My time with Big Jack.

When  J K Waterhouse died back in 1998 the Sydney betting ring lost a giant. Although his later years on the stand were more modest than the halcyon days of the 60's and 70's when he was one of the biggest bookmakers in the world, he still had a booming presence. He worked that stand in the Interstate Ring, sitting on a big swivel chair dressed immaculately in a 3 piece suit, jacket on no matter what the temperature right up until his death, a day that struck me personally as he was my boss at the time. A boss I was proud to have. A boss who changed my life for the better even though I couldn't see it at the time.

Before my first day working as a Bookies Clerk with Jack Waterhouse, I was warned by one of the senior clerks, Frank Norton, that Jack could be a cantankerous, cranky, even nasty character, but not to take any abuse personally as he was really a lovely gentleman once the races are over. Jack runs the book on the Brisbane races and John runs the odds for Melbourne and Adelaide. I was to work the ticket computer for Brisbane, working directly with the boss. Well I discovered early on he was a Jekyll and Hyde type of character. One minute he’d be talking to me about the beauty of Budgerigars, and what breed of chicken makes the best layers, the next he was poking me in the back screaming that I was no good, and would never make a decent clerk! After copping another torrent of abuse from him one day at Rosehill I recall one of the bagmen urged me to "tell him to go jump"(in more colourful terms!), but I thought, this man has been working as a Bookmaker on course for 57 years, who am I to talk back to him? So I learnt to take the abuse quietly and keep working as hard as I could, keeping my head down and avoiding eye contact with the old bloke. I travelled from Newcastle to Sydney, the furthest distance of any staff (by about 150 kms!), I was first there to set up the stand, and last to leave packing it up. Yet despite the hard work and time I put in, the abuse from Jack became so overwhelming that his son John moved me from the ticket computer to the bag on the other side of the stand, allowing me some respite.

Well I thrived on the bag. Standing on that box yelling out “Board Odds here” made me feel like a Satchel Swinger of old. Unfortunately though Jack stopped talking to me altogether. For 6 months the only time he spoke to me was to occasionally berate me for being useless. At that point I thought of giving up and finding another job, but in the end I thought to myself this bastard isn’t going to beat me, I’ll convince him I’m the goods…'Last man standing wins the prize' is the best advice my Uncle had given me, hang in there and He'll eventually like me!

 Then one day out of the blue he called me over in that huge booming voice of his. My heart started racing as I approached him, convinced I was about to be fired. Instead he told me he had been watching me and that I was doing a great job. He told me I was one of the best clerks he’d had in 20 years and that he trained me well.  I thought for sure I was going to get my marching orders so to hear kind words from him was such a huge relief and totally unexpected. I have to agree he did train me well. The next few months were much more relaxed and fun after that moment of praise. My memories of the 1997 Spring Carnival in Melbourne will last forever. With my Uncle's horses winning some big races at Flemington, I won plenty of cash backing them with the neighbouring bookies, and so to did John and a couple of the other fellows who worked with us. I would laugh and smile all day while I swung the bag in the Interstate ring. I remember at the Christmas Eve meeting at Randwick I wore a Santa hat with fake beard. Jack told me I looked stupid all day until the last couple of races when every drunk in the joint wanted to have a bet with Santa!! I had punters lined up 4 deep trying to get on while all the other bagmen down the line stood idle. Our turnover skyrocketed and the old man couldn't praise me enough!! I couldn't wait until Saturday to drive down the F3 and get to the track, whether it be Randwick, Rosehill or Warwick Farm. The good times rolled, between my Saturday job at the races and my job driving for an escort agency my lifestyle was pretty sweet…..

When I was told by his Grandson Matt the old man had died my world came crashing down. Not only had my main source of income suddenly stopped, but a man I had grown to admire and love, and who was a massive influence in my life at that time was gone, and I knew I would miss those times listening to his stories of the past. Not only from him but from the other characters I was in close contact with as there was no going back to the track. He was the Bookmaker, and the licence went with him.  He died on his farm at Silverdale, west of Sydney while feeding his beloved chickens. He lived for his animals and birds, and most of the conversations I had with him were about his birds or horses.  At his funeral, which was attended by well over 500 people, his wife Gwen told me how “Pa used to talk about you all the time”. It was a humbling moment for me. During my time working for Jack I got to meet and mingle with some absolutely legendary characters of the Australian turf. I saw some of the biggest punters and how they operate. I got to meet wonderful people like Father O’Dwyer, the punting Catholic priest warned off all racecourses for life over the Fine Cotton ring-in scandal, and Coral, our runner who was in her 70’s, smoked like a chimney, wore joggers and could run from the Rails to the Ring to warn us of betting moves faster than any of the younger runners. Coral knew every piece of gossip in town.(She was the first person on the racecourse to break the news  of Michael Hutchence death) I was told tales of Coral sitting out the front of trainers houses, hiding in the bushes with listening devices to get all the mail on their horses. Then there was old George, who was a Bondi Iceberg member and former lifeguard who could roll a ciggie in one hand. He was the King of the ledger, with the fastest maths I've ever seen for a man in his late 60's, and Frank, who was a true Eastern Suburbs boy and had played reserves for the mighty Roosters in the 50's. 

I will never forget the lessons learnt and the fun that was had during my time at the track, where all men are equal in the betting ring. Down-and-outers' mingled with well-to-doers, all in the pursuit of that illusive tip that will change their lives forever, or at least until next Saturday! I went on to spend the next several years working in the racing industry, taking me around Australia and to Hong Kong and even Vanuatu to work in a betting shop taking bets over the phone for an illegal bookie, yet working for a man who was a true legend and “Leviathan” of the turf was one of the proudest moments in my life and I am thankful to still have a good relationship with his son John to this day, having worked for him for many years during the construction of the Grand Mercure hotel in Newcastle. 

