The first Tuesday of November turns to night, and following my second trip interstate to Flemington for Australia's biggest annual sporting event I feel I've experienced a great range of emotions of the Melbourne Cup as a spectator. This year and last have been perfect in demonstrating opposites. Weather. Media focus. Even my own personal vantage point. It took me just a single visit to the carnival to experience the crushing blow of popped expectations, but a second helped me see the drama and the tension. As a man behind the fence watching it all unfold, I couldn't ask for a more vivid and encompassing experience of this iconic day.
Last year's lead-up always boiled down to three words: So You Think. Anything other than a Cup victory for the dual Cox Plate champion would be a disaster, not really for his connections, but for the Australian public. Almost anyone you talked to wanted to see Bart Cummings-trained horse become only the second runner to take two Cox Plates and a Melbourne Cup, the other being the one and only Phar Lap. But the burden of five Group 1 victories, but especially the two mile distance, got the better of him as he slipped over the 200 metres to third. I can still remember the huge groan of disappointment that flooded through the stands as Americain passed the post first. It's like no form of sadness I've ever experienced before - something truly depressing to me as an Australian sports fan. This was the 150th running, the perfect moment for national pride to come busting to life through a local hero. Instead, it was as if we were watching the script to a fairytale movie stutter in the final frames before grinding to a halt. Under such a mockingly beautiful, sunny day, it hurt all the much more.
I walked out of Flemington straight after the race's conclusion and boarded the train. I tried to make light conversation at times, but it never felt right. Silence spoke better about what we thought better than words ever could. There was a specific moment during the exodus, however, that I thought we were being overdramatic about it all. But people grow attached to anything that can give them hope of being a part of our national history - particularly when that history involved is an Australian treasure in Phar Lap. For a day every year we cheer on an animal we've never followed, heard of or perhaps even seen on television. Yet the sense of national involvement, that everyone drops everything for around 200 seconds every November is what brings on such an emotional connection. So You Think's failure to succeed only served to bring to light the magic grasp that the Cup has on our society.
The sale of So You Think within a week of the carnival was like Irish salt being pressed forcefully into the gaping wound that had been left on every Australian racing fan's heart. Looking back on his effort in the 2010 edition of the great race, So You Think's third when he was unproven at the distance shows just what a magnificent creature he is. We never know when the next horse may come around that gives us such heightened expectations and a whirlwind of emotions. His departure overseas makes the wait that much more anxious.
This year swapped sadness for outright drama. As Dunaden and Red Cadeux hit the line together under threatening grey skies, the Flemington throng fell silent. It's not supposed to be like that. As the horses cross the line, the celebrations begin and the counter to next year begins immediately. Funny how that works, but that's the nature of the event. I'm sure many walk out feeling tired and washed out, with the peak of their day being that moment the winner passes by the post. But that peak lasted an agonizing three minutes, as everyone awaited a photo finish. I know I was mentally drained this year as I left the racecourse, but for a different reason - one more positive in nature.
It was easy to talk about the race at this time. I was riding home Godolphin's stayer Lost in the Moment, who almost hit the lead on the inside on the home straight before fading back. For the second year in a row my horse had been swamped at the 200 mark. I didn't care this time. This year provided a finish with more action than a Hollywood blockbuster could deliver. The thought that a few millimetres can keep millions of people on edge brought a smile to my face. My lost investment became irrelevant. There was another groan, backed by shock as opposed to disappointment, when a replay of the final 50 or so metres went up on the big screen. You could even hear it through your TV screen. My view from the grandstand made the wait particularly cruel for me, being just out of line with the post. Being behind the line and above ground level made it look as if Dunaden, on the inside, had got there. He did. Tension lifts. The clock restarts for next year.
Post-race media attention now falls on the lack of local challengers for our treasured Cup. Interesting to note that last year's attention was spent on an individual failure, compared to the collective one today. A shift has gone from the hearts of the Australian people to heart of the local racing industry. But that's another story. What this does show is the uncertainty of what the next talking point will be. An up and coming Australian stayer could win us our own Cup back for the first time since 2009, or we could see a mare get up for the first time since a certain triple winner in 2005. It's enough to make me excited for November 2012 already.
We are entering a new chapter of the race that stops a nation. It's full of international raiders who dominate our local crop. I don't know how many pages the chapter goes for, but the final paragraph ends with an Australian-bred victory. Who cares how long it takes? Every year, a new hope arises - however small it may be. Aussies everywhere will worship those four legs that bring the Cup home.
I've only seen two of the Cups in person, and I can't help but feel I've only scratched the surface of the emotional range it can deliver.
This year swapped sadness for outright drama. As Dunaden and Red Cadeux hit the line together under threatening grey skies, the Flemington throng fell silent. It's not supposed to be like that. As the horses cross the line, the celebrations begin and the counter to next year begins immediately. Funny how that works, but that's the nature of the event. I'm sure many walk out feeling tired and washed out, with the peak of their day being that moment the winner passes by the post. But that peak lasted an agonizing three minutes, as everyone awaited a photo finish. I know I was mentally drained this year as I left the racecourse, but for a different reason - one more positive in nature.
It was easy to talk about the race at this time. I was riding home Godolphin's stayer Lost in the Moment, who almost hit the lead on the inside on the home straight before fading back. For the second year in a row my horse had been swamped at the 200 mark. I didn't care this time. This year provided a finish with more action than a Hollywood blockbuster could deliver. The thought that a few millimetres can keep millions of people on edge brought a smile to my face. My lost investment became irrelevant. There was another groan, backed by shock as opposed to disappointment, when a replay of the final 50 or so metres went up on the big screen. You could even hear it through your TV screen. My view from the grandstand made the wait particularly cruel for me, being just out of line with the post. Being behind the line and above ground level made it look as if Dunaden, on the inside, had got there. He did. Tension lifts. The clock restarts for next year.
Post-race media attention now falls on the lack of local challengers for our treasured Cup. Interesting to note that last year's attention was spent on an individual failure, compared to the collective one today. A shift has gone from the hearts of the Australian people to heart of the local racing industry. But that's another story. What this does show is the uncertainty of what the next talking point will be. An up and coming Australian stayer could win us our own Cup back for the first time since 2009, or we could see a mare get up for the first time since a certain triple winner in 2005. It's enough to make me excited for November 2012 already.
We are entering a new chapter of the race that stops a nation. It's full of international raiders who dominate our local crop. I don't know how many pages the chapter goes for, but the final paragraph ends with an Australian-bred victory. Who cares how long it takes? Every year, a new hope arises - however small it may be. Aussies everywhere will worship those four legs that bring the Cup home.
I've only seen two of the Cups in person, and I can't help but feel I've only scratched the surface of the emotional range it can deliver.
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