Blacklisted.

[thestoryteller]

BLACKLISTED

Through the course of my life I've rode many strange things,
like the time on old Chainsaw out near Alice Springs
and that camel at Boulia called Topupmebeer,
but my craziest ride was November last year.

Neil McArthur had purchased Thong Classic, you see,
and he gave me the ride. I was proud as can be.
It was true that my weight was a flamin' disgrace,
but with Jenny Craig's help I'd be right for the race.

When the big day arrived I was on a great high,
till they gave me pink silks and a purple bow tie.
Still I swallowed my pride with a green and blue pill,
just to help me erase how I looked like a dill.

Then I strode on outside to the mounting yard there
and controlled my emotions by saying a prayer,
but it's hard to control the adrenalin flow
when your mongrel bred mount goes and stands on your toe.

Still my focus returned at the barrier gates
and despite the cat calls from my smart jockey mates.
When the starter cried “Racing!” what went through my mind,
was when Thong Classic jumped, would he leave me behind?

Midst the thunder of hooves and the riders’ wild screams
I was jammed in the pack, but was wise to their schemes,
so I dropped back a little and let the mob pass,
but I'd prove in the straight they were up against class.

I moved up on the outside to pass Bold Eclipse
when this poncy young jockey bloke puckered his lips.
Well I kicked well away and I picked up the pace
and a divot of turf hit him smack in the face.

With the straight just ahead it was now time to move
and Thong Classic sensed too he had something to prove.
When I went for the whip the horse lengthened his stride
and I knew I was in for one hell of a ride.

From the stands the crowd screamed and were going berserk
while McArthur cried, "Ride, pinkie ride you great berk."
Then I stood in the stirrups, applying the whip,
but a length from the finish ... I felt my foot slip.

As I crashed to the ground I lay writhing in pain
when a voice from the dark cried, "You're flamin' insane!"
To my horror I saw from my back on the floor
my poor wife on the bed looking terribly sore.

She'd a cord in her mouth from my old dressing gown
and was bowed in the back lying tummy side down.
She had marks on her thigh from the welts from my belt
while the screams I had heard were from pain she had felt.

It took months to live down what took place on that night
and to stave off divorce proved a flamin’ tough fight.
I'm blacklisted from races and all TABs
and I sleep with darn hobbles strapped round both me knees.

Conversing with Neil McArthur at Bobby Millers Wake, we all realized we were there to celebrate Bobby's life, so one could not help but indulge in the larrikin spirit he was so famous for. Known for his comical verses, Neil has a thing about thongs and many titles in his books and albums contain a thong theme. He also loves the horses and he has shares in one. We were rather amused to find one of the starters in the Melbourne Cup was Thong Classic. The rest is poetic licence.

© Merv Webster

From the book Keeping the Culture