Thomass

So what's the 'handicapping model' we should be using? HK, NSW, Vic?? Oh that's right that's what we use...Brits?? Where the female allowance is already 'built in'.. Whats the 'shangri la' of handicapping bliss? What about measuring each neddys stride at full tit...along with the cadence...before their careers start... ...weight carried correlating to body weight....all that stuff Surely with all of these new technology's we have available these days a brand new model is within our grasp... ...Handicapping Robots using AI...and that's not artificial inseminating robots either..

Let's face it.. ..poor McKenzie was being interviewed by a feckless neophyte in Earily.... ...he had to get down to Earily's level of gross ignorance on the subject at hand... ..don't worry about Deano...he's got the record behind him...along with the likes of Vella Fella and Dame Christie McDonald close behind... ...if they can't manage the situation no f'ers can...

One of the GREAT races of recent times if not the best... ..not only that but caught wide...with Dettori having to drop further back than the normal handy...and travelled the furthest distance in the end ... thanks to GPS confirmation... ...superbly ridden..one slap and the rest spent showing her the whip...enjoy

Being a top class 'hoarseman' Reefer..you'd know travelling from Blackpool to Blackpool Pear is a tad different to Ye olde colonial travel to Nu Ziland from old Blighty... ...Early in my career I dealt with a number of shuttlers...Yes the 'science' of travel has improved...but it's still fraught with danger... My point of top class horses like RL being subject to more stringent insurance protocols stands...once bitten... The Lindsey's will lose heavily over this...and obtaining a similar horse in future will be extremely hard imo

Some lovely dreams in this thread... ..now all yous fellas need to do is... ...get elected by your pears...then go forth and multiply your dreams...best

PLLLLLLease...you're spoiling the memories of the Maldiving... ...I know you and your Besty went to Englaise as a 2nd lingo class...twice removed ...but Retro to R 3 means that after Race 3 they decided Race 3 was run on H10....even though Punters thought it was H11 when betting... ...but Races 1/2 were still run on an H 11...at the start of the day... ...the same az Otaki at H 11...but a 25L difference.... ...so in the eyes of stakeholders...supposedly exactly the same...when it wasn't... ..Hope that helps.. don't get back Magoo

Oh not you too...Is Magooish catchy at your alma mater? I said "at the start of the day" Both were H 11...Rots changed retrospective to R 3.... With pen. Readings supplied Punters could have factored in a possible change at Rots... ...and would have realised at a glance Otaki was wet az all day...H 15 ...like behind your ears Magoo Keep up or go back to school

So at the start of the day, Punters...you know the ones who are the MOST important...and keep the game sans Racing for Ribbons... ...get told both tracks are H11...in other words Prima facie...exactly the same Turns out they were nothing of the sort...what a f in surprise... One ran 25L faster in fact...thanks NZTR/RIU.... purveyers of b/s information....rubber stamped by the hopeless Track Managers who insist that pen readings SHALL NOT BE GIVEN OUT under any circumstances... ...even though one was actually H 15...not H11 And they wonder why Punters have buggered off to Sports Betting... "Keep the Punters in the dark like mushrooms...as they can't be trusted with correct info for fear of getting confused" Yea...that..DICKHEADS

Oustanding race horse and now Stud ROARING LION's emergency colic op could have massive repercussions for the future of shuttle stallions here... NH Studs will be gun shy about this in future for sure...obtaining insurance could be almost impossible in NZ... And it highlights how ridiculous it is to still deny artificial insemination has a place in the Thoroughbred Industry... ...how absurd it is to travel these highly expensive Stallions to the other side of the World then.. ...simply restrict numbers to a certain level for each Stallion...and were in business... ...meanwhile Rl fights for his life...the video shot while he was in quarantine is telling.... ...flaring nostrils indicating pain before he was allowed out into the paddock... where Groom Corbin twigged he wasn't right.. https://mobile.twitter.com/LauraKingDXB/status/1154565159114792960

It's great you're so concerned turnsey... Of course your contribution is on a par with a single cell amoeba...and that's greasing the monkey somewhat... While you've been concerned I've been diving with the Princess in more ways than one...the Maldives are only for the elite of the elite though...so you're...not invited...sadly Hopfully the Princess gets what she's been craving....

Shocking scenes at Rotorua Hedley...Trackside Radio reported ALL horses were ok..when the clearly weren't...fair dinkum Rodgy's horse got caught midshps on getting up and was catapulted into the air with another 2 falling in the meelee.... ...there's something bad about that Rotorua track when it comes to falling... The sooner NZ adopts the new colour change of fluoro yellow sighter strips that the Brits have adopted...the better...

