Dubai: They call it ‘the race that stops the nation.’ And I couldn’t agree more - that really sums up the three and a half odd minutes on the first Tuesday in November, when every single Australian, drops whatever he or she is doing, to watch some of the best jockeys and horses in the world battle for one of sport’s most sought after prizes – the A$6.2million (Dh16 million) Emirates Melbourne Cup.
It’s an awesome countrywide experience and at Flemington Racecourse, where the drama unfolds in front of over 100,000 ecstatic spectators, the atmosphere is sheer theatre.
It’s easy to see why everyone, from shopkeeper to the banker, housewife to the telephone operator, tram driver to CEO, plays a part in an event that is an Australian staple.
If the Melbourne Cup stops the nation it also unites a nation. And I don’t believe that there are many sporting events that can hold a candle to that. It’s all encompassing and there to enjoy.
From the moment day breaks on that monumental Tuesday, there is only one thing that’s on everyone’s mind. All conversations orbit around the Cup. What’s your pick? Will there be a surprise winner? Will an Aussie horse win, or one of the international raiders? The questions come in all shapes and forms. The answers are irrelevant at this point of time. Who wants to know the answer, it will only kill the anticipation, the suspense, the drama.
There’s so much to like about the way the whole country comes together to join in the celebrations. You can see that there is a prevailing sense of pride and bonhomie. No one argues about this, not even the detractors for danger of being expelled from the sports loving land.
The Melbourne Cup is not just a horse race, it’s much more. It’s a spectacle in every sense. An occasion that transcends occasions. Of that there can be no doubt.
It’s brilliantly put together and everything works like clockwork towards those three and a half magical minutes to when the gates fly open and the brilliant beasts and their little warriors take over. It’s one of the longest horse races in the world at two miles but it happens in a blur. The mind is too bewitched to think of anything else.
There are 24 horses in the race and it’s hard to keep an eye on the one that you fancy. There’s the other horse dictating affairs at the front and threatening to run away with the race. His fans are willing him to go on forever and claim the Holy Grail, others are praying for him to run out of gas so that their horse can find that extra acceleration and gallop into history.
At some point you forget which was your horse, but it doesn’t matter. The thunder of the multitude of hooves and the screams from the crowd carry you into another world. Can this be happening? It feels so good. What does it matter who wins; this is the best experience in my life.
And then suddenly it’s over. The race, the noise, the tension. Who won?
There is only one winner and that is the Melbourne Cup itself.
