On the Melbourne Cup....
Just why does The Melbourne Cup “stop the nation?”
Why is it that for about one week of every year, we all forget that horse racing is a bland, boring, stupid sport, and get all excited about the Melbourne Cup?
I just don’t understand it, especially because I find myself getting caught up in it all.
I HATE horses. They are ugly, smelly, dangerous things – and as temperamental as a spoilt, bi-polar toddler. I also hate jockeys. They are small, squeaky and are probably living under my bed, conspiring to one night, spring out and scare the bejesus out of me.
Yet I am still compelled at the beginning of every November to pick out a horse and run around blabbing it to everybody. Everybody is an expert on horses come Cup-time. Everybody has a insatiable passion for horseracing. If elections were held on Melbourne Cup Day, Bart Cummings would be Prime Minister and Makybe Diva would be the Minister of Foreign Affairs.
But, once the race is run, the anticipation is over and the bookies piss off before the police arrive, normality resumes…horseracing sucks again.
I guess the answer to my leading question is something to do with getting dressed up, socialising and gambling, all whilst getting rather shitfaced. It is indeed an appealing combination – silly hats, gambling and drinking – but why use the Melbourne Cup as an excuse. Horseracing is constantly run sport – there is nothing stopping us from donning some stupid headgear, throwing some tenners at a bookie and downing copious amounts of cheap, sparkling, chardonnay-substitute every day of the year. Oh wait, yes there is…horseracing sucks.
Go Delta Blues!
Why is it that for about one week of every year, we all forget that horse racing is a bland, boring, stupid sport, and get all excited about the Melbourne Cup?
I just don’t understand it, especially because I find myself getting caught up in it all.
I HATE horses. They are ugly, smelly, dangerous things – and as temperamental as a spoilt, bi-polar toddler. I also hate jockeys. They are small, squeaky and are probably living under my bed, conspiring to one night, spring out and scare the bejesus out of me.
Yet I am still compelled at the beginning of every November to pick out a horse and run around blabbing it to everybody. Everybody is an expert on horses come Cup-time. Everybody has a insatiable passion for horseracing. If elections were held on Melbourne Cup Day, Bart Cummings would be Prime Minister and Makybe Diva would be the Minister of Foreign Affairs.
Whoop-de-freaking-do....
But, once the race is run, the anticipation is over and the bookies piss off before the police arrive, normality resumes…horseracing sucks again.
I guess the answer to my leading question is something to do with getting dressed up, socialising and gambling, all whilst getting rather shitfaced. It is indeed an appealing combination – silly hats, gambling and drinking – but why use the Melbourne Cup as an excuse. Horseracing is constantly run sport – there is nothing stopping us from donning some stupid headgear, throwing some tenners at a bookie and downing copious amounts of cheap, sparkling, chardonnay-substitute every day of the year. Oh wait, yes there is…horseracing sucks.
Go Delta Blues!
