Cup day fiesta is not so fun sober

SOME years ago in this very column – after January 26 started to become controversial and divisive among certain members of our community – I suggested a number of alternate days to celebrate Australia Day.

I recall arguing in that column that Australians would never stand for one of our holidays being obliterated, but more would be accepting of a change of date – if required.

Also, in that column, I argued that if we were going to change the date, then maybe the best day to celebrate our nationhood would be on Melbourne Cup Day.

After all, it’s for those five minutes or so – taking in the lead-up and post-race celebrations or commiserations (and the ripping up of tickets), the Melbourne Cup provides the moment most of Australia stands as one – if only for a horse race.

I had argued that Melbourne Cup Day may as well be a national holiday, given most of the country either takes the day off completely or at least from lunchtime onwards.

However, after witnessing certain scenes around Toowoomba on Tuesday, I’m now not so sure.

Years ago, I would arrange my holidays or at least days off around the first week in November so I was usually off for the Cup.

For some years I used to join a bunch of Toowoombaites in Melbourne for Cup Week, though with the rages of time and age, I’ve decided to give that particular week a miss in recent years due to the hectic social schedule in Melbourne.

However, due to a myriad of factors, I had to work on Tuesday and missed the usual festivities of the first Tuesday in November, even though a few of my mates were texting me throughout the day from a nearby inner city Toowoomba inn.

After much badgering, I relented and agreed to meet said mates at the certain CBD inn after work – which, I had suspected, would be in error – and, for once, I was right.

For those who have not yet attended a Melbourne Cup at Flemington, let me set the scene.

Basically, it’s a case of thousands of people turning up at Flemington in the morning, done up to the nines and eager for a day’s racing and celebration.

By day’s end, that same bunch of people leave the track in a far less attractive state. Usually, the girls are carrying their shoes in one hand with the other draped around one of their friends, while the blokes have their ties undone, the shirts out and wearing their girlfriends’ hats or fascinators.

It was a similar scene that greeted me at the certain inner city inn that I had attended to catch up with my mates after work on Tuesday.

There’s nothing quite like walking into a pub stone-cold sober to be greeted by beer-swilling drunken mates to bring out the cranky in me.

But the races were still going in Brisbane and elsewhere, so I agreed to stay and have a few punts and beers – after all, by that time I was probably the only one in our group who could read a form guide.

However, as I scanned the room across a sea of beer, wine and champagne-swilling patrons, it did bring back memories of Flemington.

The girls were shoeless, loud and hugging each other as they danced, and the blokes were untidy and wearing their dates’ head pieces.

Two girls, who obviously had enjoyed a long day’s racing, even engaged in a quick scuffle at the bar which was fortunately quickly broken up by the boyfriend of one of them, and some girls took the other combatant on to the next pub.

It was all very entertaining but hardly enjoyable for a sober person and I soon made an excuse to leave and did.

That’s what has changed my mind about a national holiday for the Melbourne Cup.

As I trudged home on foot – unable to get a taxi due to the number of Melbourne Cup patrons heading between pubs – I couldn’t help but think “How are those people going to work tomorrow?”

Multiply that nationwide and it will no longer be the race that stops a nation, but the race that stops the nation working for two days.