The 2009 Melbourne Cup: The official, definitive and final recap

So. Let's see. The Melbourne Cup was on November 3. Today is December 23.

Yes, I let some time go before writing about the trip (or, well, anything on here). That being said,* there is an upside to my indolence: by waiting so long – or I guess more aptly, by putting it off for so long – I can pretty much guarantee you that this is the absolute final recap on the 2009 running of the Melbourne Cup.

*I just slammed my way through Season 7 of Curb Your Enthusiasm. Brilliant, brilliant stuff. And we basically got an entire new episode of Seinfeld out of it! They certainly made up for the finale. Oh yes.

You see, as I first noted two years ago, this nation goes absolutely mad for the Melbourne Cup. Hugely mad. It's called "The race that stops a nation" for a reason. Literally, everything stops. Everyone gets in front of a TV. I wouldn't be surprised if the streets were completely deserted.* In Melbourne, the day is a public holiday!

*Problem is we'll never know, as there's no one there to check. It'll forever be up there with the whole "tree falling in the woods" conundrum.

Anyway. As I was saying. Everyone goes mad for the race. But the thing is, it comes out of nowhere. Seriously. A week prior to the race, most people in Australia couldn't name a single horse that might be running in it. Then, like a flash in the pan, everyone gets into it. The local and national news are covering it. It's on the front page of every sports section, if not the main section. It's the topic of discussion at every water cooler. People can recite the entire 24-horse field in alphabetical order, reverse alphabetical order, by age, by sex, by jockey, by trainer, by owner, by country of origin, you name it.

The race is run on a Tuesday.

And then it's over. The media dissects it on Tuesday night and Wednesday. Maybe you get a few remnants on Thursday. And that's it. Just as fast and unexpectedly as it came, it's gone. No more mentions. It's almost like it never happened.

Which brings us back to me! Seven weeks and a day after the race was run, here's my little recap of the race and day. And as the above paragraphs were meant to illustrate, in my very longwinded way, this surely has to be the last thing ever in the history of civilization to be written about the 2009 Melbourne Cup. I feel honored. And perhaps a little daunted by the responsibility.

So let's break this bad boy down thematic style.

The gambling

Yeah, I may have made some proclamations that I was gonna get ridiculously knowledgeable on the race, and I swear I made a few token attempts to do that. But for the most part, life kinda got in the way. So going into the race, my level of knowledge was at about 20% of what I would've liked. And that included zero knowledge on any of the races other than the big one.

I placed and lost some bets on races one through six. And the big one, Race 7? I nailed it!! Granted, I put bets on several horses, but as the race neared, I settled more and more on Shocking as my singular pick. And Shocking did it. Unfortunately, that means that the other five or six horses I had money on didn't do it, so on the day, I broke just about even.*

*This "breaking even" thing doesn't exactly count the whole day, which included an evening jaunt to the casino during which I very much did not break even. Yeeeeaaaaaaahhhhh, not even remotely close to even. Let's move on.

The spectacle

Attendance on the day was 102,000 people, which I think is the largest crowd I've ever been a part of. But because we weren't in a circular stadium in which you could see everyone else, it didn't really feel like there were 102,000 people there. Not even close, really. If I had no knowledge of the day or the race, I very well may have guessed that the attendance was something around 40,000.

Regardless of how big I perceived the crowd to be, it still felt like a huge event. There was a buzz on the train heading out to the track. Everyone was dressed up. Each woman was seemingly trying to outdo all others with her hat. The lawn for general admission was absolutely packed. The vibe, even when we arrived at 10:45, was downright giddy. And that giddyness increased even more so as the day progressed, as more alcohol was consumed, as the anticipation increased. So when it came time for the big race to start, just after 3, we were ready. We were very ready.

The race

I'd (kinda) done my reading. I'd placed my bets. I'd secured my viewing spot. And at just after 3, the 2009 Melbourne Cup started.

One thing about the Melbourne Cup. It's long. LOOOOOOOOOONG. At just a shade under two miles, it's half a mile longer than the "long" Triple Crown race, the Belmont Stakes. So even after the race starts, you need to control your emotions. Settle in. Don't get too excited. At least not too early.

What pretty much makes this impossible, however, is that the horses run by you twice: once, right after the start, and then again, as they come down the stretch. So when they flew by us that first time, we all lost it. This is what we've been waiting all day for!! WOOOOOO!!! But then they were gone. And we waited. Sure, we could see the race on the big screen, but it was pretty hard to make out who was in what place, and it was absolutely impossible to hear the call of the race, not above the noise of the crowd.

