Matters of Racing Royalty. How One protests against The Queen. No foot kissing allowed.

June 25, 2016

It’s fair to say that The Queen and I were in contrasting states, as we waited for the late-night protest.

Her Majesty had taken a large cup of tea. I had taken a large bucket of wine.

She was in a magnificent blue dress, on the lawns of Royal Ascot. I was in my Cowboys T-shirt. In bed. Eating biscuits.

I’d arrived home in fine spirits, with the Moon high, to find world class racing on the box. And money in the account.

That’s when I had my Royal Encounter.

The Queen owns Dartmouth, who was first past the post in the Hardwicke Stakes.

I had twenty bucks on Highland Reel, who finished an unlucky lip away second. The stewards called an Inquiry. Which is Royal Ascot-speak for delaying things a few minutes until Her Majesty takes the trophy.

I had hoped that the protest hearing would be fair and telling, despite the players involved.

Those hopes faded ever so slightly, as my jockey kissed The Queen’s feet.

As the stewards grilled the race participants, I noticed a bloke hovering towards the rear of the room. I’d never seen his equivalent at Randwick.

He may or may not have been An Executioner. The large shiny sharp thing gave the game away. He seemed to be looking directly at my trainer.

I struggled to hear all the evidence, because the Stewards broke into a chorus of God Save The Queen as the video replay hit the furlong.

Once I saw them taking Royal selfies, I’d accepted my fate.

While I was gracious in defeat that night, there’ll be no such niceties if we don’t claim a different piece of Royal silverware at Eagle Farm this afternoon.

The Azkadellia camp would still be having nightmares, after their Stradbroke plan sank into the shifting track on day one back at headquarters.

I’m tipping the dreams will be more pleasant tonight, as the mare romps away with the Tatts Tiara.

The simple fact is, she’s better than these. By a stretch.

Watch for her flying down the outside, to win the final Group One of the season.

Only bad luck can beat her. Or owners who can make stewards sing.

I’ll be watching carefully if there’s a protest. The first hint of feet-kissing, and you’ll find me back eating those biscuits.

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One for the battlers. The knockabouts you should be cheering at Doomben.

May 28, 2016

While Damian Browne was taking on the world in Dubai with Buffering, his best mate was knocking around the NSW provincials.

Their pay cheques would have been very different that weekend. No so their skills in the saddle.

Not that Chris O’Brien would have begrudged his Kiwi buddy. Far from it. He would have been cheering like the rest of us.

Browne and O’Brien were young stars across the ditch, long before they were spotted by Aussie eyes.

Like so many other episodes in life, fortunes differed as careers progressed.

Browne is rightly regarded as one of Australia’s best hoops. His association with the Buff made sure of that. He’s in great demand from the top trainers, and the richest owners.

O’Brien gets a handful of city rides every year. Injuries and weight problems made sure of that. He’s had more problems on the scales than Oprah.

Today, he gets one of those rare opportunities, on a Group One day. And in the sweetest of ironies, it’s thanks to a fellow bush battler.

Fred Cowell has been training at Gosford since the bullock teams went through to build the Pacific Highway. Or so it seems.

He’s a genuine horseman. No backing from an overseas sheikh here. Just some loyal owners, most of whom enjoy a cold drink with him at day’s end.

So the trainer who I’m pretty sure doesn’t own a mobile phone, and the jockey with a body held together through pins and tape, will take on the best that Waller and co can give.

Mighty Lucky is one of those horses the punters love. Gives his all. Wins at odds. If he could talk, I’m tipping he’d explain that he’s just fine with the current arrangement.

Just as Takeover Target didn’t know his trainer was really a taxi driver, Mighty Lucky wouldn’t give two hoots that Freddy would much rather be in the public bar.

It won’t be hard to recognise O’Brien as he walks into the enclosure. Let’s just say he doesn’t have the gait of a male model. But don’t let that fool you.

Horses run for him. Soft hands, that can urge in an instant. The right spot at the right time. And best of all, he knows how to find the line.

I hope Mighty Lucky wins the Lord Mayor’s Cup. And that’s not just my wallet talking. The after-race banter between the jockey, and the trainer, and the Lord Mayor, would be worth the price of admission.

Damian Browne will be doing his best to spoil the party. If his old mate salutes, watch for the pat on the back. Maybe it’s not Dubai. But for the battlers, Doomben will do just fine.

