This is not a rant, not even a moan, more a reflection on the times. And the times they are a changing. On entering the racecourse a pretty young lass thrust upon me a package containing two condoms! Imagine this happening to me 50 years ago. I would have thought all my Christmases had come at once. But what use now? Closer inspection reveals it is a promotion for a corporate bookmaker. Ah, the corporates, they are taking over the punting world. The bookies ring at Caulfield is no more, and I was horrified to see that the tote board is gone now too. Just a huge advertisement for a car. Everything is for the young. Who cares about odds when there’s beer and champagne? The big screen is a miserable replacement that can’t even display half the field!

I went and talked to my old mate Kevin, the gate keeper. Kevin has backed Fawkner in the Cup at 33/1 a few weeks back. He’s in charge of the roller door. Apparently, the drunks are deposited in the spew tent and then ejected from the course through Kevin’s door. I checked at 3 pm and three bodies had already passed through the door, one on the way to hospital. Kevin said to come back at 5 and there will be a heap more. Security ejects them, Kevin just opens the door.

I did look at the horses. In the mares race the favourite Star Fashion was resisting all attempts to get her into the parade ring. The horse was playing up out the back and refusing to go forwards. No wonder she needs a stallion chain. I tried to lay the horse on Betfair but got that revolving sun symbol. Corporate bookies and new technology is fine, but not much use when you can’t even get set. I noticed two interesting strappers, a contrast in style. The first was Galadriel, the royal elf from Lord of the Rings, the Lady of Lorien. She glided by. The second was plaiting a mane but had a height problem, but easily solved with a bucket!

In the Cup my final six in order were Fawkner, Dandino, Royal Descent, Jet Away, Silent Achiever, and Glencadam Gold. I backed Fawkner for a place and boxed the six in a trifecta. Fawkner streeted them. I shoulda taken Dear Demi instead of Glencadam Gold in the tri. Damn! I rushed back to shake Kevin’s hand. 33/1 no less! But he had gone. I wonder what the final drunk count was? Those that could still stand upright were hanging around for The Living End concert. That’s racing today – condoms, corporates, champagne, concerts. I feel like a dinosaur. A relic from the past.

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