For Yours Truly, the Melbourne Cup has always been something that comes and goes with little fanfare. While ‘the race that stops the nation’ fills numerous workplaces with afternoon inebriation and the odd outlandish headpiece, it barely registers in my daily agenda of trivialities.
Every year I have to admit to various co-workers that I wouldn’t know how to place a bet, I listen with feigned concentration as someone explains the process at the TAB, I nod enthusiastically when someone offers me tips on the winning horse, I murmur sympathetically when someone sniffs piously about the race being a barbaric sport akin to animal torture and I hand over the obligatory sum required when someone (usually the same person with the funny headpiece and also not unlikely to be the one who ordered the booze and nibblies) has organised the sweepstake. It’s a bit of a pitiful affair, the entire sum barely enough to pay for the afternoon festivities, so every year I forgo some change to add to the pot and for the privilege of pulling out a random, curiously named horse from a hat (or this time, a photocopy-paper box).
Purple Moon
I was certain its owner was a hippy and by that, it would be a dud so I stuffed the slip of paper in my pocket and forgot about it. At 3pm, while the horses charged furiously to the finishing line and fortunes were lost and won, I was too busy belly-aching with my colleague to catch the live telecast of the 60 second (?) race.
Later on, I gathered that snacks were being served in the meeting room and hoped to sneak in unnoticed (as to leave and go home early unnoticed too). Much to my surprise I had won a whole $10 (not to be sneezed at) and stole away with a large piece of cheese as well.
I’m taking this small piece of luck as an omen for more good fortune to come.
Leave a Reply