 

 

 

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Music to a mug punter’s ear. The perfect way to end Doomben Cup day.

May 21, 2016

There was a time when entertainment after the last came from your cashed-up mate.

He’d be the one tap dancing, cash in hand, while the rest of us looked for dropped coins and winning tickets discarded in haste.

Times have changed.

It’s not a feature day now without a superstar belting out his or her favourite tunes, minutes after the stragglers have been sent back to their stables.

What a treat last weekend. The legendary Daryl Braithwaite, in full voice at the Doomben 200 metre mark.

They tell me he went over a treat. I was busy near a monitor trying to get out in Perth so couldn’t join the great man on stage, but I could hear him in the distance.

“That’s the way it’s gonna be, little darlin’…’

Yep, the most famous ‘Horses’ since Phap Lap and crew were parading at Flemington.

One of the best racecourse concerts I’ve seen, through bleary eyes, was in Cairns, a few furlongs ago.

It was Cairns Cup day. Quite possibly the greatest consumption of Bundy rum over a 24 hour period in the southern hemisphere.

We were at a footy reunion, dressed sharply, and receiving golden tips from a mate working for a local bookie.

Our deal was that the mail would continue, as long as we loaded up on his counterparts.

It was in this winning environment, that someone mentioned the after-race entertainment.

In the best bit of scheduling since Nikki Webster was sent dangling over the Olympic stadium, local organisers had enticed The Angels to head north.

It’s doubtful if Doc and his mates would have had more loyal fans than those who’d trekked across the state’s far north, many of whom would be sleeping in swags that night.

It’s also doubtful that organisers had painted a true picture of where the ageing Aussie rockers would be strutting their stuff.

The stage was plonked in a swampy paddock, near the top of the straight. This proved difficult for many of the raceday patrons, who by now were without shoes.

It was loud enough to keep the crocs at bay, but not the mozzies, who created a new blood-borne disease based entirely on rum.

We’ve come a long way since then. Race day entertainment is a vital part of getting young people to the track.  What better place to boogie, than the wonderful spaces stretched across our top tracks.

After Our Ivanhowe wins the Doomben Cup this afternoon, a performer by the name of Mashd Kutcher will be doing his thing. The teenagers at home tell me he’s top shelf. Actually, they used a term I didn’t understand, but they seemed excited.

There’s a whisper Elvis has been booked for Stradbroke Day. I may or may not be making that up. Either way, it will be better than your tap dancing mate.

 

 

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Remembering the Queen of Doomben. The day we roared for the Mighty Mare.

May 14, 2016

What were you doing on this very day five years ago?

I was at the races. A shock, I know.

But not just any race day. This was sporting history in the making.

On May 14, 2011, Black Caviar came to town. The nation was in the grip of Mighty Mare Fever. She just kept winning. And finally, we’d be able to be part of it.

The night before, her trainer Peter Moody was enjoying a few Fourex Golds at the Brekky Creek. Another shock. Nothing wrong with settling the nerves.

He’d taken her across the country by then. But this was special. This was his home state. The boy from the bush, under enormous pressure, giving something back.

Come race day, and women who may have watched Bernborough go around were in their finest dresses. Blokes in battered hats craned necks to get a glimpse. Small children were waving flags. Doomben was awash with black and salmon.

She was against her old foe Hay List. The world’s second best sprinter. And a youngster named Buffering. Flying the local flag.

They left the gates, and we cheered. Like a Melbourne Cup start. Soon we saw that this was a contest. Hay List was flying early. She would have to work for it.

They rounded the bend, and it happened. Something special.

She glided past her old foe. Lengthened that massive stride. There would be no defeat in Brisbane.

What I remember most, was the noise. The stands shook. I’ve never heard anything like it. A collective roar, as she hit the line.

You hugged whoever was next to you. Apologies again officer. There were tears. One dollar tickets remained in pockets, instead of tote tills. So they could be kept for the grandkids.

We owe Peter Moody and Luke Nolen so much for what they did that day. Signing momentos long after the last. Soaking up the smiles.

Five years on, and one is still drinking those Golds. Possibly at a bush track, sleeping in a swag. The other is in hospital, after a terrible fall last weekend.

I hope they both get to watch today’s UBET BTC Cup. And remember that golden day like the rest of us will.

It will be a wonderful race again. Japonisme  will be hard to beat, but my money will be on Artlee. And when he salutes, I’ll think of that roar, and the tears, on the day the Mighty Mare and her knockabout trainer stole our hearts.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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My tips for Malcolm. Why more Prime Ministers need to go to the races.