Eventually, the horses rounded the last turn towards the finish and headed back to us. And as they passed us, about 100 meters before the finish line, there was Shocking leading the way! And there went Shocking to keep the lead right to the end!!!

Everyone went wild.* Some people may have had Shocking, most probably didn't, but it didn't really matter. We'd all just watched the Melbourne Cup. And it was good.

*The "everyone" excludes Maz, who was feverishly trying to figure out if he'd hit his trifecta. It wasn't until he actually went to the betting window, presented his ticket and received several hundred dollar notes that he was convinced that he'd won.

The post race

There are 10 races on Melbourne Cup Day. And for the most part, people not only got into the big race but the preceding six races as well. The last three races, however? My lord... after the big race, it was like the Plague had descended on the track. Blink, and everyone was gone. And the seagulls swooped. Oh yes... the seagulls swooped.

After watching a race or two more and drinking some of Maz's winnings, we made haste as well, back to our hotel and then onto the casino and the city.

The next day

Noise. Yeah... noise.

LOUD NOISES!!!

This is what I awoke to the next morning. As they ripped apart the parking lot outside our hotel room. I mean that as literally as possible. The concrete that was in the parking lot the day before? It was no more. At 8 in the freaking morning. On the day after the Melbourne Freaking Cup.

So, yeah. The day didn't start out so well. And it really didn't get any better. Maz, Joanne and I wandered around the city, first on a failed attempt to go to the Coffee Bean that I'd found on a prior trip, then on a failed attempt to go to the hotel that Maz was staying in that night. But we finally got to the hotel, collapsed for an hour, and then I was off to the airport.

I was miserable. I felt disgusting. But I'd been to the Melbourne Cup. And it was good.

Throwin' some Super Klein-Bowls

It had been a long time since I watched a full football game, professional or college. Not this season. Not Super Bowl 42.* Maybe sometime last season. Maybe not. Honestly, I can't remember. But with my unemployment in full effect circa 10:30am last Monday, I was able to soak up the entirety of Super Bowl 43 in all its glory. And it was fantastic.

As I soberly described when I threw some Kleinballs the other day, far too many of my friends are out of a job. And since the Super Bowl, for whatever reason, is actually sort of a big deal here,** and none of us had anything better to do on a Monday morning, I decided to have a little soiree at my place.

*No way am I gonna take the time to figure out those Roman numerals.

**Honestly, I have no idea why it's big here. But, you know, it is the Super Bowl.

I decided that this would have to be as authentic a Super Bowl party as possible, with a real celebration of Americana. And the first order of business was the food. For this, I decided that the main dish would be what my dear and deadbeat of a friend Ross has dubbed "manchos". That's right: nachos for MEN.


How good does that look??!? Corn chips, cheese, refried beans, beef with chilli seasoning, onion, tomato and jalapeno... lots of jalapeno.* And best of all, the above photo actually shows a very incomplete dish. For after it was taken, a very, very, very liberal extra layer of cheese was added. Good times.**

*I'm just gonna say it: Australians are idiots when it comes to anything Latino. Maybe we -- and by "we" I mean Americans -- are used to it because of all the Mexicans, Puerto Ricans, Dominicans, etc in the States, but most Australians are really ignorant of the language and food.

Take, for example, when I bought the jalapenos at the store. The woman scanning my food saw them, gave a bit of a blank stare and asked, "What are these?" I responded, "Jalapenos." She typed away on her screen, trying to bring up the right code. Ten seconds later: "I can't find it in here. How do you spell it? Is it h-a-l...??" I stopped her. "No, no. It's j-a-l-a-p-e-n-o." She typed away. Ten seconds later: "I still can't find it. So it's h-a-j-a-l...??" I stopped her again, a little annoyed: "No! J-a-l-a-p-e-n-o. No 'H'." Finally, mercifully, she found it.

Relaying this story to my friends back at my place, they laughed and one of them suggested that I should have just pronounced it phonetically: jah-lah-PAY-no. And another one countered that she would have come back with, "Oh! The jah-LAH-peh-nos! I love those things!"

**While we're on the topic, why don't you give the manchos a "10" rating on my new favorite web site, WouldYouEatIt.net.

Next came the guacamole. For this, I used a recipe I found online, and then doubled the amount of green chillies that it called for. Awesome.

