CHRISTMAS CRACKERS

Taranaki Daily News, 17 December 1926, Page 9 (Supplement)

CHRISTMAS CRACKERS

(By “Moturoa.”) Nice girls wish for a happy X-Miss! =s« # # Punters to recover their punch on Boxing Day. * * * * But even Christmas is not without its handicaps. # * * * “Bill” Russell's judgment can never be ignored. Too Right! # # * * The very best racehorses get “in the Cups” at holiday time. * * * <» Here’s hoping that Alt Morse will “start” the year well at Stratford. * * * * The person who said that two heads arc better than one evidently played “'two up.” # # * # Most Taranaki punters would like to see the Auckland Cup winner led in—by George! # # # # A pleasing feature of the racing at Fcilding was the number of “catches” made by Taranaki horses. ‘ # * When Taranaki sportsmen attend the Rangitikei meeting they generally get “out with the Bulls.” # # #. Disappointed punters are of the opinion that Merry Jest is beginning to get more than a joke. * * * #

There is very little “straight” about our courses, and horses strike trouble through getting “on the bend.” # * # # Local hotel-keepers forward cordial Christmas greetings, knowing that “Moturoa” can swallow anything. # * # * * May your financial resources never be as short as the skirts seen on the lawn on Boxing Day. * £ * * A Christmas conundrum: Why is “Bill” Emeny the richest man in Taranaki? Because he owns the Royal Mint. A sport who slept contendedly on a lawn seat at Woodville evidently believed in “sitting tight.” # & # * In betting parlance a “no reply” is a thing which doesn’t need one. You can bet on that! # * # # In some places at Christmas time pub keepers put beer up. Punters always do their best to put it down. # # # • Why call a race the Welcome Stakes? To most Taranaki horse-owners any stakes at all are welcome, especially at Christmas. # * # # Fat men gorge themselves on Christmas Day, but what of the “pudden” thing horses carry on the day following? » * » * One reason why raee trains are so long is that they have to accommodate so many long faces on the run home. « * * e Newspaper heading: “Apprentices’ Handicap.” Yes, we quite agree that some unfortunate horses have a lot to put up with. # * ® * The person who bewails the amount of money lost on fast horses is quite wrong. It' is the slow one which hurts the hip-pocket most. « # # » It was the morning after a hectic Christmas Day celebration when Tommy the Punter was hailed before a brace of Justices on an assortment of charges generally connected with the festive season. Both J.’sP. were in a hurry to get to the races, and the hearing was short and perfunctory. “Fined five pounds!” was the verdict which assaulted Tommy’s ears. *> « • » “What’!” he gasped; “five quid! Blime, that’s all I’ve got to go to the races with! ” s» « s * The bench, being, good fellows, held a hurried consultation, and eventually Tommy enriched the Government coffers with a solitary quidlet. and hastened to the course with four of the best. He had a good day, too. he told me, which was as it should have been in this time of “Peace and Goodwill to all!” # * * # The Christinas Handicap was just over, and the runners were returning to the birdcage. All was peace and harmony until a disgusted punter burst through the throng on the outer, and, in a loud voice, began to vent his wrath upon the rider of an “also started.” “Cali yourself a jockey?” he yelled. “Garn! If you carn’t ride outside an ’orse. why on earth don’t you get inside?” "So I would,” was the quick rejoiner from, the joekster, "only the horse s mouth isn’t quite as large as

yours!” Then the. crowd laughed, and dispersed to pick the next. * # * # Billy the Stretcher absorbed three parts of his pint, wiped his “mo.” and surveyed the crowd. "A strange thing happened to me to-day,” he said, “a perfect stranger rushed up to me on the course and thrust a bundle of notes into my hand. ‘Hold these for me, mate,’ he said, and in a tick he was lost in the crowd.” Billy settled his ale, and continued: “But he came back just before the last race, and collected his money.” We waited, expectantly for the climax, and the Stretcher had only got as far as, "He must have thought I had an honest face ,” when Tommy the Nark chipped in with. “I can swear that’s, true, Billy, for I was there when you handed the boodle back to him, and I distinctly heard him say, ‘I knew my roll would be safe with you, mate, for as soon as I set eyes on you I picked you for a mug!’ ” * « « « “How did your husband get on at the races yesterday?” inquired Mrs. Rooney of Mrs. Casey, over the garden fence. “Oh! Not bad; not bad at all,” replied Mrs. Casey; “he lost the quid I lent him, but made thirty bob on his own ten. bob.” Casey was evidently satisfied. * * # * Brown was doing no good at the races, and the fact that his better half had clung to him like a leech al! day, and had not forgotten to give him a shake-up every time his fancy lost, had begun to get on his G string. “Turn it up,” she urged. "Not on your life,” ho replied testily, “I’m going to back one more horse, and I promise you it will be the very last.” “It generally is!” she snapped—and that's what started the domestic riot! * * * * The Bustler had been laying a two pound “double,” and a diminutive, spectacled youth had struck him. Little thinking that his double was in realiiy a treble, with the third “leg” the hardest to collect, he rushed up joyously to the layer of odds. “Landed it, my boy, didn’t I?” he began, but his joy quickly changed as he saw the scowl which came o’er The Bustler’s face. “Landed what?” snarled The Bustler, shooting out an ugly chin. “Well, I-er-thought I had two pounds to collect, that was all,” mumbled the youth. “Thought you had two popnds to collect,” roared The Bustler in disdain, buttoning up his coat, and producing a beautiful pair of fists. The Bustler was in a tight corner, and was bluffing for all lie was worth. Then a brain-wave struck him, and, with a reassuring laugh, he added: “You took Koanau and Nukumai, didn’t you, son?” The youth nodded. "Well, that wasn’t on at Egmont. I laid you that on the Century and Wanganui Steeples! They’re run next week, ana you’ve got a royal chance of landing it, my lad: a royal chance! And a much chastened youth slunk away to live In hopes—which came to nothing after all.