May 7, 2016

The Prime Minister’s Cup is one of my favourite days at the track.

Not that you need a reason to have fun on the Gold Coast.

But there’s something about the PM’s Cup that stirs the imagination.

So if I’m excited, why isn’t the PM?

Once again, I’m led to believe that our nation’s leader won’t be handing over the Cup.

If only he knew what he was missing.

Just in case he wants to leave election planning for a bit, I thought it would be handy to provide my guide to the Gold Coast track.

This has been carefully put together over many years, recorded on several beer-stained coasters spruiking brands all the way back to Powers.

First off, the Entrance.

There will be weird and wonderful sights as you approach the gate.

Blokes in top hats. Blokes in thongs. Girls in thongs. Some even on their feet. And more tattoos than an NRL dressing shed.

My advice to Malcolm is – don’t be distracted.

Many good punters have missed a good thing in the first, by savouring the wacky images from the glitter strip.

Once inside, ditch the party hacks, and head to the snack bar.

You’ll find those pre-made steak burgers just the trick, to soak up the hours of fun ahead.

The crowd will be bustling by this time. Embrace it. With ears open. Tips will be flying. Write them down carefully. Especially from old rich blokes. Every chance you’re standing behind an owner. Or a Cabinet Minister. Either way, they wouldn’t be telling fibs.

Find a table, and don’t let it go.

Get your mates (Christopher Pyne could come in handy here), to arrange jackets and form guides on every available chair.

You will be in a running brawl across the day, fighting off table-pinchers. Again, focus is the key.

That kind lady asking if she can rest her champagne next to your Best Bets, is actually plotting to overrun you and Christopher with ten of her noisy friends.

Treat it like a Monday morning party room meeting. Ignore everyone, banish the unwelcome drink, and concentrate on where the money’s going in the next.

Once Pyney has the table fortress-like, you can concentrate on your punting. And as a multi, you at least know that you won’t be chasing bus fare after the last.

There are key points to remember as you mark that form guide. The glorious Gold Coast is like no other. Some things stand the test of time.

Horses near the lead won’t win every race. Just most of them.

If they don’t have an inside barrier from the 1800 metre start, forget it.

Follow the money in the last. Rare that it’s off the mark.

And don’t leave it too late to get to the tote window. Remember the lady who wanted your table? She’s in front of you, about to place thirty trifectas worth about four dollars.

It’s the sort of stuff Bob Hawke knew years ago. He wrote the manual on raceday tricks. Come to think of it, he probably would have let Champagne Trifecta Lady share that table. But I digress.

I hear the PM’s staff saying I’ve wasted too much of Malcolm’s time, when all he really wants is a tip for the big one.

Well Prime Minister, I reckon your Cup might just be going to Rob Heathcote and Hopfgarten. With Coolring a definite chance at odds. Are you writing this down?

And if you’re (more) cashed up by the last, Santa Ana Lane is a good thing. Yep, another big day for your favourite jockey D.Browne.

I’ll keep an eye out for you and Christopher at the snack bar. In case you have a change of heart. What a publicity shot ahead of the election. Of course, you could always open the new look Eagle Farm. Perfect timing before we head to the ballot box. And between us, Bill Shorten has already asked me for my Stradbroke tips. Let the election race begin.

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Soaring high with the soundtrack of my youth. Why they’re lighting up to remember Glenn Frey.

January 19, 2016

It was the most exciting concert of my life. With the oldest audience.

The Eagles in LA .. re-opening The Forum .. almost two years ago to the day.

‘I’ve got a peaceful, easy feeling .. and I know you won’t let me down.’

It was part of what we now know will be their final tour. Because their spiritual leader, the amazing Glenn Frey, is now jamming with Bowie and John Cash.

Not everyone had a seniors’ pass. Some were there with their parents. Like my kids, they’d grown up listening to the soundtrack of the US West Coast.

‘And I want to sleep with you in the desert tonight. With a million stars all around.’

This concert went way back. Their first songs .. all the way through the decades. We knew them all. Standing and singing and swaying. A capacity crowd in one of the great stadiums. This was something special.

The lady next to me was in love with Glenn Frey. She told me. Her partner may have been at Woodstock. This became more likely, once I realised that as the boys belted out ‘Heartache Tonight’, he was passing me a joint. Normal behaviour, it would seem, for such a night.

