There were 78,500 people at Flemington on Melbourne Cup day 1976. Those still living, hold indelible memories of their visit to the historic course on the day mother nature threw a tantrum.
Kembla Grange trainer Theresa Bateup readily admits that Crackalacka was no Via Sistina, but an honest mare who endeared herself to every member of the stable staff.
It was reasonable to assume the touch of raspiness in Tyler Schiller’s voice on Sunday morning was the result of a little socialising the previous night.
“He’s just now starting to work out why he’s galloping around Sydney racecourses,” said Anthony Cummings. The trainer was referring to Saturday’s Gloaming Stakes winner El Castello, a three year old colt who’s come a long way in a short time.
You might see one or two winners dominate any given race programme, but five “demolition jobs” in one day isn’t common. To see it happen on Epsom day at Randwick, is even less likely.
It was a sunny Thursday on September 7th last year when Kerry Parker pulled into the Hawkesbury float parking area with three horses on board his trusty angle loader.
His devoted family and an army of friends always knew the man was widely loved and respected. In the past week they’ve discovered the magnitude of that adoration. Through his childhood years Graham McNeice would have been the kindest kid on the block.
Part owner and trainer Scott Aspery had every reason to feel satisfied as stable favourite Uzziah produced a career best to win the last of ten at Randwick by a big space.
Steve Hart indicated he would step up his racing interview quota following his recent retirement from the ranks of Sydney race day photographers. He wasted no time in lining up a chat with 22 year old Mollie Fitzgerald.
He stands barely fifteen hands, he’s athletic without being robust and he sure as hell doesn’t win out of turn. In fact, Fox Fighter’s victory in Saturday’s BM88 at the ‘Hill was his first in twenty one months.
Those who envisaged Gary Portelli celebrating Kimochi’s Randwick stakes win over a sumptuous dinner and a bottle of champagne, couldn’t have been more mistaken.
On the eve of his 27th birthday and blessed with the luxury of having no need for the sauna, Andrew Adkins has slipped into a comfortable niche among Sydney’s riding ranks.
