Life As I Know It (27 page)

The barrier draw is one of the rituals of Derby Day. After the last race, and the final Melbourne Cup field is officially declared, the connections of the runners are invited to a room to draw the barrier for their horse. Barriers can make a big difference. Drawing an outside barrier makes it much harder for a horse to win. From a wide barrier jockeys have to use all their skills to get their horse into a position close to the fence. An inside draw can be enormously advantageous. So this is yet another aspect of the Cup where luck plays its part.

The chief steward, Terry Bailey, draws a number between one and twenty-four. That number signifies the horse. A connection of that horse—an owner or the trainer or racing manager, and occasionally the jockey—then comes out to the table where twenty-four mini-Melbourne Cups sit. Each has a number on its base, face down to the table. The connection lifts the little Cup and you can tell immediately from their response whether it's a good barrier or not. Expectations can be shattered in an instant. In recent years the draw has been televised and makes for terrific theatre.

Right from the time Prince had a chance, however small, of running in the Melbourne Cup, Sandy McGregor was adamant Stevie should be given the task of picking the barrier at the draw.

‘Stevie can draw the barrier. That would be brilliant,' he always said. ‘Stevie's our man.' Stevie wasn't usually Prince's strapper. Maddie Raymond did that job perfectly. But it seemed a good idea that they should share the duties on Cup Day. Maddie was so gracious about it all. She is a total team player.

Emily Lonsdale, the daughter of Darren, one of the owners, had had the same idea about Stevie doing the draw and had been chatting with me about it from the time we thought Prince was a Melbourne Cup horse. Stevie had been strapping all day for Darren. He freshened up, put on a maroon shirt, the colours of the Weir stable, and we all set off for the Phar Lap Marquee. It's a fantastic
room to be in. It's full of hope and expectation and excitement. Everyone there has a runner in the Melbourne Cup. There are connections from all over the world. I was praying for barrier one or two. I was actually thinking two, as I didn't want to be too greedy. But one would have been the ultimate.

As we were walking in, Darren was joking with Stevie.

‘Stevie, if you get number twenty-two just put it back!' Stevie laughed and gave Darren the same look he gives Dad when he's teasing him.

‘One or two, Stevie.' I put my arm around him.

‘I'll just get barrier one,' he said.

Racing.com
broadcaster Jason Richardson was the compere. Richo is a very warm and friendly guy. (And he's no stranger to the world of racing and punting. As an athlete, he won the Stawell Gift in 1993.) Terry Bailey started the draw. After a while he drew horse ten and held up the marble: ‘Trip to Paris.' One of the owners of Trip to Paris, Englishman Andy Gemmell, a sports fanatic, music buff, pub intellectual and all round ripping bloke who has been blind since birth, was helped forward. Andy chose barrier five. A great barrier for one of the highly fancied runners. He was rather pleased with himself.

Stevie was so nervous, really feeling the responsibility. And our number was yet to be drawn.

‘Which area?' he muttered. ‘Which part of the table?'

‘Stevie, you choose,' I said. ‘You'll be right.' I was loving the moment. My brother was about to pick the barrier for the horse I was going to ride in the Melbourne Cup.

‘Number nineteen: Prince of Penzance.'

I thought I'd go up with him just for support. But Stevie shot out of the gates and strode towards the table before I could get moving. Richo spotted him and said, ‘The best strapper in the business, Stevie Payne, is going to come forward and pick the barrier.'

I was no match for Stevie. As he was getting to the table Richo continued: ‘Stevie told me he was after barrier one or two and he's picked …'

Stevie leaned forward, picked a Cup, looked at it, and thrust it high.

‘Barrier one,' Richo yelled, nodding, as if the universe was always going to deliver this moment.

The room erupted. People were cheering, clapping, laughing, even crying. Stevie was triumphant. I had seen the number at the same instant Richo had and had immediately given the thumbs up and then placed my hand on Stevie's shoulder. Our family was watching and recording it on TVs all around the countryside. Margie and Nick watched it over and over again. Patrick also just kept replaying it. Stevie!

There was media everywhere. Darren couldn't hide his delight, but he was cautious when asked about Prince's prospects.

‘It's a great draw. Yeah, just happy to have a runner in the Cup. We're a good chance to finish top ten,' he told the press. Later, he said the same thing to me.

‘We might win it,' I said.

‘Oh, well,' he said.

I woke up the next morning feeling terrible; the tonsillitis wasn't improving. I had a couple of nice rides for Darren at Kilmore, but I didn't want to take any risks. I never think like that, but I was worried something might happen and I couldn't stand the thought of not riding Prince in the Melbourne Cup. So I rang Darren.