As he leant across the ample bosom of his missus, I had a slight panic attack. Visions of the three of us sharing a cell in the LA County watch house flashed through my mind.

I had already seen security search for their tasers when they spotted someone daring to take a photo of the stage. What would they think of Cheech and Chong and Panicking Aussie?

With a smooth dance move, I managed to pass on the grass. He wasn’t offended, and simply offered his reefer to the row behind. It disappeared in a chorus of ‘New Kid in Town.’

‘Everybody loves you. So don’t let them down.‘

The Eagles later came to Australia with the same concert. I went to that one too. Something told me we wouldn’t be seeing them again. I hate that I was right.

I took the teenager with me. It was something we’ll never forget. She knew every song. Sent selfies to her school friends, who were actually jealous. Can you believe that? Magical harmonies from blokes in their sixties, floating across high school Instagram.

‘So put me on a highway, and show me a sign, and take it, to the limit, one more time.’

My all time favourite DVD is their Melbourne concert more than a decade ago. I saw them on that trip too. It gets a run every New Year’s Eve. Saturday morning, if the housework gets too much. And a few late nights. It would cheer me up, regardless.

Except tonight. I’m listening to it now, and the sound is sad. Four blokes who guided me through my misguided youth and beyond, are now three.

Thanks for the music Glenn. Say g’day to the rest of them for us. See you next New Year’s Eve.

‘It’s another tequila sunrise, starin’ slowly ‘cross the sky. Said goodbye..’

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From shorts to safari suits. A Mug Punter’s fashion tips for Magic Millions.

January 9, 2016

Singo refers to the Magic Millions carnival as the Melbourne Cup in shorts.

Great racing. Hectic parties. No top hats or waist coats.

It’s part of the magic. Winning plenty in a relaxed atmosphere. Count me in.

Sadly, not everyone has the fashion sense to make their way into the summer social pages. Fear not, because help is at hand.

Already, you are sniggering. Fashion advice from someone who once owned a safari suit. As a child.

Then there was the multi-coloured jumper Mum made we wear to the Youth Club disco. She was worried I’d be cold. Bless her. At least it matched my dance moves.

My cowboy boots were a big hit as a teenager. Huge heels, to fool the bloke at the bottle shop. A ploy that worked zero times.

Anyway, enough of my own disasters. It means I’m more than qualified to give a helping hand to those of you staring blankly at the wardrobe.

I’ve watched with interest, the photos from the week’s social functions that I wasn’t invited to. And there is a common theme. An image as handy as an ashtray on a motorbike.

Someone has decided that it’s cool for blokes to wear jackets and shorts. Together. You’ll see the photos, where they’re gazing off into the distance, with skinny hairless legs poking out of crisply pressed Joe Blorts.

Someone is taking the piss. It’s straight from the Fashion House of Gilligan’s Island.

Ladies, if you’re taking your man to the races today, set him straight. Jackets belong with pants. You can buy them as a package deal at Lowes.

If you must wear your dress shorts, a nice shirt is all you need. And say hi to Mary Ann for me.

At the other end of the scale, there are blokes out there right now, deciding which pair of footy shorts to wear this afternoon. The Premiership winning pair from the ’98 Gympie grand final, or the Broncos gift set from Christmas.

Boys, leave them in the drawer. No matter how good you think your pins are looking. Apart from turning female stomachs, they are also useless for holding betting tickets.

There has never been a Magic Millions Day under 40 degrees, so the tip is, dress appropriately. Unless you’re presenting a trophy, leave the tie at home. And for the welfare of those of us in the tote line with you, be generous with the deodorant.

That’s the best I can offer. Oh, and sensible shoes. In case you have to walk home. Yep, it’s been done before.

When it’s all said and done, I’m happy to be a fashion failure, if it means I might back a winner. I wonder if that old safari suit still fits? If I polish up the cowboy boots, it just might work..

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The official Melbourne Cup Guide for Mug Punters. Can Barack Obama win at Flemington?

November 2, 2015

No idea what to back in the Cup? Sick of workmates laughing at your lame attempts to sound horse-hip? Fear not fellow mug punters. Help is at hand.

The official Hold All Tickets Melbourne Cup Guide for Mug punters will answer all your questions. One read, and you’ll be the expert at the lunch table. The guru at the work canteen. Hell, you might even win something!