Brown was feeling out of sorts, and on raee morning invaded the sanctum of a certain sporting medico. The latter, with one eye on a likely winner or the Huatoki Plate, and the other on the half-guinea fee in sight, was inclined to rush things. “I know what’s wrong with you, Brown,” he said, briskly, “you smoke too much, that’s all!” “But 1 don't smoke at all,” asserted the patient, mournfully. “Then you will have to knock off the booze,” said the Doc. “I’m a teetotaller,” groaned Brown. "Then it must be high living—ladies, theatres and races,” said Pills, decisively. ’T take no interest in such things,” moaned Brown. “You don’t smoke, drink, look at the ladies, go to theatres, or to races!” gasped the medico incredulously, “then what on earth do you want to live for, old chap? That’s what puzzles me!” * * * s Smith advertised for a stable lad, and the only applicant was a middle-agea fellow who looked every inch or a runaway sailor. "What do you know about a horse?” Smith asked him. "Not too much,” replied the applicant candidly, “but I do know that the stern end is dangerous—it kicks —and the bow is dangerous too—it bites —but put me squarely amidships, sir, and I don’t give a tinker’s cuss how rough a passage the old tub gives me!” He got the job. « • • « Sporting scribes are notoriously bad writers, and more than one frankly admits that at times he cannot read Ins own writing. How telegraphists and “comps.” decipher the scribbling beats most people. A page of “copy,” picked up on the Press-room floor nt a recent meeting, was handed round amongst tile reporters present, but all gave it up, and the verdict was that the scrawl had Tutankhamen’s love-letters beaten to a frazzle. « e « «= “There’s one fellow in this town who could read anything ever written,” remarked a wag, “he’s the local ehemlst, and is so used to doctor’s writing that nothing stick him.” “I’ll pay the interpreter’s fee,” volunteered one of the Smart Alecs. “Righto,” said the wag, as he carefully folded up the sheet, enclosed it in an envelope, and addressed it, giving it to the telegraph boy to deliver. Half an hour later the lad returned with a parcel which turned out to contain an eight ounce bottle of some messy mixture! The chemist had deciphered it, sure enough, and there was 3s Cd to pay! * a * * Radio broadcasters are generally experts in their line, and “listeners-in” to broadcasted racing will quite admit this statement. But race broadcasters are human, after all, and like to back their fancy, which, at times, causes their enthusiasm to run away with them, and it. is on occasions like this that the listeners hear:—‘They’re off....lt’s a good start.... Commendation lost ground.... Lysander is in front, followed by Seatoun and Te Monanui... .Lysander still leads... .Commendation has run up to second... .they’re coming to the straight n0w.... Lysander is just in front of Commendation... .Te Monanui is coming fast on the outside... .Te Monanui will win.... Come on, Te Monanui... I’ve got a quid on him... .he’ll win... .1 told you so. ...No, Commendation has: passed Lysander... .Commendation is I in front. .. .Come on, Te Monanui, darn it....that boy can’t ride for nuts.... Commendation... .Te Monanui... Commendation... .dash it all I’ve done my quid, and ought to be kicked!” * * * * “What? Long beers after 6 o’clock. You’ll get no long beers here. . . There’s mediums for you,” And, as an afterthought, Old Bill added, “You blokes will be wantin’ portholes in your coffin when you die!” He silently swallowed his indignities. * * « • Meeting Long Tom in a bar. blowing the froth off a pint of Paul’s best, an astonished acquaintance gasped, “Hullo.

Tom, I thought you got converted by the Army/’ Tom took a long swig before replying. “Too true, I did,” he said, “but me cobbers came along ana converted me back again!” * » • ♦ It was raining cats and dogs when the field went out for the Christmas Handicap, and the course was knee deep in—no, not daisies—knee-deep in mud. “What do the jockeys wear different coloured jackets for?” asked a flapper. “In order to identify the horses in the first round,” replied her companion. “Well, what do the horses carry different numbers for?” “Oh, I suppose it must be to identify the jockeys in the last, round,” was the tired reply

THE TIP. If you have a pound to spare, After paying what you owe; Here’s a tip that seems quite fair—- “ Blue it” on old Kareao. Proud owner: “A thousand wouldn’t buy that colt,” Trainer (absent-mind-edly): “I don’t blame ’em!” Unfortunate punters reckon that horse racing has knocked £ out of them for years. Better luck in the New Year. Sports who go to Auckland races by rail are those who get “eiek” of travelling by steamer. The other day a telegram took four hours to reach this office. Yet some of the Bar Vons complain of “hurry i>p«!”