omg two entries in less than a week

Today in Australia is the day of champions. The race that stops a nation. All the country's papers are full of insightful articles, hot tips, and THIS HORSE has apparently already triumphed over adversity before the big race has even started. There hasn't been such intense media scrutiny in this country since "Our Princess Mary" gave birth to a small child in Denmark (remember that?).

The racetrack has been trampled by scores of reporters from breakfast news shows, hungry in their collective quest to profile the wackiest Melbourne Cup supporter, the most exquisite fascinator, the most daring dress, and the most Australian of all Australian race fans on this most Australian of days.

And fuck me if all I can muster up in response to this splendour is a resounding "pshaw."

That's right.

I say "pshaw" to you, Melbourne Cup.

"Pshaw" to you and your horses, your overpriced alcohol, your muddy ground, your horde of swizzle stick-thin tanorexics and their dates for the day, most of whom look like gorillas with mullets, squeezed into tailormade suits. "Pshaw" to you for letting thousands of stupid (but otherwise innocent) Australians piss away their money at the bookies.

Last year, I had the fortune to be working for V.A. on the day of the Cup, and so was oblivious to the events of the day. The emotionally fragile have no need for horse races. The bus on the way home, however, was chockers with pissed teenage girls in undersized dresses, fascinators askew, impractical pointy shoes in one hand and a Bacardi Breezer in the other. The bus driver was frothing at the mouth because all of them paid their $1.30 fare with a $20 note (at least), and that didn't even include the cleaning fee for the removal of sticky alcoholic beverages and traces of vomit from the floor. Meanwhile, their aforementioned himbo "dates" stood in everyone else's way up the front of the bus, swinging wildly backwards and forwards as they discussed the finer points of having a discreet spew when all the Port-a-loos are already occupied by people spewing. How lovely.

This afternoon, allowances have been made. Our lecture will be put on hold as we all watch the "thrilling" conclusion to a few laps around an oval on horseback. Victorians actually get the day off , and more power to them for fooling their government officials into thinking that this horse race amounts to anything more than glorifying this country's inordinate idolatry of "sport" (at the expense of almost everything else before it) and the fine Aussie tradition of getting pissed on a school day. Hoorah, indeed.

A sweep has been organised by a classmate, and I've been required to give up two of my hard-earned dollars to draw a random horse out of a hat just before the race starts. I'll bet I end up with the three-legged one, but I'll keep you posted.

It should be noted that, like comicstriphero, my disdain for horse-racing will disappear if I actually draw the winner this afternoon. Yeah, I'm fickle. Deal with it.