As well as a detailed look at every runner in the field, you’ll also receive fascinating racing insights, to improve your performance when the talk comes to racing. All this, for the small price of buying me a drink the next time you see me. Cup winners may even consider two.

So here we go. Pens at the ready. Good luck!

(Publisher’s note – there is every chance alcohol is involved in the formation of this so-called guide. Anyone who follows this fool’s ramblings needs to have a look at themselves).

1/ Snow Sky – Roger Moore (jockey). Even with a former James Bond riding him, this bloke’s no hope. And his trainer has a knighthood. As if..

2/ Criterion – Michael Walker. Genuine chance. Trainer David Hayes has his mojo back, and Walker can ride. Classy, but a query on whether he’ll see out the 3200 metres.

3/ Fame Game – Zac Purton. The favourite. And Purton is a gun. The Japanese say he can’t be beaten. At least I think that’s what they said. Over-rated for mine. And needs a bone-dry track. Leave me out.

4/ Our Ivanhowe – Ben Melham. Named after the mighty Ivanhoes footy club in Cairns. Which is a surprise given he’s from Germany. Trainer Freedman knows how to win a Cup. Top Six chance.

5/ Big Orange – David ‘Luttsy’ Lutteral. Named in honour of our great redheads. The horse carrying the hopes of all ginger-tops. They actually had to change the rules to allow a ranga to have a ride in the great race. Luttsy will give his all .. but the horse will still be running after dark.

6/ Hartnell – James McDonald. Not doing enough, even with the services of our most improved jockey. Pass.

7/ Hokko Brave – Craig Williams. The second of the Japanese raiders. Forget his Caulfield Cup run. Tell your mates he’s a better chance than the favourite, and glow in their praise when he rockets home into the placings.

8/ Max Dynamite – Frankie Dettori or Rod Stewart. There are three things the Irish are passionate about. Guinness and racing. This bloke can spring a huge shock, especially if it’s wet.

9/ Red Cadeaux – Paul Hogan. Hoges has been given the ride in honour of the horse being named Australian of the Year. He won’t win, but cheer him anyway.

10/ Trip to Paris – Tommy Berry. The winner. Get on and get on for plenty. The more you put on the more you get back.

#Hoofnote – the star of the movie Racing Stripes was a zebra. And he won the Kentucky Derby. And the stable flies could talk. Very, very cool.

11/ Who Shot Thebarman – Blake Shinn. Ran third last year. Johnny Cash sang a song about him. Or Waylon Jennings. Anyway .. trainer Chris Waller is winning everything except the RSL raffle .. so watch this fella.

12/ Sky Hunter – Bill Shorten. The Opposition Leader will do anything for a lift in the polls. They could start an hour early and still not run in the first ten.

13/ The Offer – Damien Oliver. One of Gai’s hopes. Top trainer. Top jockey. Might not be good enough, but the dynamic duo will give him every chance.

14/ Grand Marshal – Jim Cassidy. The ‘Pumper’s’ last Cup ride. Sadly it won’t be a winning one.

#Hoofnote – I shed a tear in the movie Phar Lap. Several times. When he died, and when he was beaten early and they lost their cash. Gents, if you’re trying to impress the ladieeez at your Cup function today, feel free to borrow that line.

15/ Preferment – Hugh Bowman. Huge chance. The best of the locals, with the Cox Plate-winning jockey. Include him in anything you do.

16/ Quest for More – Damian Lane. If he wins I will give each and every one of you a glass of champagne. (Publisher’s note – see above).

17/ Almoonquith – Dwayne Dunn. Should be penalised for having a silly name.

18/ Kingfisher – Bronwyn Bishop. She asked stewards if she could use the chopper to tow him along. Even then would struggle.

19/ Prince of Penzance – Andrew O’Keefe. Instead of wearing silks he’ll be in the pirate costume.

20/ Bondi Beach – Brett Prebble. He’ll be riding topless in honour of the backpackers who’ll be cheering him.

21/ Sertorius – Craig Newitt. The horse ran against Phar Lap back in the 1930s. Stewards have given permission for him to run with the aid of a walker.

22/ The United States – Barack Obama. A lightweight threat. Include him in your multiple bets.

#Hoofnote – Just after the start of the Cup, you’ll see the field pass the winning post, before the horses do another lap. You are required to cheer loudly when this happens, and pretend that your horse just won. Hilarious trick, especially at an expensive function.

