What’s tonight’s must-see sporting event?
The battle of the south-east between the Broncs and the Titans? Nope.
The AFL’s bumper clash between the Cats and St Kilda? Close, but no cigar.
It’s not a football match. Nothing to do with the World Cup.
Think racing. The half million dollar William Reid Stakes, under lights at Mooney Valley. It will be done and dusted in just over a minute.
Not so much the race. More the horse that will win it. The world’s best sprinter. A mare with a behind that makes Beyonce look like a stick figure.
Black Caviar.
She’s the unbeaten superstar. Ten starts, ten wins. All on city tracks.
Last time out, she won the time honoured Group One Newmarket Handicap at Flemington in a jog trot, while jockey Luke Nolen sat quietly up top, dunking a Tim Tam in his cup of tea.
Lets put all of this in some sort of context.
Imagine Johnathon Thurston kicking fifty consecutive goals. Blindfolded. Brett Lee taking ten wickets in an innings. Twice. Craig Lowndes lapping the field at Bathurst. On a scooter.
You get the picture. She’s a flying freak. And tonight, hundreds of normally sane people will hop on buses all over Victoria, and head to the Valley. They’ll join thousands of others, to experience a little piece of sporting history.
We love a true champion in the racing game. Think back to Phar Lap. Blokes tossing dodgy hats skywards, as Big Red won again. Hope, somehow, during the darkness of the Depression.
When Makybe Diva started winning Melbourne Cups like they were lucky dips, it seemed everyone was on. Friends who didn’t know form guides from fetlocks started quoting winning margins. My missus even knew those famous Santic colours.
But this is different again. To not taste defeat just doesn’t happen at the top end of the racing game. Wise old heads tell you every win gets you closer to a hard luck story. So can she be beaten?
There are two question marks tonight. There’s been rain this week. Will she handle an affected track? More importantly – can she carry the burden of me jumping on the bandwagon?
Her trainer Peter Moody is a Queenslander. Of course. He says’s she’ll be winning again. He’s a bushie at heart. But no mug. The boy from Charleville knows how important it is for racing to have a genuine superstar. And he wants to give everyone the chance to see her in action.
She’ll race in Sydney next month. Then in Brisbane during the winter carnival. Can you imagine the scenes if she’s still unbeaten in May?
So, for the next chapter in this amazing tale. 8.45pm Queensland time. Leave the footy for a bit, gather the kids and neighbours around Sky Channel, and watch the champ in action. It won’t take long. Then book your seat on one of the Brisbane buses. And start practicing how to throw your hat in the air. You might never get the chance again.
Posted by holdalltickets 
Hold All Tickets 
Words of wisdom from a 10 year old girl .. (and what the critics think..)
March 29, 2011“Daddy, what happens if people think your blog is stupid?”
Once again, my daughter had raised a valid question.
I attempted to come up with a reasoned and mature response. One that a proper author would use.
“Well darling, it’s important to remember that opinions are like bums. Everyone has one.”
Wrong answer. Ten year old girls don’t like hearing fathers talking about bums. Especially in vast numbers. She departed for i-pod therapy, leaving me pondering.
How would I react to negative comments? To those in cyberspace laughing at me, not with me?
The masters of my blog universe have been quick to point out that there was a high chance no-one would give my scribblings a sideways glance, especially in the first few months. Or years. But that didn’t matter, because I was having FUN. As long as I was enjoying the experience, numbers didn’t matter.
Well, nuts to that. If I want to be laughed at I’ll take my shirt off at the beach. Or start salsa dancing. In this blog caper one needs to be loved. And the best way to monitor such affection is through the blog comments section, that you’ve all so heartily embraced.
I thought it might be helpful if I highlighted a few of the more interesting remarks sent my way these past few weeks. And I’m not making any of this up in a cheap stunt to make the piece run longer.
A bloke named Bart from Flemington sent the following. “This is the best bit of racing writing since Banjo Paterson knocked up yarns on beer coasters when I was a lad. Keep up the good work. P.S .. I have something for the Cup this year. Will drop you a note in private.”
And this, from Gai in Sydney. “When it comes to race writing, style is everything. You have none, but I feel very sorry for your wife and daughters, so I will continue to read whatever it is you’re trying to do.”
Good positive feedback. However not everyone has been so kind.
Mr Murdoch from the USA sent the following. “This pile of crap you call writing makes my journalists all over the world look like modern day Shakespeares. You could be the sole reason newspapers survive another decade.”
Pat W, from a TAB somewhere near Mount Coot-tha in Brisbane, says, “You are giving racing journalists, commentators and presenters an ever worse name than they have now. Get back to your real job, if you actually have one.”
A woman who only identifies herself as JK, from a castle in England, says, “I’ve been searching for some far fetched make believe to help with a series of books I’m writing. Sadly, what you’re serving up here is beyond even the wildest of imaginations for teenagers who think flying wizards are normal.”
And finally, this, from blogging giants WordPress.Com. “This stuff stinks. Who let this bloke join our team?”
Actually I made that last one up. They would never say “stinks” on a family blog.
So there we have it. Nothing to worry about. Lots of love out there. Keep those comments coming. Positive, negative and indifferent. Except if you think I’m REALLY stupid. Just because your bum is THAT different, doesn’t mean I have to see it.