The Second Tuesday of November

There was this horse called Phar Lap.

Something to do with weighting, odds, and all that other crap that goes into horse races meant he was super famous. I guess he was fast, and won a lot of races. He was the (long) face of the Melbourne cup.

It killed him, of course. Maybe they pushed him too hard. Maybe, as some evidence suggests, he was poisoned.

Whatever the cause, his abnormally large heart gave out, right there on the track. They sent it to Canberra to put on display.

They skinned and stuffed the rest of him, too. I saw it on a trip to the museum in primary school. A BIG horse. With a boring plaque next to it.

His skeleton's over in New Zealand.

It’s history, y’know.

History that over a hundred horses die on racetracks every year.

History that thousands people gamble their lives away by betting all they have, or more, on the track.

But hey, it’s a holiday. A day off. It’s an excuse to wear a fancy hat.

And we’ve gotta keep them traditions going.





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