ERROL PARKER | Editor-at-large | Contact
Brett Combie swears quietly to himself, turns back toward his mates and curses the donkey that just cost him another pineapple.
“The fucking thing,” he said.
“It was paying $2.10 for Christ’s sake!”
The 27-year-old pilot’s cries fell on deaf ears, as two of his mates were able to confirm that Combie hasn’t been able to back a winner all afternoon.
But he’s not ready to throw his losing ticket away just yet – not until he scans it at least.
A few short minutes and loss-covering bets later, Brett scanned his ticket.
“Yeah, turns out it actually did come last,” he said.
“Which is fucking bullshit. But yeah, the fucking steel horse that I ride, the electronic betting terminal, has bucked me off all afternoon. Pig-rooting cow it is.”
“I’m going heavy on the next one. If I lose that one, I’m cutting up a stranger if it comes in with the mob when we must Bransby tomorrow morning, because I’ll be broke!”
The Advocate is currently awaiting Combie’s last bet down at the Dolphin’s Leagues Club. He’s agreed to not box anything because he bets like a man, not a coward.
More to come.
