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Issue No. 148 | 16 August 2002 |
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Peak Performance
Interview: Labor Law Unions: Critical Conditions Bad Boss: Shifting The Load History: Peeking Out Safety: Flying High Corporate: Salaries High, Performance Low International: War on the US Wharves Review: And the Signs Said... Poetry: Tony Don't Preach Satire: Latham Dumps Rodney Rude as Speech Writer
Politics The Soapbox The Locker Room Bosswatch Human Rights
 Miranda's Not Fair on OutworkersAnother Capitalist Party?Justice For All?Kill the Photos!Right Wing Lackies
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The Locker Room Go Dogs Go
After doing one's hard earned on the gallops during the daylight hours one is often left pondering the meaning and essence of punting at night. During the evening, thanks to the modern miracle that is the Totaliser Agency Board, two types of punting are available: Trots and Dogs. The trots aren't called the 'red hots' for nothing. It's a bit like watching a shopping queue moving along a dusty track, with the whole affair being about as straight as a coathanger. As with that other sporting non-event, basketball, the only real action of substance comes in the last ten seconds. The dogs are a different kettle of schnapper entirely. Given that most of my selections on the gee-gees rather deservedly end up in a yellow tin marked 'Pal', it is only fitting that this column takes a passing interest in the noble sport of Greyhound racing. I have often been disturbed by the exclusivity of Greyhound racing. Why, for instance, are other breeds not available for competition? Watching a blue-heeler, a couple of German Shepherds, a schnauzer and a few bitzas along with the odd furball careering around the track would be a most entertaining proposition. The electronic rabbit would obviously have to be substituted with a tennis ball, but otherwise I can't think of any modification that would be necessary, unless the race was simply run indefinitely until it was left to the last dog still running, like at the beach. In regarding the existing sporting opportunities available to the fan of the canine punt, the general system has two undeniably effective features. Firstly, boxes four and five are always good for as quinella against the field. Secondly, back the dog on the basis of its name. Greyhound racing being the blue collar equivalent of the Waterhouse caper there are many opportunities for those with a social conscience to place a few quid on the basis of their convictions, or what they perceive to be a bit of a giggle. Peter Lalor, the leader of the Eureka Uprising, was celebrated with having a dog named after him. This dog paid handsome dividends on regional courses in Victoria for a few years. Similarly I have found that hounds with a nomenclature that has a Fenian tendency are consistent performers. There is a consensus that the dishlickers are a vaguely corrupt scion of the racing world, but nothing could be further from the truth. As my Grandfather was want to say, if you could bribe fleas there'd be some truth in it, but invariably the suggestions amount to little more than someone trying to help the pooch over a head cold with a swift dose of Sudafed. And this column will countenance no debate on the efficacy of a swipe of turps across the growlers' sit down apparatus. From The Locker Room salutes the magical world of dog racing, and wishes the reader many happy returns in the vicinity of $87.40 on the New South Wales TAB. Phil Doyle - has a bounce and then handballs infield. PS - Those familiar with the work of Stephen Roach, late of the SRWU and now in the Brick Tile and Pottery Division of the CFMEU, should keep an eye out for the nag, Red Roach running around on midweek Victorian tracks. Like its namesake it has had a few unlikely wins, but unlike its namesake it pays handsomely.
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