Soz ATA...been girding the loins after Maldiving with the Princess.... ..it looks like this place has been az boring az batbung since I've been away though? Back to seriousness however...those supercilious silks of sophistry have az much knowledge about Apps as a corrupted Russian App that's been Trumped... ...if you know what I mean... If you told them 13 races in a row were won by Apps in the CD...and another 10 in a row at Timaru...they'd still be wanting evidence that Apps are GOLD... ...especially in an H 11 bog... "0.1L = 1Kg" is about az stupid as stupid does...you just can't tell, 2 in particular, who went to the same Uni...and travel around in a MGBGT... ..nuttin'... ...they keep on pulling the supercilious sophistry card out...then roll it down each other's legs...with the hood down...and they're in Ecstasy Self flagellation it's called...alma mata style...yuck

You really have to laugh at this though ata.. Herman tries to organise a tipping contest...but even his mates didn't want to turn up!!! Hilarious stuff...they knew they'd be totally embarrassed by their lack of perspecuity... Theyd be ignoring bias, thinking they were on Pegasus to get them into the one one... ...the classic ones already mentioned of no unlucky runs, wide without cover, or overacing...but the new one " any horse racing at this time of the year will handle ALL tracks... courtesy of Bazz...no wonder he's gone into hiding... Id be embarrassed to bits....

The problem was I Posted Mark Mac as "what a loss" and he destroyed the good tone by inferring there was an affair going on...after calling my posts "shit" I think we all know what shit is...its publicly shaming someone whose given good service to the industry when commenting on their private lives...

Then why did you change the metric to 0.5L after I told you the CORRECT one..which has nothing to do with opinion? Each Rating point once into Heavy is equivalent to one second...FACT Id stop posting if I was you...if you keep misreading actual facts like the two Apprentice allowances being wrong? All you needed to say was "as you were" like the previous time you were wrong...instead of defending misreading the results Just let it go and move on is my advice

So you allow him to post the Sthern Comms was having an affair... ..but you deleted my retaliatory post for calling moi's posts "shit"? Get ya priorities sorted.

There's absolutely nothing wrong with calling him a moron when he couldn't read this at the bottom "and always FREEDOM to post your views and opinions (Still Free!)." If he's dislexic...fair enough...maybe his mommy could read it to him if he thinks it's a fair question?

Now you're being deliberately ignorant... The difference between 10/11 and 11/12 is still @6L after 6mls...not 0.5L you imbecile... Just as a background...we used to have unlimited Heavy when the pen readings were divulged... Punters should be able to observe at a glance a H Trentham 16 ...to a close to 10 at H11 for example ones bottomless..the other not...yet were not allowed to be told...

I'm sorry but you're like any poster here... If you tell us fake news it needs to be pointed out... You gave out fake news and failed to admit it was wrong fake 2 fakes in fact...and as Winn says "2 fakes make you wrong twice"

Thanks Freda... ..if you can just confirm... Its effing H 10 Heavy....and goes to H11...Are you entitled to scratch without penalty?

It's actually WORSE....6mls on an H 11 is 6L difference... Thats MATERIALLY AFFECTED even in a MORON's head... The RIU were trying to Heavy Vile with more of their nonsense... ..like fining Jockeys for fisting the finish.... ...OUT OF CONTROL..

Oh that's right...you couldnt even read RESULTS that a 5 yo could understand... ...then came out fighting like a 5 yo who couldn't take the TRUTH... ...So of course you'd support him...

And I'm just about to enjoy watching the tennis...

What that he can't read? But he can say my posts "are shit"?

