Every first Tuesday of November,
For as long as we can remember -
One hundred fifty four years
(To be exact) -
We have this horse race
That stops the nation,
Such a commotion
Over 24 horses
Running over an interminable course!
Every contestant must qualify
By winning another “Cup”,
And every one of them is examined
Minutely from hocks to withers up;
As odds shorten and lengthen
And the odds-on favourite strengthens,
As excitement builds for the Melbourne Cup.
The fillies in the stands strut and simper,
Dressed in their very best dresses,
And wearing silly hats,
All the while with a whimper
As their heels sink in the grass,
All the while gritting their teeth in pain
For wearing summer clothes in the cold and rain,
All whilst holding a tiny glass
Of the obligatory bubbly champers.
In every office and factory,
Usually full of industry -
No one’s about, they’re all out,
All tools down to watch the race,
And drink a beer or cheap sparkling wine,
While the girls wear silly hats
And stand around and chat,
And pretend they’re actually there;
And tell each other they don't know nothing
About the race, they’ve never placed
A bet in their life - while the office boy
Spends the day running down the lane
To place absurd bets on the favourite
At the local totalisator - all part of the game!
And, usually the favourite wins,
And everyone shrugs and grins;
While my neighbour gives
A blow by blow description
Of his temporary gambling addiction.
But this year something different
Came to shake the firmament
Of our comfortable tradition:
An outsider took the lead
At a hundred to one on!
(The jockey a female - shock! horror!)
And won.
A women! jockey! riding in the Cup -
On a horse bought for nothing, too.
But she won, against the odds,
And this is what she said
In her impromptu victory speech:
To those who doubted her:
Get stuffed; because women can do anything
And we can beat the world!.
So I will always remember
this first Tuesday of November!
For as long as we can remember -
One hundred fifty four years
(To be exact) -
We have this horse race
That stops the nation,
Such a commotion
Over 24 horses
Running over an interminable course!
Every contestant must qualify
By winning another “Cup”,
And every one of them is examined
Minutely from hocks to withers up;
As odds shorten and lengthen
And the odds-on favourite strengthens,
As excitement builds for the Melbourne Cup.
The fillies in the stands strut and simper,
Dressed in their very best dresses,
And wearing silly hats,
All the while with a whimper
As their heels sink in the grass,
All the while gritting their teeth in pain
For wearing summer clothes in the cold and rain,
All whilst holding a tiny glass
Of the obligatory bubbly champers.
In every office and factory,
Usually full of industry -
No one’s about, they’re all out,
All tools down to watch the race,
And drink a beer or cheap sparkling wine,
While the girls wear silly hats
And stand around and chat,
And pretend they’re actually there;
And tell each other they don't know nothing
About the race, they’ve never placed
A bet in their life - while the office boy
Spends the day running down the lane
To place absurd bets on the favourite
At the local totalisator - all part of the game!
And, usually the favourite wins,
And everyone shrugs and grins;
While my neighbour gives
A blow by blow description
Of his temporary gambling addiction.
But this year something different
Came to shake the firmament
Of our comfortable tradition:
An outsider took the lead
At a hundred to one on!
(The jockey a female - shock! horror!)
And won.
A women! jockey! riding in the Cup -
On a horse bought for nothing, too.
But she won, against the odds,
And this is what she said
In her impromptu victory speech:
To those who doubted her:
Get stuffed; because women can do anything
And we can beat the world!.
So I will always remember
this first Tuesday of November!
5 November 2015
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