The atmosphere in the betting ring will never be the same again. Corporate Bookmakers with pretty girls in miniskirts working as clerks may sound appealing but is not the same as seeing giants of men in expensive suits, larger than life working the stand and yelling out the odds while rough-heads like me swinging the bag, another penciling the odds onto a piece of cardboard, yelling the bets to the boss as the ring buzzed with the roar of voices from the hundreds of punters desperate to get on.  I can’t possibly see these little ‘Poppet Clerks’ handle 10 or more punters screaming their bets at once, with every bet recorded and nobody missing out. Then again these days nearly everyone bets at home. Those at the track now are there for the party and the champers more than the horses. Princesses Welcome!

They were grand old days, I count myself very fortunate to have been a part of it all…..

Whatever happened to Saturday night????

When I was a child growing up in the 1970’s, Speedway was my every Saturday night fare. With my father racing sedans, if we weren’t at Jerilderie Park (later renamed Newcastle Motordrome) on a Saturday night during the warmer months, we were travelling to races at Lismore, Toowoomba, Goulburn and the like. It was a great way to spend a Saturday night and we weren’t the only family out there every week, battling with the moths, mozzies, methanol fumes and dust. Speedway was the sport of the common man, and everyone knows the common man loves cars and car racing.  For a family night out it was great value. Dads, Mums, kids, a blanket and an esky. Everyone could cheer their favourite driver or car. The kids could run around and play with other kids they’d just met. Dads could drink the contents of the esky and at the end of the night Mums could drive them all home (after spending a good half an hour or so snaking out of the venue in gridlock traffic past the Ponderosa and back over Hexham Bridge to freedom).

Sadly move forward to 2011 and Speedway in NSW, and the Hunter region particularly is as good as dead. Two classic examples of this are as follows; A few weeks ago only 13 Late Model sedans turned out at Sydney Speedway and on the following weekend only 18 cars competed in the NSW Super Sedan Titles, also at Sydney Speedway. Even more disturbing is only half of those competitors were from NSW.  I can recall a time when the NSW titles were only open to drivers from NSW and 40 or more cars at least would enter.

So what happened to Speedway??  Of course there are a number of reasons why the sport is no longer as popular as in its heydays of the 70’s. I have a theory that a lot of the problems in the sport, particularly sedan racing, can be traced back to one point in time. Here’s my opinion.

Minis, Toranas and other old Holdens bought the crowds to their feet in the 70's

In the 1980 Speedway season USA drivers Charlie Swartz, Rodney Combs, Don Tilford and Jimmy Hopkinson toured Australia in their Howe Camaros. While the Americans had been coming out for several years with Gene Welch’s touring teams, those teams had always brought out standard cars modified into race cars. The Howe Camaros on the other hand, were purpose built race car chassis, and after this tour these Camaros started to flood into Australia to the point of saturation. While I believe purpose built race chassis like Gambler were good for the Sprintcar division, I feel they did immeasurable damage to the sedan divisions. Production line race cars that anyone with the money to spend could buy, pop in an engine and go racing sounded great. But slowly these cars took over, and the days of guys barring-out an old Torana, Falcon or Mini were disappearing. The local identity was slowly dying out as these beastly big American cars took over from the cars the people on the hill actually drove. Blokes like Stu Robertson drove a Supercharged Datsun. So every person on the hill who had a Datsun would cheer for Stuey. Those who drove Holdens booed him for driving ‘Jap crap’. Did he have as big a fan base when he started racing a Corvette? The Holden drivers cheered the Torana’s, the Mini’s were cheered by everyone who loves an underdog and the Yanks in their big Chevys or Oldsmobiles were booed, as were any Aussie who drove a Yank car!

Charlie Swartz in the USA 1 Howe Camaro. He and Rodney Combs were hard to beat  all over Australia.

Don’t get me wrong, the American cars looked great for a while but they slowly evolved into the ‘Late Models’,  huge wedged shaped powerhouses that were so big it was difficult to pass anyone in front of you. Suddenly all identity was gone. Even the Hot Rod division went from being an eclectic mix of all sorts of chopped up old cars, to what effectively looked like garden sheds with wheels. Overall they were ugly and bland and totally lacking soul. Sure there were exceptions, like Gene Cook’s magnificent Bullet Racer, and Barry Graham and Paul O’Neill and the like had outstanding looking cars, particularly on the asphalt at Liverpool. But on the dirt and clay it was fairly mundane single file racing. They were built for ½ mile tracks in the USA, not ¼ mile tracks in Australia. With production line chassis and parts, you then need a powerful engine to be competitive, and Chev engines and the like are not made in Australia. So costs involved to race competitively began to skyrocket, and it wasn’t the only cost going up, with prices at the gate also creeping up. Suddenly it was a costly night to take the family to the Speedway, particularly when the cars out on the track no longer represented the common man, interest started to wane. Gradually you ended up with just the true racing diehards, plus competitor’s family and friends.

Tasmanian Gene Cook's Bullet was a great looking machine, but what exactly was it?

Then when the Motordrome closed down it had a dramatic effect, particularly with the remaining fans. There is really little incentive to pack up the family and make the long haul down to Sydney, especially with kids, for a few hours watching the same handful of cars driving around. It makes for a long and costly night with the added danger of driving home, tired along that lonely Freeway making it hardly worth the effort. 

So how does Speedway fix this mess?? Personally I can't see a fix. While there are a lot of people out there who want to see a Speedway in the local region again, the logistics involved with finding the right location and setting up a track, taking out costly insurance policies plus hiring staff, marketing and sponsorship, I find it hard to see Speedway racing for 4 wheel divisions ever becoming reality in Newcastle again. There are still tracks out there in other parts of NSW holding meetings, but with a lack of competitors these day clubs need to look at running divisions affordable and entertaining. If you look into the past you can see the future. Go back to the 70’s, when you had divisions affordable to everyone. Go back to running Commodores and Falcons and the like, cars driven on the road. Make meetings affordable and maybe the people will come back. Maybe it’s all too late. But the way things are now I can’t see how you can attract new blood to the sport when it costs tens of thousands to get to the track to race for prizemoney they raced for 30 years ago. 

