My mate Barry asked me how I was feeling, which is a dangerous thing to do. I told him that I was feeling a bit off because the track is off. And besides, everyone reckons I am sick with a cold, but I just think it’s hay fever. To be on the safe side I went and had my flu and pneumonia injections and now my arm is really sore, but nobody will give me any sympathy. Barry said that you can find sympathy in the dictionary, between “shit” and “syphilis”. I haven’t laughed so much in yonks.
We are descending into winter. There was 12 millimetres of rain in my rain gauge so the track was obviously going to be off. It was raining so much that I couldn’t even open my racebook for the first race, the two-year-olds. Green Roller was a standout in the second so I broke all my rules about wet tracks and went for it and was rewarded with a good third at $2.20. Time to shut up shop. I don’t bet in the wet. The track was immediately downgraded to a Slow 7.
I wandered around listlessly for the rest of the day moaning about the weather and my arm and decided to go home early. But then, you never know when an opportunity may arise, so I had a brief squiz at the last. Another standout, the grey ghost Specter! The horse loomed up to win at the 200, and then suddenly realised that the track was a Slow 7 and that it couldn’t pick up its feet. The horse faded to a weak fourth. I nearly doubled my money, but I know I shouldn’t bet in the wet. Maybe I’ll find some sympathy at home.