A horse is a horse, of course, of course, and no one can talk to a horse of course.

 … that is, of course, unless the horse is the famous Mister Ed

The Melbourne Spring Racing Carnival is almost over.  Like millions of others, I placed a wager on the Melbourne Cup. It was a twenty dollar bet on the favourite, Fame Game, for the win only; the horse failed dismally. I’m not one who likes betting each way or on “exotics” (Quinella, Exacta, Trifecta, First 4, Quadrella, and BIG6) so I just choose one runner and I bet on it for a “win only.” I recall my late father grumbling on many occasions, “It’s (expletive deleted) hard enough to pick first past the post, let alone trying to pick the second and third as well.” 

I used to be quite an active punter. I would regularly make indirect contributions to government coffers via the TAB and sometimes directly to real people, the bookmakers at the track. But that was a long time ago.  Then one day, abruptly, in a “road to Damascus moment,” I decided that I was finished with handing over my hard earned “reddies” to either a government operated gambling cash cow or to a similarly prosperous race track bookmaker.  It was the sudden realisation that I was risking a part of my week’s wages on the past form and the unpredictable temperament of the most neurotic and fractious of horse breeds and, as well, a creature that was completely unaware of my existence and my investment in it and, in an existentialist sense, also completely unaware of its own being.

And let’s not forget the other player in this game, the horse’s jockey. I had a similar moment of enlightenment when I realised that he (and they were all “he” back then), unlike his steed, was fully conscious to his own existence but completely ignorant of mine and, moreover, totally oblivious of my financial investment in him being able to steer his mount past the winning post in first place.

And so many years later, my wagering on the vagaries of the thoroughbred behaviour and the fluctuating competence of their riders is limited to placing a bet once a year, usually for no return, on the Melbourne Cup.  Why? … Because it’s the Australian thing to do … Right?

Paul H