Maybe it’s not going to be this simple, and I could be totally off track with this, but if you take the sport back to the common man just maybe the common man will come back to the sport….

There is an 'I' in Team.....

As I write this today, I do so with a heavy heart. Why, you may ask?? Well I'm a sports fan and I follow sporting teams, and anyone who follows and supports a sporting team knows the giddy highs and terrifying lows associated with being a fan. So after spending all week hyping myself up for the Newcastle Jets clash with Brisbane Roar, watching them lead then ultimately lose, then going home and staying up all night to watch my English team Derby County also lose at home, I'm feeling bluer than BB King.

What I find hard to understand is why am I such a rabid, hard core fan, devoted to the cause of my chosen team with heart, soul, mind and wallet, yet others have virtually no interest in following a team or sport in general?? What exactly was it that triggered this disposition I have had all my life.

When I cast my mind back as far as I can, I have always supported football teams. Those who know me well know of my undying love for the Eastern Suburbs Roosters(yes they will always be Easts to me) going back to early school years. I have tried to pinpoint the reason why and have come up with 3 possible reasons; At an age I was discovering Rugby League, Easts were the current premiers. The first player I can remember is Russell Fairfax, who I was mesmerised by, and my fathers race car was the same colours as Easts, Red, White and Blue. A possible 4th reason was I loved the Uncle Sam deodorant ads on TV, and they were awash with Red, White and Blue. My parents had no interest in Rugby League but they did compete in individual sports.

The earliest game I remember caring about was the 1976 Preliminary Final between Easts and Canterbury, which the then 'Berries' won, ending Easts season. At the time it was about a month before my 7th birthday. I remember being really upset and crying when they lost. So if my earliest memory is of defeat, and the pain that goes with it, why then have I spent the last 35 years, the majority of which have been more pain than joy, devoting my time and energy to such a ridiculous pursuit??

Though when I think of that roller coaster of emotions being a fan has presented me throughout my life, I can't help but wonder about those people who don't support a team. What moves these people? What lights the fire in their hearts? Do they live with the constant swings in emotion like sports fans? What replaces that nervous anticipation that sports fans feel as the weekend approaches? What do you look forward to on the weekend if there is no sport? Having a picnic in the park? Reading books about war? Shopping? I don't know.

I feel genuine sadness and pity for these people, do they feel sadness and pity towards me??

Personally I couldn't imagine a life without being a fan, even though as I think back it's the losses,hurt and sadness I seem to remember the most. Then again, without sadness we wouldn't really appreciate what happiness is. The feelings of happiness during the good times totally outweigh the feelings of sadness through the bad times. Supporting a team can also fill you with anger and resentment. When things are going bad for the team it's my right to criticise them to the hilt, but I'll defend them even more vigorously if you criticise them. And after a lifetime of wearing my heart on my sleeve I get quite upset when I see others with less or no passion basking in undeserved glory. For example, I recall watching the 1997 Grand Final between Newcastle and Manly at a mates house. The group of people I was with were not fans, and their only interest was that a team from Newcastle was playing. As Darren Albert crossed in the dying stages to secure the win for the Knights, I along with everybody else leapt in the air to cheer. It was then as I sat back down and watched my friends continue to celebrate I became really upset. None of these people were fans, they didn't follow the team yet here they were celebrating while the only fan in the place sat there disconsolate, as I was the only one who deserved that celebration. Did they care the next day? I doubt it very much. It took 5 more years before I finally got to experience that joy when Easts won in 2002.(Greatest night of my life, I didn't come home for 2 days!!)

So if punishing myself every Winter wasn't enough, with the introduction of the A League in 2005/6 my support of local Football teams went from casual to extreme and I now live these emotions 52 weeks a year. I had always been a passionate Derby County fan in the English leagues, even though they have supplied me with more angst than joy, and as far as the Jets go, well I have travelled to China and Korea to support them and last year I was at every home game despite living on the Sunshine Coast at the time. The only home games I have missed in the clubs existence is one game when Steely Dan were playing at the vineyards, and one game whilst I was on holidays in America. Even though looking at the Jets record they have lost more games than they have won, they did win a Premiership, and that is what makes being a fan worthwhile, and worth continuing with.

I know people think I'm absolutely nuts following an average Football team around the country, but I wouldn't have it any other way.....For I am part of the team.

Newcastle Motordrome 35th Anniversary November 2011

The 13^th November 2011 will mark the 35^th anniversary of the first meeting to be held under the Newcastle Motordrome promotion and name, after running in its earlier years as Jerilderie Park Speedway. Let’s take a look back at some of those early meetings  from the 1976/77 season.

November of 1976 saw big changes to the Tomago circuit known as Jerilderie Park Speedway. Previously promoted by local motorcycle identity Alan Craig, the promotion was taken over by Peter Gurbriel, who had been the highly successful operator of Tralee Raceway, Canberra. Peter and his wife Hettie made many changes straight away, including the construction of the landmark control Tower at the back of the Grandstand in the main straight. From here officials had a bird’s eye view of the racing action, and lap timer Ron Hawkins was able to control the new state of the art Electronic Timer which had been installed in the back straight. These new editions, plus with upgraded facilities for patrons made the Newcastle International Motordrome one of the most modern, and best speedways in the world.

The first night for the new promotion was November 13, 1976. In the sedan division Paul McKew, who had recently been racing under Heddon Greta club banner, was dominant early with victories in both the Stars Dash and the Semi Main, but it was Uralla visitor Adrian Anderson, then current NSW Champion in a Crystler Centura who took out the feature from under the nose of McKew in his Davids Mini Clubman, who held on for second. Other meetings to follow included an appearance by Gene Welch in a ’77 Camaro as a precursor to the upcoming test series between the locals and the visiting Americans.  Welch claimed the 1 lap track record during the night. Also a teams matchrace between Newcastle and Sydney was held with Sydney coming out on top. Visiting Sydneysider John Nagle won the feature.

