10-25-2016, 06:27 AM
Not-So-Fine Cotton
I’m pencilling at Randwick, the Rails, working
on Brisbane races, Eagle Farm meeting that day.
There’s a sort of low buzz going around the track,
‘Someone’s got a fix in’ but that’s not unusual,
there’s always some cheating going on, I’m not
curious about who or what or where, just keep
my head down and listen.
Punters want to back some knackers-bait in a race
at Eagle Farm. The early market shows fifty to one,
but The Boss doesn’t want a cent of it. Even I know
something’s off when every punter and his brother
wants to back the same long-priced roughie. It’s got
no form, no wins, no chance of winning. Some owner
with more money than sense keeps sending it around
the tracks, and as long as it’s registered, all fees paid,
it can run. Even though trainers hate wasting time,
it’s owners with dreams who pay their bills.
Opening market has Fine Cotton at thirtythree to one.
Most bookies put up seven to two. Punters hurl abuse
as they sprint up and down the line, trying to get set
before every bookie has turned the price in. Next call
it’s eight to one; bookies working the race go odds on,
and stay there when the call before they jump has it at
seven to two. The favourite’s price has blown all the way
out to the Black Stump.
Of course the horse sprints out of the field after the jump
and chases down the favourite. He hardly crosses the line
when a roar goes up, on every race track in the country so
I’m told, of Ring-In! Ring-In! about the worst-kept secret
in the racing world ever. The punters abuse The Boss as if
he’s part of it and he laughs, but his eyes turn very black.
Turns out some in his extended family are the ones warned
off race-tracks all over the country, losing their licences too.
Seems odd to me, very unsophisticated for this family. Who
paints a horse? The substitute, Bold Personality, doesn’t
have the white leg patches of Fine Cotton; the horse goes
to weigh-in dripping white paint. Even these Eagle Farm
stewards have to take some action. They tell bookies not to
pay out on the race. There’s a riot brewing. Everyone knows
the real story, and they’re all different.
The mysterious ‘they’ plan for a long time to win this race
with a ring-in for Fine Cotton; they buy a horse, almost
identical colour and markings, and set everything up.
Before the race their ring-in is injured, no way can it win.
The word’s already out, there’s been some large investments
made by some hard people who will be very angry, and ‘they’
panic a bit, send out for a horse, and buy Bold Personality,
not cheap but he can definitely win the race. He’s the wrong
colour? A few bottles of Lady Clairol can turn bay into brown,
though bleach on his hind legs to make white patches doesn’t
work. By now, hours before starting time, they’re convinced
they have no choice, and open that can of white paint.
The contrast in time sticks in my mind. Ninety seconds of race
then decades of court cases, wasted time, ruined careers and
marriages, other relationships as well. I can’t decide if it’s just
cheeky, Aussie larrikin style, or if it’s really cheating. Whether
Father O’Dwyer, for example, would call it a sin.
Another one in the series of Track Tales
I’m pencilling at Randwick, the Rails, working
on Brisbane races, Eagle Farm meeting that day.
There’s a sort of low buzz going around the track,
‘Someone’s got a fix in’ but that’s not unusual,
there’s always some cheating going on, I’m not
curious about who or what or where, just keep
my head down and listen.
Punters want to back some knackers-bait in a race
at Eagle Farm. The early market shows fifty to one,
but The Boss doesn’t want a cent of it. Even I know
something’s off when every punter and his brother
wants to back the same long-priced roughie. It’s got
no form, no wins, no chance of winning. Some owner
with more money than sense keeps sending it around
the tracks, and as long as it’s registered, all fees paid,
it can run. Even though trainers hate wasting time,
it’s owners with dreams who pay their bills.
Opening market has Fine Cotton at thirtythree to one.
Most bookies put up seven to two. Punters hurl abuse
as they sprint up and down the line, trying to get set
before every bookie has turned the price in. Next call
it’s eight to one; bookies working the race go odds on,
and stay there when the call before they jump has it at
seven to two. The favourite’s price has blown all the way
out to the Black Stump.
Of course the horse sprints out of the field after the jump
and chases down the favourite. He hardly crosses the line
when a roar goes up, on every race track in the country so
I’m told, of Ring-In! Ring-In! about the worst-kept secret
in the racing world ever. The punters abuse The Boss as if
he’s part of it and he laughs, but his eyes turn very black.
Turns out some in his extended family are the ones warned
off race-tracks all over the country, losing their licences too.
Seems odd to me, very unsophisticated for this family. Who
paints a horse? The substitute, Bold Personality, doesn’t
have the white leg patches of Fine Cotton; the horse goes
to weigh-in dripping white paint. Even these Eagle Farm
stewards have to take some action. They tell bookies not to
pay out on the race. There’s a riot brewing. Everyone knows
the real story, and they’re all different.
The mysterious ‘they’ plan for a long time to win this race
with a ring-in for Fine Cotton; they buy a horse, almost
identical colour and markings, and set everything up.
Before the race their ring-in is injured, no way can it win.
The word’s already out, there’s been some large investments
made by some hard people who will be very angry, and ‘they’
panic a bit, send out for a horse, and buy Bold Personality,
not cheap but he can definitely win the race. He’s the wrong
colour? A few bottles of Lady Clairol can turn bay into brown,
though bleach on his hind legs to make white patches doesn’t
work. By now, hours before starting time, they’re convinced
they have no choice, and open that can of white paint.
The contrast in time sticks in my mind. Ninety seconds of race
then decades of court cases, wasted time, ruined careers and
marriages, other relationships as well. I can’t decide if it’s just
cheeky, Aussie larrikin style, or if it’s really cheating. Whether
Father O’Dwyer, for example, would call it a sin.
Another one in the series of Track Tales