John McCririck and Alastair Down on TV duty at Royal Ascot in 2013 Edward Whitaker 1 of 1 UPDATED 7:59PM, JUL 7 2019 Alastair Down pays tribute to his former colleague and friend John McCririck Over the last couple of years I have watched an oh-so-steadfast friend corrode and erode from the inside, a man dying before one's very eyes. That vast flamboyance stuttering inexorably to the conclusion universal to us all, like some once unassailable ocean liner declining from the regal to a rusted hulk. But the manner of John McCririck's slow fade to grey was also the stuff of inspiration because this most singular and underrated lover of racing died as he had lived – drenched in bravery. Was there ever a word of complaint? A scintilla of self-pity? Even the faintest tinny echo of 'poor me'? Not a bit of it. As he withered in the fire, he never faltered. Tied to the stake as the rifles were raised, he was unblinking and, trenchant to the end, would have told you where to stuff your blindfold. Perhaps there is a touch of the roseate in my recollection of him, but excuse that please. He first burst over my horizon in March 1981 when I walked in tremulously on my initial day at the Sporting Life. In the subsequent 38 years I cannot recall a single occasion on which he let me down. Of how many can that be said? Yes we argued on occasion – we had an armed truce never to discuss his appearance on that scourge of our times, reality TV – but he was magnificently honest and even-handed. When he thought you had done well he would ring and tell you, and if he believed you had erred the inevitable 'Fat Al' would be followed by a tirade of corrective advice. But it was done with kindness – there was a compassion to Mac that ran deeper than the Mariana Trench. It is a sadness that few people could see beyond the buffoon and that was his fault. He was to an extent the prisoner of his own carefully cultivated persona, but those who chose to look beyond the superficial found their own reward. John McCririck: his use of tic-tac attracted attention Edward Whitaker He was an intensely personal man. Details of his life were hard to garner and it was always my feeling that he was forced to rise above something of an unhappy childhood. But rise he did, not least because he forged an alliance of steel with a woman who was very much the making of him. The Booby was always Mac's lioness – while the male of the pride sits around trying to look magnificent it is the woman who goes out to hunt, kill and provide. And why The Booby? As he once exultantly explained a definition he had read: "A dim, flightless bird ridiculously easy to catch." There are few mysteries as complex as other people's marriages, but should you require a textbook definition of devotion look no further than Mr and Mrs John McCririck. Christ she could be tricky, but only ever in his cause. I tremble for her now without the mad rock of her incarnation, but if any consolation can be found she might turn to the words of the great Philip Larkin, whose extraordinary poem An Arundel Tomb closes with the climactic line: "What will survive of us is love." Please god may it be true. For Jenny most of all. Memories? Well hello and welcome to a flood tide. Walking into The Ivy for lunch and seeing this be-fezzed loon ensconced on a wide banquette, chosen as he found a chair mildly restrictive after a course or four. On the table in a bucket of vast proportions, a magnum of champagne. "Now Fat Al, I am two glasses ahead of you but I am sure you will catch up." He endured mixed relations with his mother in law, who he habitually referred to as the Reptile. On one occasion after a long day at the races, John had repaired to bed after his "tosh" – bath to you and I – in order to watch his beloved Newcastle on the box. The Reptile, whose views on her daughter's choice of man can only be guessed at, repeatedly knocked on his door to tell him that his customarily splendid dinner was about to be served by Jenny. Mac, deep into the 90th minute, told her where to go. Eventually after ma-in-law's 80th entreaty he said he would be there in a minute. Good as his word he strode in and sat at the end of the table. Stark and bollock naked. As Basil Fawlty once said: "Enjoy your meal!" And years earlier setting off on the countryside march in London, where after about five minutes it became clear this most high-profile of footsloggers would be the focus of vitriolic abuse from those heckling from the pavement. I lacked his utter passion for the cause and moved away from him in the throng. But as things got worse – which he loved of course – I thought "grow a pair Down" and cleaved to his side. And how wrong people invariably were about him. People assumed he was a bigot but that he never was. I had the unquenchable privilege of being raised by parents who simply never made distinction between Jew or gentile, black or white. They had given five years of their life making sure it was thus. And there was a resonance of their views with John. Perhaps more than any man I knew he abhorred racism in its every form and was light years ahead of society. Was he sexist? Absurdly so in public utterance. Yet among the mass of cap-doffing drivel that has poured out in recent days has been the contributions of women who knew and worked with him. Think Alice Plunkett and Tanya Stevenson – yes they wanted to throttle him some days, but they knew he was some man to have at your shoulder in the trench when the foe were closing on you across no man's land. And loved him for it. Big Mac with his co-stars, the Channel 4 Morning Line team Edward Whitaker Irritating? He invented it. But it was done – vast ego aside – because he cared above all for you and I. Folk failed or fabulous who were in thrall to the thing he loved above all – horseracing. In a wonderfully old-fashioned way he cared with unswerving passion for the little man. The punter. Somewhere in the maddening, magnificent maelstrom that was Mac there thumped out a belief in ordinary folk and that he was beholden to stand up for them through tremor and tempest. He knew that the bookmakers regarded you and I as cannon-fodder but nobody else stood up to the red resentment of the guns like John McCririck. Fearless in his views, his courage lay in the fact that unlike the rest of us he felt no overpowering need to be loved. That takes backbone and bottle. He was loaded with both. News of his death came in a call from my one of my daughters, Clare. There were no tears at that moment, but I write these sparse words through a hopeless mist. Soon after came a request from son James to come to his funeral as, at the age of 11, young Jim spent a memorable day at the Oval with Mac when England regained the Ashes. There is TV footage of the pair leaping up and down in the stands – son of the demented cavorting joyously with the pleasingly insane. But John never wanted a funeral. He thought nobody would turn up. Wrong old friend. And so The Booby and a supporter will watch the slow and sonorous slide behind the curtains and the ashes will find their way to the furlong pole at Ally Pally where in John's youth the starter would solemnly intone: "Triers at the front, non-triers at the back." Different days, as they will all be now without the old cuss. I spoke to him often on the phone as the sand ran through the timer. The old roar had grown husky but the heart still pulsed vibrant. Alas no more. There is an old line of song that runs "you don't know what you've got til it's gone". In my inner heart I hope he understood how deeply he was valued by those privileged to be allowed past the public image. Trouper and triumph. RIP John McC.