The first major meeting conducted that season was the 1976 Coca Cola Classic 50 lap feature for the Production Sedans, held on the 18^th December. The race was also taken out by Adrian Anderson, who always proved difficult to beat at the Tomago track, beating home local drivers Stu Robertson in the Datsun and John Hartcher in a Mini Clubman in third. Adrian Anderson went on to be one of the most successful drivers ever seen at the Motordrome, along with Queenslander Alan Butcher they became two of the winningest visiting drivers to ever race there, and went on to fight out a controversial Australian Title there in 1981.

The next major meeting to be held at the Motordrome that first season was Round 1 of the Fireball Derby for Production Sedans, with Round 2 to be held the following week and the winner determined from a pointscore. In that first round held on January 8, 1977, Brian Burrell in the iconic silver Mini Clubman was first across the line in the 25 lap feature. This meeting marked the first time Burrell had raced the silver bullet, after purchasing it that day from local Hillclimb legend John Brooks. In fact Brian raced the car that night with the number 82. The only time in his illustrious career in both Sedans and TQ’s that he raced with any number other than 18 or 1.

Round 2 the following Saturday saw then up and coming B grade driver Don McKewen in an A9X Torana tying on points in the series with Brian Burrell and therefore sharing the series.  Lindsay Smith was the winner of the feature. On the night McKewen was awarded the trophy at the presentation, but to the drivers and spectators surprise, officials produced a second trophy held in anticipation of a tied series. McKewen quickly rose to A grade status and the following season was representing Newcastle against the visiting Americans before going on to establish a very successful career in speedway. 

1977 Fireball Derby co winners Brian Burrell(left) Bob Christie and Don McKewen(right)

Speaking of visiting Americans, the next meeting up at the Motordrome on the 21^st January 1977 was the first test between the no hanky panky Yankees, always one of the most popular meetings of the year. That first test saw the Americans, represented by Gene Welch, Big Ed Wilbur, Mike Andretta and Johnny Pearson take on the Motordrome team, led by Queensland champion driver Alan Butcher in his big yellow Camaro, and local heroes Brian Burrell and Paul McKew in their Mini Clubmans and Ralph Ranger in the Monaro. The Yankee team proved to be too good for the Aussies, prevailing 42 to 36. The A grade feature for the sedans was taken out by Alan Butcher with Paul McKew second and Brian Burrell third. The Minis proving more than a match for the much bigger American cars, every speedway around the nation at the time had at least 1 or 2 champion Mini drivers. The yanks hated them, they couldn’t understand how these tiny little cars could even get near them, let alone beat them. It even got to the point of extreme frustration for Johnny Pearson that he ran over and punched Brian Burrell in the helmet after taking offense at being beaten again!

USA Superstar Mike Anretta broke many records at the Motordrome

The big meetings kept coming for the sedans with the 50 lap Wynns Enduro rounding out January. The big race and the $1000 winners cheque was taken by Stu Robertson in the ever reliable and competitive Datsun number 20. Young gun John Pyne was second in an XU1 Torana and Ralph Ranger in the big Monaro #69 was third with Don McKewen in the A9X fourth. The real story of the race was the incredible efforts by Brian Burrell in the silver Mini. After starting 20^th on the grid he quickly moved through the field to hit the front. Then with 2.5 laps to go he suffered a rear puncture. Continuing to circle the field he eventually held on for 5^th with only 3 tyres remaining. The following season the Wynns Enduro was lifted to 100 laps and Burrell went on to win on a very wet night. He finished 2^nd to Adrian Anderson the next year as well, making it a very good race for the Mini driver.

During February of 1977 the action continued to heat up! After a couple of weeks of the solos and other divisions featuring while the sedans were racing in Goulburn, they were back in full swing on the 18^th Feb with the 2^nd test between the Motrdrome and the Gene Welch led USA side. Both teams were unchanged from the 1^st test, the only difference this time being that the locals were able to get on top this time, winning 45 to 34. Again, the feature race was taken out by Alan Butcher, something he made a habit of doing for several years whenever visiting our circuit.

March 1977 was another busy month at the Motordrome with the 50 lap Champion of Champions meeting for the Sedans being held on the 12^th. This race attracted a host of drivers from around the East coast with the feature being taken out by Brian Norman of Canberra in a Monza. Brian Burrell in the Mini was second and crowd favourite Alan Butcher was 3^rd. The following week saw the final test between the visiting Americans and the locals. The same teams lined up as in the previous 2 tests, but with the Americans at the end of their arduous Australian tour, wear and tear told and the Australians dominated the ailing American cars, winning 51 to 28. As with the previous 2 test meetings, Alan Butcher took out the feature easily.

Two big meetings featured in April 1977, starting with the 50 lap Lion Grand Classic, a lead up to the big 100 lap Easter meeting to be held the following week. In the Lions feature race nobody was surprised to see Alan Butcher’s big yellow beast great the chequered flag first, with Lismore’s Grenville Anderson second in his XU1 Torana and local Brian Burrell third. Regular visitor John Cartwright from Wollongong was 4^th and Heddon Greta legend Charlie McGarva 5^th in the Cortina.

1977 Lions Club Winner Alan Butcher(centre) with Brian Burrell and Grenville Anderson

Then on April 9 came the flagship meeting of the year. The 100 lap Easter Grand Prix, with a pitstop scheduled at the 50 lap mark. Attracting the top drivers from throughout the land, it offered $10,000 in prizemoney, then Australia’s richest dirt track race. At the end of the 100 laps Brisbane’s Alan Butcher was the winner, capping off a stellar season for the likeable Northerner. Paul McKew finished second in the Mini with Wollongong’s Terry Osmond in a Torana third.