And lastly came the booze. And for this, there was only one way to go: The King of Beers. So the day before, I bought a case, brought it home and put the beers in the fridge. But I wasn't done, oh no. It was time to get as American as absolutely possible. And so, using the cardboard from the beer case, I present to you this:



You know you love it.

Maz, one of my roommates, had a few bets on the game. One of them was that Roethlisberger would score the first touchdown, which was courtesy of a tip from me. So when Big Ben ran that broken play in for a touchdown on the Steelers' first drive, we went nuts. NUTS! Maz and I were jumping up and down and shared in a moment of bromance as we embraced. I was so proud of myself. And then, when it was called back on a challenge, well, that sucked. Ahhhh, the joys of gambling.

From what I understand, Ben Graham, the Australian punter for the Cardinals (and ex-Australian Rules Football star), got some press in the US during the two weeks leading up to the game, as he was the first Aussie ever to play in the Super Bowl. Now, to get a sense of how much attention he received here during the game, I want you to take whatever mentions he received during the telecast from the States (as far as I can tell, that consisted of one graphic that said "Ben Graham: first Australian to play in Super Bowl")... and then multiply it by about 8,568. Because when everyone in the States went to commercial and were treated to porn, we had a studio of Australian analysts gushing over Graham and breaking down every single one of his punts. It was hilarious, especially from my perspective. But hey, I guess that's the hook here.

One thing I absolutely won't complain about was the feed that we got for the game. Last year, we received some feed meant for international audiences, with play-by-play by Dick Stockton and color commentary by Sterling Sharpe. My lord, it was awful. AWFUL!* This year, we got the same feed as in the US, with Al Michaels and John Madden. Say what you want about Michaels and Madden (or Joe Buck and Troy Aikman, who did last year's game), but for me, to have access to the regular telecast for this year's game, that was heaven on earth.

*Here's what I wrote to a friend shortly after last year's game: "Stockton was passable, but Sharpe... my GOD! He is such an idiot. As the Pats marched down the field to reclaim the lead, he kept saying, 'This is perfect for the Giants! The clock's still running, the Pats aren't picking up any big plays, this is going perfectly for them!' Meanwhile, the Pats are absolutely picking apart the Giants' defense. So what if they're only picking up 5 yards per play? So what if the clock's still running? Despite what happened on the Giants' next possession, that was a perfect march down the field! And on the Giants' next possession, on that play where Eli under threw Burress to just miss a first down, Sharpe says, 'It doesn't get any better than that!' Heck??" Yes. Heck, indeed.

Hey -- I don't think I ever wrote anything about Australia Day! Well, yeah, it was good. Barbecue at my place, Short's famous potato bake, Snellfinger, many drinks. Then we went to a bar that had some karaoke on and watched in pure delight as some guy, drunk out of his mind, simply tipped over halfway through his song.

And while we're on a tangent, the Penn men's basketball team currently has a ludicrous 1-3 record in Ivy League play. That includes losses to freaking Dartmouth and freaking Columbia. Earlier this decade, if you told me that I'd ever utter those words, I would have laughed you out of a room. Excuse me while my head explodes.

I've heard a lot of mixed reviews about Bruce Springsteen's halftime show. For the detractors, the argument generally seems to center around how it was cheesy and over-the-top and maybe a little campy. And I absolutely agree with that assessment; it was all of those things. But I guess I had a different interpretation of the intent; I think it was a conscious effort on the Boss' part to get a bit ridiculous, as if he just wanted to go out there and celebrate the biggest day in American sports by having a fun, goofy time. So while others disliked the performance, I found it to be a little endearing. Although he may have gone too far when he decided to rocket his crotch into millions of homes around the world. What I want to know is, where's the uproar??!? The fact that there hasn't been a backlash equal to that of the wardrobe malfunction tells me that all the politicians and pundits out there clearly have some personal vendetta against Janet and JT Two.*

*JT One, of course, being James Taylor.

And hey, have you ever noticed the resemblance between Larry Fitzgerald and Ronaldinho? I hadn't, but Shorty picked that up during the game, and it's definitely there. Sports Illustrated clearly agrees as well:


Here's a very cool feature from the New York Times, showing what words appeared in Twitter messages the most over the course of the game. I'm still trying to figure Twitter out -- don't forget that you can follow me here! -- but just the fact that we have the technology to do something like this... very cool.

Oh, and the commercials! Ummmm, yeah. They didn't show those here -- they were far too busy breaking down every one of Ben Graham's butt scratches on the bench -- and despite their omnipresence on the web, I somehow haven't found the time to watch them. Even the porn.