“DAMNED HOT!"

Wanganui Chronicle, Volume LXXXIII, Issue 19920, 16 August 1927, Page 4

“DAMNED HOT!"

RAMPS AT ROSEHILL SYDNEY RACEGOERS COMPLAIN “Damned hot, brethren! Damned hot!” the great Spurgeon remarked one morning, in the famous Tabernacle, as he mopped his brow preliminary ro preaching a wonderful sermon on swearing. The phrase leapt to one’s mind at Rosehill on Saturday, writes “Turfite” in the Sydney Sun. “Damned hot” some of the incidents were. In the evening some of us were persuaded to go to the greyhound racing. After Rosehill, commend me to the tin hane. Every event was a legitimate gamble. Nobody on this earth could prevent any dog with the speed and the nous to corner sharply, instead of faithfully following the hare well out, winning. Every element of luck was in the running, and the elimination of the “animal that speaks” from the proceedings appeared to my untutored eyes to give backers a legitimate chance of getting a winner. But at Rosehill, what a difference! Form and good faith were the last things anybody could rely upon. The ring had a royal afternoon, and horseracing was further injured. The big punters, who figure so prominently at this course, appeared well content with their crowd, but the writing on the wall was shouted at them after the handicap, and some of their satisfaction vanished. ' Steeplechase a disgrace The steeplechase was a disgrace. Good money was wasted. The three horses which contested it could hardly be graded. But it had the one merit of being an honest race. Each jockey was supremely confident of victory. How the rider of poor Blue could have imagined he would prevail was, however, a mystery. The old chap was poor as a drought area cattle horse. In his stall after the race only the stiffness of his legs kept him from flopping on the ground. He was utterly miserable and dejected, with tears, yes, literally, tears, oozing from his eyes, which were filmed with fatigue. And all to win £25, less fees and expenses. Ulah was the first of the quaint performers. Several times he had raced, and never had he shown merit of any .special moment. A slack seventh at Warwick Farm was his best. During the week he was soundly trounced by Blather on the track. Yet tho instant the bookies commenced calling he was backed. “Raced into form” was the euphemism which one person associated with the stable advanced as explanation of this sudden financial faith. May be and may be not. Such correct guessing borders on the miraculous, and might be expected to win all the tipping competitions in Sydney. Cawnpore’s Showing But the ululation of the Ulah coup was a small circumstance compared to the extraordinary performance of Cawnpore. Everybody who sp.w this gelding almost catch Boaster at the Farm was waiting for him. When doubles were started after the weights were issued he was invariably made first leg. The rush on the course was terrific. The ring laid and laid and laid. A dozen bookies disclosed most unusual contempt for a public pick. The motto for the layers was for the nonce, “and damned be he that first cries ‘Hold! Enough!’” They didn’t and what’s more wouldn’t. No stray half-sovereign or “pony” was missed. At the least they held £5OOO of public money. But Cawnpore, like the city after which he was named, was guilty of frightfulncss. He was never sighted.

Gradually it leaked out that the horse had been sold before the race. Bearing in inind what happened at Randwick when a steeplechaser once changed hands in somewhat similar conditions, the ordinary punter, if tie had known this, would probably have buttoned up his pockets. The rules of racing, however, permit of his going to his doom without warning. At any rate, the Rosehill committee let him do so. Not one word is to be said against his new owner. Doubtless his instructions were to win. But history is strewn with parallels of horses that have been sold on the eve of their engagements unaccountably failing to reproduce the form which led to the sale. The point of this paragraph is that the public were left in ignorance, and that the bookies’ bags, like Sam Weller, Swelled wisibly.” Demonstration against Rawhetu was justified. And, don’t forget, it did not originate in the Leger, which those who control courses are apt to disregard, though keen upon their good money in patronage. The hoots came from the angry occupants of the more costly reserve. Writing on the Wall They will not remain silent any longer when arresting reverses occur. The Amounis case had not, and will not be forgotten. Words were shouted which were corrosive. The committee went on as if nothing had happened. Bui irrestistibly the tide is turning against its deliberate refusal to consider hostile critiseism. What race-goers want is assurance that where there is ‘no smoke there shall be inquiry to find if there is any fire. Rawhetu won like a good horse, but, taking recent racing, out of its turn. And confidence can only be maintained by assurance that the change of heart on the part of a horse is due to some ascertainable cause.