A few more meetings were held until the end of the season in May. Then the 1977 NBN Winternationals began, day time racing on a Sunday that proved to be not overly successful and was abandoned soon after.

It's just not cricket(any more).

There was a time when I was young that I wouldn't miss a ball of the Summer of Cricket. Once Rugby League was over for the year, all thought turned to cricket. Every year I would mange to pull a sickie on the day of the first one day international of the season and miraculously return to good health in time for the first ball. I'd spend hours in front of the box transfixed with all the action, even if there wasn't any! My friends and I would play matches in the back yard during the lunch break, and play Freddie Truman's test match on the dining room table during the game. We would keep records of our games we took it so seriously.

We, Australians that is, loved the Windies. Despite the thrashing they would serve us 8 out of 10 games, we loved them because they were carefree, exotic and very, very cool. Growing up in the World Series Cricket era we were fortunate to see them almost every year. Kerry Packer knew who rated and it was the West Indies. They were arrogant, humble, had players with unique names and were the best cricketers in the world.

But in recent times something has changed. Cricket just doesn't seem relevant anymore. I sit and watch the current test against South Africa and I just can't find the enthusiasm I once had. A lot of it has to do with the generation gap.Back in the 70's and 80's the players were men, and I was a boy. Now in my mind the situation has reversed and I don't see the players as men anymore. Is that just me or does that come with aging?? Looking back at the players of the World Series Cricket era, they were real blokes, knockabout blokes with big moustaches like Dennis Lillee, Rod Marsh and Ian Chappell. They drank and smoked, sweated and swore. They got into confrontations on the pitch with Viv Richards, Joel Garner and Andy Roberts, and on reflection, has there ever been a more manly man than Viv Richards??

For me the end of my love for the game started unraveling during the Steve Waugh era. After watching Australia for the most part, get spanked for the majority of the 80's the domination we all desired turned out to be rather dull after a while. It was like shooting fish in a barrel, watching Australia decimate every opponent, totally humiliating them time and again. Although I don't blame Steve Waugh's unrelenting captaincy for my waning interest in the gentleman's game. The fun was beginning to disappear from the game well before Australia's dominance commenced. A power shift in the game saw the Sub-Continent countries starting to wrestle control from England and Australia. The Windies were on the decline for varying domestic reasons, and the popularity of the game was increasing in India, where it had always been the major sport, and Sri Lanka, due mainly to the Sri Lankans cavalier win in the 1996 World Cup.

The days of players speaking their minds was coming to an end. Australia became so good at sledging that suddenly they were perceived as bullies and were being censured for it. 'What happens on the field stays on the field' was now a thing of the past, and allegations of racism were becoming more prevalent. On the home front a day at the cricket had suddenly lost its charm. Expensive tickets and tight fisted security ruined everything. When spending a day sitting in the sun  watching a game that can, lets face it, be boring at times you need to find ways to keep entertained, and everything that was fun was cracked down upon.

Then the powerbrokers of the game started changing the rules to allow bowlers from certain countries to stay in the game when they clearly were not bowling. At this point in my opinion the game had lost all credibility. Add to this the filthy stench of match fixing, which is still going on today more than 10 years after Hansie Cronje and Mohammed Azzuradin were thrown out of the game and you have more than enough reasons to walk away and find another way to spend the Summer. Now whenever there is an upset result the allegation of match fixing invariably comes up straight away, and there is a very good chance it has been fixed.

So these days it is just another sport to me, no longer holding the importance it once had. The players are no longer heroes, they are professional paid athletes, and well paid at that. We never knew how much Lillee, Chappell and co were paid. Now we read the paper and see the players talking about 'Intellectual Property' and being paid appearance fees on top of their fat Cricket Australia contracts and I just can't relate to them anymore. Now they are forgoing playing test cricket to pick up hundreds of thousands of dollars to play 20 over cricket in India. Good luck to them if they can earn huge coin, it just no longer entertains me.

So to highlight where I believe cricket is in Australia these days compared to where it was. The captain of the Australian Cricket team, a position once revered as second only to the Prime Minister in importance, is discussed more in Womens Magazines and gossip columns than he is in the Sports pages. Could you imagine that happening with Ian or Greg Chappell???

I Need Uncle Sam...

I love America….I’m not ashamed to say it…For as long as I can remember I have been consumed with all things American, and as a child of 70’s TV there is really no surprise.

As much as I respected and enjoyed the comedy stylings of your Benny Hill’s, your Dick Emery’s and even your Morcombe & Wise’s, who could really resist everything cool that was coming from across the Pacific.

How could you not have loved the Fonz and the Happy Days gang, even if they were a little like The Archies! Happy Days and its subsequent spin-offs, Laverne & Shirley and Mork & Mindy kept us amused and entertained right through the late 70’s. The night Fonzie jumped the barrels in the carpark at Arnold's on the Fearless Fonzarelli episode in 1976 will live in my memory forever…. Then there were the crazy medicos from MASH… Who among us wasn't transfixed by the lives of Hawkeye, Hot Lips and Frank Burns?? TV commercials screamed out to me, ‘You need Uncle Sam, you need Uncle Sam, let’s get together with the stars and striped can….’ I had Uncle Sam toothpaste, deodorant, shampoo, I was devastated I couldn’t use the aftershave!!

I was learning what’s not cool from The Brady Bunch, and yes Marcia was the ultimate 70’s babe. But then I discovered the buxom Loni  Anderson behind the desk at WKRP In Cincinnati, she was in a different league, she was Burt Reynolds missus and he was the Bandit!! Outwitting those damn Smokies in the coolest car in the world.  All my friends and I were at Frontline hobbies buying scale models of the Bandits Trans Am.

