I carry my childhood around in my head. And a part of it was lost today. Fess Parker, otherwise known as Davy Crockett, has died at 85. Oh, how we loved him. His good looks and slow talkin’ drawl. Why did he have to be killed at the Alamo? And what was Jim Bowie doing there with his big knife? All I wanted for Christmas in 1955 was a coonskin cap. Thank goodness Santa was listening. That’s me on the right. But of course they weren’t raccoons, but good old Aussie rabbits and fox tails.
And that song:
Born on a mountain top in Tennessee,
The greenest state in the land of the free,
Raised in the woods so he knew every tree,
Killed himself a b’ar when he was only three,
Davy, Daveeee Crockett, king of the wild frontier.
It’s still using up space in my brain. And I thought all my brain space had been taken up by racehorses.
And so I mope off to Caulfield. I perk up straight away with the first race, a two-year-old with seven runners. I cross out five to be left with Eclair Mystic and Domesky. I have written down nothing about Eclair Mystic. A clean sheet. And Domesky is good, although pawing out the back and circling in the yard. I back the Eclair for a place and they run the quinella. A good start.
Race four for mares and again only two chances. Solchow, who looks a certainty to run a place and Elumino, a cleanskin with no faults and head in towards the strapper. Solchow is showing $1.40 for the place, well below my $1.75 limit, and so I back the other at $2.10. They run the quinella.
Come the last I’m keen for a bet, seeing as though it’s a mares race and I’m up. I settle on Return to Sender until she does an almighty sloppy dump right under my nose. So I settle on Symphony Miss and then she shows extreme resistance to the jockey on the track. So I settle for two out of two.
On the train home it’s still going around in my brain. Davy, Daveeee Crockett, king of the wild frontier.