebook page.
About the author
Jackson Barron is a full time surf frother, golf geek and tennis tragic. He wears red and green with pride for his beloved South Sydney Rabbitohs and pretends he knows the rules when sitting in the crowd at the Swans games. Loves a beer and a coffee, as long as they're frothy, and should probably get a hair cut.