Evel Knievel was at his peak and on my TV all the time, I had all the toys and loved the big old Red, White and Blue #1 on his bike and leathers. KISS WAS music, nothing else mattered in 1977, and they were everything that epitomised America. KISS meets the Phantom is still the best worst movie of all time!! Sure Kenny Everett was silly and amusing while flying the flag for British comedy at a time when the alternative was  the likes of The Two Ronnies, and The Good Life, barely funny be comparison. Hoges gave us a dose of how good it was in Australia, and we had the odd cool show like Solo One, but we also had The Sullivan!

The Yanks gave us  the Village People, who while showing us You Can't Stop The Music, were also teaching us tolerance despite us being too young to know, much like the dude in Dr Hook’s creepy song. Gabe Kotter was shooting sharp one liners back at the Sweathogs, putting them in their place while at the same time  battling the grumpy Mr Woodman. Barney Miller was keeping his cool trying to control his crazy 12^th Precinct cops. McGarrett was calling out, ‘Book him Dano, murder 1’, Sam was keeping Endora and Darren apart, Jeanie was getting Major Nelson in no end of trouble, and looking really sexy at the same time! Steve Austen and Jamie Summers were amazing us with their Bionic powers, Charlies Angels were just amazingly cool, BJ & the Bear were rolling on to Dallas, where JR was wreaking havoc and teaching us greed can be dangerous but lots of fun. And every Saturday morning World Championship Wrestling kept us transfixed.

So where would we truly be without the US of A?? I know people bemoan the loss of our culture, and a lot of what comes out of America now is hardly inspiring, but the 70’s were a different time, and the balance old England with the brave and exciting new world of America shaped my generation. Movies, music, Coca-Cola, McDonalds, the Colonel and so much more,  So on one hand I say ‘Australia, don’t become America’, but at the same time thank you Uncle Sam for shaping my childhood with your wonderful TV….

The Original Leviathan.

A Leviathan is a Sea Monster from the Hebrew bible. It is also a term used on racecourses to describe a big Bookmaker, and big usually meant in girth as well as wealth and punting prowess.

One of the first Leviathan’s of the Australian turf was a giant of a man in stature and reputation by the name of Humphrey Oxenham. A man loved and admired by men and women from all walks of life. He was described as a genuine, upright man, a good husband and father, a generous high minded citizen who is always in his pocket when help is needed. Hardly words and terms we are used to hearing when describing a Bookmaker! He also ran an inter-colony sweepstake to rival Tattersall’s. A bold and fearless gambler in an era when gambling was looked upon as an immoral, debaucherous pursuit.

Legend has it that an 18 year old Humphrey accepted a bet from the local publican in Bathurst that he couldn’t walk from Bathurst to Kelso(about 5km) with a pumpkin on his head in a specific time without touching the pumpkin. He duly won the bet, to the tune of 100 pound to a shilling, and the foundation to his fortune was in place. During his bookmaking career he turned over sums unimaginable. At a time of depression, when the average weekly wage was less than 2 pound, he was turning over up to 100,000 pounds on major race meetings.  He was also a successful owner, but at times when he won blue ribbon races with his horses, he often lost heavily punting against them. On one occasion his colt Cabin Boy won the VRC St Leger at long odds but he did not celebrate as he had wagered all the money he could on a horse called Waterfall., another horse he owned. 

Without a doubt his greatest triumph as both an owner and a punter was when his best horse, Acrasia, won the 1904 Melbourne Cup. Although he was almost denied the chance to bask in this glory due to his insatiable urge to gamble. The story goes that in a high stakes card game with a Mr John Mayo, the man who owned the 1903 Cup winner Lord Cardigan, and subsequent 1908 winner Lord Nolan, Oxenham wagered his horse Acrasia on the outcome of a poker hand. Oxenham lost the hand, and the horse, but Mayo kindly offered to sell the horse back to him on Caulfield Cup day for 2000 pounds.  Two weeks later Acrasia fought off the challenge from Mayo’s Lord Cardigan to claim the Cup at the generous odds of 14/1. Odds  said to have helped save Oxenham from financial ruin for not the first time.

He died in 1923 in Neutral Bay, Sydney at the age of 69. He was loved and admired by all.  A true giant of the colonial days of racing and one of the first “Leviathan’s of the Australian Turf”. 

What could have been???

For a true horse racing fan, there is nothing worse than seeing a potential champion's career cut down before their prime. Knowing you are about to see something special unfold, before cruel fate steps in, and either injury or illness prevents us from ever seeing that potential fulfilled. During my time in racing I saw this happen on numerous occasions. None more devastating than the magnificent filly Unworldly, by Quest for Fame, who in only a handful of starts in 1999/2000 showed enough blistering acceleration and determination to win to endear her in the hearts of racegoers around the nation. In her last race she blitzed the Group 1 Flight Stakes and was surely about to continue her domination, which saw 5 wins and a 3rd from 6 starts, when tragedy struck on a grey October morning when she badly broke her front left leg at trackwork and had to be euthanised. Sadly we never got to see how great she could be but her memory lives forever in the hearts and minds of those fortunate enough to witness her incredible short career. Even Kbenjar, the horse from which I take my name won 2 good races in the Spring carnival of 1999 before breaking a sesamoid bone in his foot and never raced again.

Similarly is the tale of 1919 Melbourne Cup winner Artilleryman.

Reports from the era all claim that Artilleryman had the potential to be up there with the most celebrated names in Australian Turf history. Sired by the 1910 Melbourne Cup winner Comedy King, who was the first imported horse to win the Cup, Artilleryman had the conformation and movie star looks of a champion. Widely considered one of the best looking horses to ever grace the Australian turf, Artilleryman was quite erratic and inconsistent on the racetrack, much to the bafflement of his owners and trainer. Unable to find any physical ailment, they just put it down to bad manners and being "flighty", common traits among well bred colts who often had their minds on matters other than racing.

