Ahh Melbourne Cup. That one magical Tuesday of every year where you can turn up to work and not do any because the boss has already written himself off at the pub.
As the former (self-appointed) matriarch of office sweepstakes, I’ve often watched everyone pick their bet based on the merits of the horse’s name resonating with a former lover/song/relative, as well as feigning interest in that token bloke who actually has knowledge of horse racing, yet still bores you to tears.
As well as the valid excuse to start drinking from brunch, Melbourne Cup is a day filled with hope, and not just for prospect of fattening up the wallet.
Come late afternoon, everyone by now has started to acquire that famous booze mojo; guys feel they are ever so dazzling in their suit, and some single ladies are on the lookout for romance, even if for just one weeknight.
If you are fortunate enough to be attending Flemington or any of the various racetracks throughout Australia and New Zealand, then by now you would have sought out your strategy for the big day, which I’m sure will include, but not limited to the likes of, drinking, losing some cash, attempting to charm, failing, charming someone else, failing again, crying into your Moët.
Not to leave out the rest of you who are right now probably scrambling to get to the TAB and figure out what the hell you are doing tomorrow, it is probably best we first adhere to a few simple rules.
White shoes are ugly
Nothing screams your suit is from Lowes more than when you pair it up with fake white leather shoes. You know the ones. That scuffed up pair you have hidden under the bed ‘just in case’ they ever come back into fashion. They won’t. Burn them. Now.
We don’t want to hear about your inside info
Don’t be that guy. That overbearing mate who heard from your brother’s girlfriend’s uncle’s plumber, that horse number six in race three is a shoe in. You don’t know crap. You instead just like the feeling of someone finally listening to you. Please stop.
Eat some bloody food
I get it, you’re pissed. But you look like you’re about to pass out due to the fact you haven’t eaten since you smashed that dodgy bacon and egg roll at breakfast.
There will be the pressure from friends who will say you are soft for wanting to line the stomach, these friends are not to be trusted. They are often sporting South Park cufflinks. So eat. This in turn will make the painful cab ride home later that much more bearable.
Wearing a hat doesn’t make you better than me
Well, look at you in your fancy hat and champagne. Quite liking the attention, I see. This doesn’t mean you can turn your nose up at everyone else because you managed to swindle your way into a VIP tent or bar. So what if you’re in the members? These plastic chairs are actually really comfy I’ll have you know.
We know you won zero
It can all get a bit much after the big race, when everyone tweets and rants about the $800 they won off their $5 bet, so I can understand how you don’t want to feel left out. This doesn’t mean you should start bragging about your faux winning trifecta that will pay next month’s rent. Your story will change. Friends will quiz you on your bet. You will get nervous and fumble your way through the lies, before admitting you made it all up, thus resulting in you looking like an idiot. Avoid at all costs.
Know your limits
And no I don’t mean your ATM withdrawal limit. I mean knowing when to say no to that 11th shot on top of the cheap bubbles you have been consuming since 10AM. Woman are the worse culprits mind you, shoes in hand, stumbling on the concourse thinking they are très chic. Of course there is always that one dude who keeps his sunglasses on right through into the night, only to end up alone in King Cross at 2AM wondering where it all went wrong.
Finally, for those of you who are on the punt, give yourself a bank of money to bet with that you’re comfortable with losing. If you do lose, don’t crack the shits or chase your loss, just get over it as soon as you possibly can and carry on with your day.
As for me, this year I’m forcing myself to avoid the whole day. Previous booze affiliated affairs with Cup day have included getting home and flooding my bathroom, losing my phone, keys and wallet and once telling Lara Bingle’s brother with great intent, that she in fact was riding poor Michael Clarke for all he was worth. Poor Clarkie.
Probably best for my new bathroom tiles that I just sit this one out.
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