So, I reckon that a careful count should be made over the course of any horse race of just how often a jockey uses his whip. And at the end of the race, if he used his whip a dozen times, then he gets whipped a dozen times. Or better yet, gets kicked by a horse a dozen times. Seems fair to me. I mean seriously - if no one uses a whip, where's the bother?
And it was pointed out to me last night that the Melbourne Cup offers an exception to our normal "tall poppy" syndrome, whereby we (Australians) want the best and brightest to crash and burn. Not so with horses, it seems. When the great Makybe Diva won three Cups on the trot (snigger), there wasn't a person in the country who wanted her to lose. Why? It's simple. Horses can't get uppity. Success never goes to their heads.
This lends credence to my long-held belief that our Head of State should be a marsupial, and confirms for me that, given the average American's belief in America seems to exist entirely sans context, then it's fair to deduce that the average American is intellectually on par with a horse. At best.
Lastly, I think jockeys are a bit silly. If you own a horse, you should be the one who has to ride it home. Now honestly, who wouldn't love to see Bart Cummings trying to stave off pneumonia, a bad hip and eyebrow-related wind resistance in a quest for cup number thirteen? And unless syndicate ownership is given the flick, winner of the 2011 Cup will likely be a Clydesdale.
They say it's the race that stops a nation. Perhaps it does. And for all its faults, there are worse things for us all to be doing for a few minutes. Not heaps of things, but enough to be going on with...
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