During the Spring of 1919 he cut a swathe through the major races in both Sydney and Melbourne. Winning the AJC Derby and dead-heating the Caulfield Guineas. He was beaten in the Victorian Derby in one of his "off performances", before finishing with what had been described as the most dominant winning performance in the Melbourne Cup's history at that time. He won the race by a widening 6 length margin that day at the odds of 10/1. Although spectators who had witnessed the race believed the margin was more like 10 to 12 lengths. He also ran a race record time of 3.24.5, almost a second quicker than the previous record.

In post war Australia racing was one of the major sports, and a champion is exactly what the public needed at the time, but sadly before he could be confirmed as a true champion, he was dead. Unknown until it was much too late, he had Cancer of the lymphatic gland since his 2 year old season. This would explain his erratic race career, often running in severe pain due to the swelling in his thigh region. An autopsy showed the cancer had severed his femoral artery, causing massive internal bleeding and subsequent death. Amazingly just a few hours before the great horse succumbing to death, his part owner, Mr Alec Murphy also died. Another of those strange coincidences common in racing.

The 1919 Melbourne Cup was also the first time the Loving Cup trophy was presented to the winner. Before the classic 3 handled Cup we know so well today was presented, winners of the race received anything from gold watches to a fruit bowl to the spectacularly garish trophy below, presented to Toryboy for winning the 1865 race, the first actual trophy ever presented.

 

It's a Mans World...

When the 1915 Melbourne Cup was run and won, history was made for a very unusual reason considering the times, for Patrobas, the star 3 year old colt sporting rose pink silks was the first Melbourne Cup winner to be owned by a woman.

Mrs Edith Widdis, along with her husband John were major landowners in the Gippsland region of Victoria. Being both keen racing enthusiasts, they each purchased yearlings at the sales of 1914 to be run by each other individually. Mrs Widdis selected a dark bay colt with bloodlines tracing back to the legendary Carbine. She had considerable success with her little horse and by the time Patrobas had stuck his head out and won the Cup in a deceptive finish, he had also claimed the Caulfield Guineas and the Victorian Derby, races only open to 3 year olds to compete. To this day he is the only horse to win all 3 blue ribbon races in the same year. A feat that will probably never be repeated considering the last 3 year old to win the Cup was Skipton in 1941. In 2007 a statue in Patrobas honour was erected in his home town of Rosedale, Victoria.

At the time the VRC Members was off limits to women, as the race clubs were still very much a "Boys Club", but an exception was grudgingly made on this occasion to allow Mrs Widdis to claim her prize and celebrate her victory.

It's a far cry from today, women like Gai Waterhouse and Sheila Laxon, who with Ethereal in 2001 became the first woman to officially train a Melbourne Cup winner( 1938 winner Catalogue is said to have been trained by Mrs A McDonald despite her husband being credited in the racebook), have been able to compete with great success. Although still a minority, women are certainly afforded more opportunities in racing now than ever before.

On the other end of the scale I found this excerpt from Nat Gould's 1895 book "Turf Life In the Colonies"

"There are thousands of ladies at Flemington on Derby and Cup days, who visit the racecourse out of pure love of the sport, combined with a natural feminine desire to be seen and to see others. The women punters however, are a nuisance on the turf. After considerable experience, I have found that once a woman takes to gambling, it absorbs her whole thoughts, and gambling leads to other things, such as champagne and its attendant consequences.
To the credit of the racecourse secretaries and officials, be it said, that they use every endeavour to keep loose women off their courses, and in this they succeed admirably"

How things have changed, and thank god they have!!

The Friendly Sting.

I recently discovered this story by accident and thought it worth sharing. It revolves around a man named Mr W Gannon, a horse named Arsenal and the 1886 Melbourne Cup.

In the previous years Cup, won by Sheet Anchor, Arsenal was backed to win a fortune by his then owner. Unfortunately Arsenal ran awful and the plunge went astray. Furious, the owner refused to give the horse another chance and sold him immediately. Mr Gannon bought the horse for the princely sum of 375 guineas.

Arsenal was well fancied by Mr Gannon for the 1886 Cup, and the odds were quite lucrative. Determined to secure as much of the good odds he could get he sent a commission Agent out to back the horse for him. Inexplicably, instead of quietly going about the business of backing the horse, the agent let another big betting owner(who we will call Mr B) in on the secret. The big odds were duly snapped up, but by Mr B, getting in before Mr Gannon and securing much better odds. Mr Gannon found out and was naturally furious, and determined to get even with Mr B.

Just days before the Cup, Mr Gannon was staying at the Menzies Hotel in Melbourne, as was Mr B.(They were actually friends) One evening at dinner, Mr Gannon received a Telegram. On reading it he immediately rose to his feet, roaring with rage! Mr B asked if there was a problem with the horse, to which Mr Gannon showed him the Telegram. It was from Arsenal's trainer, Henry Raynor. It stated Arsenal had gone bad and was in doubt to run in the Cup. Mr B thanked Mr Gannon for showing him the Telegram and intimated he would immediately start laying off the bulk of the money he had invested before the word got out about Arsenal going bad. So Mr B arranged for another Commission Agent to start laying off(effectively selling his bets). As fast as the money was laid off, another well known Commission Agent was taking up the wagers. Mr B knew this man and wanting to warn him, asked him if he was betting for himself or for someone else, telling him if it was for himself, he should leave off as the horse was a "Dead un". The agent, unaware of the Telegram told Mr B he was in fact betting for Mr Gannon!! Immediately Mr B smelt a rat, and told his agent to stop laying off. "I can't, I've already laid it all off" was the agents reply. "And Gannon's got it all" was all Mr B could say in disbelief.

Mr Gannon had made up the whole Telegram in order to sting his friend and reclaim his rightful odds.

After a few nervous days, when the horse actually did go off his feed, Arsenal recovered and went on to win the Cup at odds of 20/1.

Mark

...As far as you can kick your hat!

