THE SPORT OF KINGS.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXI, Issue 9055, 14 February 1908, Page 6

THE SPORT OF KINGS.

AN "UP-COUNTRY" RACE MEETING.

THE LIGHTER SIDE OF SPORT,

It is a great day in the country township is the annual race day, and who but a bigot would deny that it is not true sport that attracts even the hoary "oldest inhabitant" down to the rustic course with its five pennants floating proudly in the summer breeze. Why, there is "sport" writ everywhere, if it is only to be eked out of a casual contemplation of the surroundings, and of the country worthies, who only indulge their sporting proclivities, in an annual "plunge" for a modest fortune of several shillings at, say, two to one.

There is a delightful lack of preteusiousness about the average country racecourse. Even its position is modest—for it generally bursts upon your gaze after you have been directed through someone's backyard and down someone else's right-of-way. You casually ask an important looking individual where the course proper is. He eyes you with suspicion and a certain amount of indignation, but when he observes you are in earnest he says "You're standin' on it, mister." To be sure you are, and you didn't know it—the stumps and logs are certainly not so thick where you stand, but they are plentiful enough. The strains of a violin waft over to your ears "Keep on the sunny side." Unconsciously you look to see if the music contains a subtle suggestion to patronise a grandstand, as the thermometer stands at 80 odd. No grand or any other stand is visible. But being a sport, you don't mind.

The "ringolette" man -with the tempting board with several halfguineas and many half-crowns painted on it is a prolific source of interest to the curious. The stern determination with which a rustic grips the ring which he mentally resolves to throw round the impossible "ten and six," or die in the attempt, excites nothing but admiration from his sympathetic pals, who have se<m several of his good shillings rapidly disappear in the plausible ringolette man's bag in quick succession. The "joint" is another individual worth attention. The lavish way he squanders his money on the bna~d is only equal to the proprietor's generosity in paying out "when he really needn't" —as a fair spectator remarks. The ring was "not exactly round the amount," but what does the board man care? Then in rush the sports, and the proprietor has a good time.

The "bookie" is a source of unbounded admiration to the country race-goer. The big, burly man with a big bag emblazoned with a big brass plate has a face of brass to harmonise wi*:h his voice of the same metal. In fact he is all brass, and "brass" in the vulgar sense fairly overflows from his capacious bag. Philanthrophy, you would imagine, was the aim and object of his presence on the course, as he generously offers you a "four pun' div" on the field of four bar one. Alas! that one is always just the one the country sport wants, no matter which he chooses. A friendly spar of words and a compromise is arranged at "three to one," the brass voice having a triumphant ring as it thereafter continues "I'll bet. on the field." Amid a babel of odds a yell sounds loud above all others "Four to one Revellee! Four to one Reveille!" "What 'orse is that mister?" inquires a knowing sport who has seen active service. "E's on the card if you'll look," sarcastically replies the bookie's clerk, who has furnished the man with the bag with the name. "Reveille is the only nag I can see," is the caustic retort. "Trevalli or shark—l ain't particular," is the good humoured reply, and the sports come in and bet.

The judge's box is wonderful in its simplicity. It is stowed in a corner of the "lawn," and a two - inch board protrudes several feet above the level of the front palings.- From this board the judge takes a line with a stump opposite, and as he stands on a kerosene box the field rushes past intersecting his imaginary line and allowing of no mistake. A marquee on the lawn is a "Poo Bah" among tents for it is the weighing-in room, the secretary's office, press room, stewards' room, and sundry other compartments in one. This is convenient enough, as if one requires to go from the stewards' room to interview the secretary he stays where he i?. Equally convenient is the "lawn," which is the saddling paddock, parade ground and betting enclosure combined. However, these are trifling matters, and the meeting goes with a swing in spite of minor drawbacks.

But oh, to see a race! One good | race will suffice to satisfy the most insatiable appetite for real sport. | There are long jockeys and short jockeys, fat' jockeys and thin, boys of immature age, and white-haired wiry veterans of over sixty. The start is too ludicrous to describe, and while one ambitious jockey-owner is giving his mount a sore back, another is clinging for dear life to his horse's main, with one empty stirrup dangling vigorously at his side. Up and down the bumpy course the field scampers, the crowd yelling approval, and the bookies raking in stray punts. After the victory of farmer So-and-So's "Bonny Pumpkin" is acclaimed a blare of brazen voices chorus "I'll pay 'Bonny Pumpkin'," and Mick Smithers, Bill Spoon«m, and Fred Some-one-else's bag rattles enticingly, the wily owner knowing full well that the "lucky" sports missed in true rustic style and the collectors of "four pun' divs" will be few indeed. However, the race itself was a "dinkum go," and all true sports are satisfied. B::t the legend "good luck" on Bookie Bill Spoonem's sash loses its glam our somewhat, and when the last field is home rusticity sees where the good luck lies—with the sash-wearer. But it's all sport.