Last gasp

Another ordinary punting performance on Melbourne Cup day threatened to slide into the truly dire yesterday. As scripted, it came down to the last race.

Firstly, apologies for the lack of news from Grafton. Some computer difficulties have hampered regular reporting from the northern rivers front. More to come.

Back to the race that stops a nation.

After a week here campaigning, the running of The Cup gave us an opportunity to have a break, bet and a beer.

There had been some idle talk of handing out a YRAW mock sweep but the potential for some negative blow back put paid to those plans.

Just as the mainstream political campaign pauses to watch the nags go round at Flemington, so must we.

Andy and I agreed to kick in $50 each and take advantage of a combined betting pool. Detailed study of the form commenced and I phoned up good mate Jim Marr to get the good oil.

Both favourites Master O’Reilly and Purple Moon were rated as genuine chances. Jimmy also liked Princess Coup and Maybe Better, with Irish stayer Mahler getting a mention.

Ironically, the horse that generated the most discussion (in dismissing its chances) was the eventual winner Efficient, which had disappointed everyone so far this spring.

Later at the hotel across the road from the apartment, we set up shop in the front bar and jumped into the fifth race, armed with Jimmy’s ratings and our own meagre punting knowledge.

By the end of the sixth, we were thirty dollars down and threw everything into the big one with a spread of bets.

But the scratching of Maybe Better earlier in the day had thrown our plans into disarray.

Besides a couple of small bets to win on the two faves, we looked to the William’s trained Zipping with a solid each way.

Right stable, wrong horse.

Otherwise we boxed a few Trifectas and looked for the roughy in NZ’s Sculptor.

Right country, wrong horse.

Come three-fifteen and we were sunk. Not a sausage.

Take nothing away from Efficient. A brilliant ride, hitting the line strongly to power past Purple Moon. Truly memorable.

The eighth gave us our last chance to pull something out of the fire. But the racing gods were not smiling on us.

Andy departed. Feeling drunk and increasingly maudlin, I ignored the ninth and looked to the last race of the day and Jimmy’s ratings.

In a reckless act, I backed El Pauji to win with $40 of my own cash and settled in to watch the devastation.

By the time Race Ten approached, the odds on El Pauji had shortened considerably. It ended up winning comfortably and I trousered 250 pieces of the folding stuff.

It was a late and lucky escape to what could have been a worse than usual Cup bath.