‘How ya goin'?' he asked in that classic Mallee drawl.

‘I'm a bit crook, actually,' I said. ‘If I'm going to be right for Tuesday I reckon I need the day off.'

‘You do whatever you think's best,' he said. ‘Just give the owner a call and explain to him, and it'll be right.'

On the Sunday before the Cup the racing fraternity gather for a special racing Mass. It's been conducted every year since 1959. I have been a few times and my racing manager, Phillip Roost, always goes. This year Father Brendan Dillon, the racing chaplain who'd visited Dad in hospital earlier in the year, had invited me to come along. Walking into St Francis's Catholic Church in Lonsdale Street, I made my way towards the front and found a pew—beside the part-owners of Winx, Mr and Mrs Tighe.

‘Congratulations,' I whispered, when I saw they had the Cox Plate with them.

‘I'm going to have it blessed,' Mrs Tighe said. ‘You should get your saddle blessed.' I thought that was a great idea, and quickly snuck out to get the saddle from the boot of my car.

It was the first racing Mass since Bart Cummings had died. Bart and Valmae Cummings had never missed it in previous years. They had always gone to Mass regularly. Their grandson James Cummings did the first reading, from Revelation
chapter 7
. Edward Cummings did the second reading, from the First Letter of St John
chapter 3
. The Gospel was the Beatitudes. It was great to hear Anthony speak about his father, Bart. After Mass, I went to see Father Brendan in the church courtyard and asked him if he would bless my saddle. That afternoon I took it easy. Margie rang me.

‘I've got a really good feeling about this.' I could feel her smiling down the phone. ‘I really do.'

‘So do I.'

Monday morning and everyone was talking about the Melbourne Cup. Trip to Paris was shortening in the market; people were debating the merit of the run of Japanese horse Fame Game in the Caulfield Cup. Some were criticising Zac Purton for his ride on Fame Game. Others thought it was the perfect preparation for the Cup. But so many names were bobbing up and, as always, it was hard to line them up. Horses from all over the world had form. There were so many in with a chance. I was waiting to hear from Peter Ellis and Deane Lester about what their speed maps looked like. Prince of Penzance was hardly being mentioned in all the talk.

I had to see Dr Mulkearns to get clearance to ride.

‘You've still got a fever,' he said. Thankfully he thought I was fine and that I'd get through the day without a problem—I'd just wind up really tired. A relief.

Then I was off to the Melbourne Cup parade. Melbourne loves a parade, whether it's Anzac Day or the Grand Final or Moomba. When I got into the city I'd misjudged the weather, which is a very Melbourne thing to do. It was suddenly overcast and cold. I ducked into Target on Bourke Street and bought myself a long-sleeved cardi—a grey one for $20. Then I found the start of the parade. Darren Weir, Emily Lonsdale and I sat in the back seat of a Triumph convertible being driven slowly up Collins Street. People everywhere were waving. Cheering.

‘Go, Michelle!'

‘Go, Prince!'

‘Go, Weiry!'

I doubt anyone was giving us a chance. We were just a colourful part of the story: the trainer from the bush, the horse back from injury, the only woman to be riding in the Cup. Photographers snapped away. Interviewers jumped out of the crowd with their mics and headphones. Thank God I bought that cardigan.

There's always a stack of things happening on the Monday—all day. After the parade we went to the Palladium at Crown for the Call of the Card, a three-course lunch where the betting frenzy on the Cup begins. The booze is always flowing on the tables of friends and connections and people from the racing industry and punters and media, although many of them are working. The idea of the lunch is for the big bookmakers to open the betting on the Cup, by putting up their odds and adjusting them as the punters in the room place their bets. Bookies and punters have been in battle forever. Bookies try to take bets on horses that they don't think can win the Cup. Punters want to back the horse they most fancy and are looking for the best price.

Hamish McLachlan from Channel 7 was the host and when it came time to assess the chances of Prince of Penzance he called me to the mic to have a chat. He was trying to get a funny yarn out of all the jockeys but, just like Dwayne Dunn and Michael Walker, we had nothing for him. I wanted the crowd to know that I thought Prince was way over the odds at $101. If The United States was one of the fancied runners then Prince had to be in the mix as well.

Some of Prince's owners were there, and not overly cashed up. The minimum bet at the Call of the Card is $400 and they were falling a little short. There were no casino owners or American billionaires among them. Adrian Brown found himself sitting at a table with comedians Mick Molloy and Lehmo. They were persuaded by his analysis of the form and his love of Prince—and I suppose I sounded confident enough—so the table pooled their resources and had $200 each way on him.