23/ Excess Knowledge – Kerrin McEvoy. Another of Gai’s runners. Scraped into the field with a win last Saturday. Not for us.

24/ Gust of Wind – Mark Latham. Now there’s an omen bet if ever there was one. You’ll hear him belly-aching before they hit the straight.

So there you have it. Winners .. horses to avoid .. and conversation gold. Share this with your friends. Unless they happen to be lawyers. Happy Cup Day!

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In memory of Bart. The horse we’ll all be cheering at Flemington.

October 31, 2015

So here we are. Our favourite time of the year. But the star of the show is missing.

Cup week without Bart. It’s like Christmas without Santa. Sure, we’ll open the presents. But it’s not as much fun.

Those words of wisdom in the days prior. A subtle tip, for those truly listening.

What would he add to the groaning mantlepiece? A feature mile? Another Derby? Dare we dream .. another Cup?

Those more interested in hats than horses would throw a dollar or two on. The rest of us would have a safety bet. Just in case.

And now .. he’s gone. But not forgotten. There will be tributes every day. Words from the heart. We’ll think about bushy eyebrows and thoroughbreds trained to the minute.

So what would the Great Man be thinking, sipping tea at the Head Table upstairs?

I reckon he would be telling us to get on with it. He always believed that the horses were the stars. He’d be happy with the quality on show today.

Surely he’d be impressed with the raw power of Exosphere. There’d be a nod towards Mick Price, as he chases the Derby with Tarzino. But that wonderful gaze, honed over the decades, would be saved for one horse.

Check the form guide for the Group 3 Lexus, and you’ll find the famous Cummings name. Not son Anthony. Grandson James.

He’s training Ruling Dynasty. The way Bart taught him. It’s a big chance, with Tommy Berry up.

A win this afternoon, means an automatic place in the Melbourne Cup. Yep, our most famous name, could be running on Tuesday.

It’s fairytale stuff. And there’s a twist, that only racing could throw up.

It could be the other famous name, that spoils the script. Gai has Excess Knowledge humming. Those using head over heart won’t hear of him being beaten. So here we go again. Cummings V Waterhouse.

The beauty of all this? Bart would be smiling. He loved the twists and turns leading into the Cup. And if young James is successful, the roar might be bigger than we hear for the Derby.

Hold on to your hats folks. That Cummings name might be heading to Cup Day again. Maybe things haven’t changed too much after all.

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Today’s special at Forty Winx. Cox Plate glory at the Valley

October 24, 2015

Mooney Valley and I are uneasy lovers.

Sure, I respect her tradition. The awesome line of champions to have paraded before today.

Three in a row for Kingston Town. Gunsynd. Tulloch. And Phar Lap.

Bart and So You Think. Bossy and Makybe Diva. What a roll call.

I last backed the winner of the Cox Plate in 1924. Or so it seems. Let’s just say .. the great race hasn’t been a happy hunting ground.

Never get it right. That impossibly short straight. Gets me every time.

I’m usually doing my best work late, in the spacious final furlong of Flemington, or Randwick, or Eagle Farm. Let us stretch our legs.

Not at the Valley. No waiting for the clock tower. Watch them take off from the previous suburb. If you can’t sustain a run, don’t bother turning up.

I not only miss the winner, I’m a chance of missing the first eight. I’m studying the form, and it could be an assembly brochure from IKEA.

But this year, it’s different. I’m on something special. Something good enough to carry Hughie Bowman and my fragile hopes.

I’ve watched Winx closely. Both up close, and on the screen. She’s one out of the box. An excitement machine.

We love them flying home. Coming from impossible positions to greet the judge. This mare does it, time and again.

She ran in a Group Three race on the Sunshine Coast last year, and won as if jet propelled.

From there she went into the Queensland Oaks. If you had gold bars hidden in the yard you were digging them up. She came home so fast Hughie returned to scale with windburn.

Fast forward to the Epsom. She couldn’t win from there. No way. Can she win from there? Of course she can!

And so to the Valley. The race for the purists. It doesn’t get any tougher.

There can be no mistakes. Hughie will have to get her rolling early. That’s ok. No-one is riding better.

Watch her fly. Keep an eye out for that dark cap late. It will be airborne.

The owner who’ll be in charge of celebrations is a Queenslander. The party will be epic. Again. Another prize for our shelf.

Good luck this afternoon. Fingers crossed for a repeat of 1924. The name of the winner back then? The Night Patrol. Which is exactly what they’ll need after the last.

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