When the horses crossed the finish line in the 1896 Melbourne Cup, one anonymous journalist evocatively described the scene as 'Newhaven first, Daylight second'. Without knowing it at the time, with the term 'Daylight second...' that gentleman coined a phrase that would become part of the Australian sporting vernacular.

Unbeknown to most outside the racing industry, the origins of many Australian phrases and colloquialisms can be traced to the racetrack. Here's a quick look at some of the most commonly heard;

'At the drop of a hat' literally describes the manner in which races were started in the 1800's.

'Down to the wire', meaning a close, tight finish is from the 1800's as well, when a strip of tape was strung along the finish line to help determine the result in a tight finish.

A 'Dead Ringer' is someone who looks remarkably like someone else. A Ringer in racing parlance is a substitute of similar appearance, but more talent than the original. The word Dead, in this instance can be taken as meaning precise. e.g. dead centre or dead heat.

To win 'Hands Down' traces its origin to jockeys with a huge lead dropping their hands as they no longer need to urge their mounts along to win the race.

Often something or someone is described as 'Home and Hosed'. This being a horse that is such a sure thing it's hosed down and back in its box before the others have finished.

A 'Drongo' has long been a derogatory, albeit light hearted colloquialism for someone a bit slow. Drongo was a racehorse in the 1920's who never won a race (Although his record was not as bad as his legacy would suggest). Others such as 'Finished like Bernborough' and 'further back than Walla Walla' are self explanatory.

If you're agitated and annoyed it's fair to say someone or something has 'Got your Goat'. Often trainers would leave a goat with their horses as a companion to keep them calm in the paddock or around the stables. Take the Goat away..........You know the rest.

Just who is Johnny Cutts???

Well that can be answered quite simply, he was the jockey on board Archer, winner of the first two Melbourne Cups. The real question though is who is the man himself?

John Cutts will forever be remembered in history as the first jockey to win the Melbourne Cup, but what the record books don't mention is the heritage of the man. There is evidence to suggest Johnny Cutts was also the first Aboriginal jockey to win the Melbourne Cup.

The story to suggest he has Aboriginal heritage is that during the Goldrush in the 1850's, many of the white stockman in the Riverina area left for the Victorian goldfields. They were replaced by local Indigenous men, one of whom was said to be a young John Cutts, who was born in the Nowra region and was well known as a very talented horseman. Many of these Aboriginal Stockmen also doubled up as jockeys during the era and most were never actually recognised as Aboriginal despite their success. So it is quite possible the legend is true.

On the other hand there is evidence to suggest he was born John Dillon, in Sydney c1829 to English stock. He rode successfully around Sydney tracks during the 1850's and won races for trainers in Melbourne in 1851 and 1852. He died in 1872 at the tender age of 43, only 3 months before Archer, the horse with whom his name is indelibly linked.

Interestingly whoever wrote his biography on Wikipedia is certain John Cutts was a white man born in Sydney, but offers no concrete evidence to support this, other than an apparent photograph of him with his wife,(who was actually the widow of his first training master William Cutts) which they say proves he is not Aboriginal. I tend to be of the opinion that any babies born in that era to English stock would have been properly recorded, as the population back then was quite small. The fact biographical records of Johnny Cutts show his birth as circa 1829 clouds the issue. I find it odd that he would take on the surname of his new wife over his own supposed family name of Dillon, unless he was for some reason trying to hide his family name. Also surely any photos from the 1860's would have to be inconclusive, particularly if he had mixed parents.

We now know the original legend of Archer walking from Nowra to Melbourne for the first Cup has proven to be false, and that he actually took the steamship from Sydney, after racing in Maitland immediately before the Cup. Maybe the legend of Johnny Cutts being the first Indigenous jockey to win the Cup also is false. What we do know is the first officially recorded  Aboriginal jockey to win the Melbourne Cup was Frank Reys aboard Gala Supreme in 1973, an interesting tale in itself, but his is a story for another day.

Mark

Nimblefoot's Cup

The Melbourne Cup, the race that stops a nation has a rich history of wonderful stories, many a big part of Australian folklore. From the well known exploits of horses like Carbine and Phar Lap through to modern legends like Saintly and the mighty mare Makybe Diva, these are horses we have grown up either hearing about or witnessing ourselves, as everyone has a memory or two from the Great Race. Today though I'd like to tell you about one of the most amazing yet largely unknown tales of the turf.

The story behind the winner of the 1870 Melbourne Cup, Nimblefoot and his owner, publican Walter Craig is a remarkable one. 

In the early spring of 1870 Walter Craig, proprietor of Craig's Hotel in Ballarat had a vivid dream. In his dream he saw a horse being ridden by a jockey sporting his all Violet coloured silks draw away to win the Melbourne Cup. He assumed it had to be Nimblefoot as he was entered and being trained for the big race. However, Craig had also noticed in his dream that the jockey was sporting a black armband. Craig took this as a sign of his own impending death. He promptly went about telling several people the next morning the details of his dream, declaring Nimblefoot to be a certainty for the Cup, but that he wouldn't be alive to enjoy it. He then made a doubles bet with a Bookmaker named William Slack, coupling a horse called Croydon in the Metropolitan Handicap Stakes with Nimblefoot in the Cup. Considering at the time both horses were unfancied, Slack, due to the light hearted nature of the wager gave him the odds of 1000 pound to 8 free beers!! 

Amazingly that night Craig died and a couple of days later Croydon won the Metropolitan. The story of Craig's prophecy was then published in The Age Newspaper the day before the Cup. To everyone's shock and amazement Nimblefoot, with jockey J Day sporting a black armband went on to salute the judge. Due to Craig's death, Bookmaker Slack was under no obligation to pay out on the bet. He did however honour half the winning sum of 500 pounds to Craig's widow.

Sadly the annals of time have consigned wonderful tales such as this to rarely see the light of day. I hope you enjoyed reading about this forgotten piece of sporting legend.

Mark