At base, bare bones level, there’s not much difference between your average economy class crowd at the Melbourne Cup and the one at, say, any major music festival or B&S Ball. But because it’s marketed as a “fancy” event and because it involves ordinary punters pouring untold amounts of money into the gambling industry, Cup crowds curiously escape the same kind of over-policed scrutiny and moral tut-tutting that events of a similar size are subject to.
[jwplayer I1t3dQaV]
While the sea of discarded plastics and pissed berks strewn across the grounds are, realistically, no different to anything you’ve seen in the camp grounds at Splendour or Summernats, because we’re all doing it in our Tarocash finest while heaving dollars down a bookie’s throat beneath a Lexus sign, we’re much happier to let it all slide at Flemington, apparently.
The good news, however, is that this level of perceived civility also means press photographers are present to freely roam the grounds throughout the day, capturing the absolute madness going on for us all to gawk and squawk at the next day.
The scenes at yesterday’s cup are loose, not pretty, and funny as hell.
A lot of instances of the boys, caught in the act of not dogging any subsequent boy.
You beaut, lads. Triple fisting at the trots. You absolutely love to see it. Gonna front up to my job at KPMG tomorrow feeling straight dusty.
The joke here being: Wouldn’t it be funny if a bloke wore a lady hat? And the answer there can only be: A bit.
That’s a camera alright. Better make sure you crouch so you can get in the lower half of the shot only. Hell yeah, fellas.
Not sure if half-cut or trying to auction an off-the-plan 2-bed unit in Abbotsford that’ll never get built due to the chain-collapsing of the construction and developing companies.
Better to be carried off by your mates than carried off by the cops, am I right?
Am I fucken right, folks?
‘Course I say “not dogging any subsequent boy,” which doesn’t include the instances of actual apparent dogging.
Like these two lovely blokes having a nice intimate moment.
Or this bloke, taking “mounting yards” to a whole new level.
Aw yeah.
Aw yeah.
AW FUCKEN YEAH THE BOYS.
Or this…. honestly, I have no idea what’s even going on here.
That bloke on the ground may have set a land speed record for having a sick one, because press photographers apparently went to town on him.
There are a lot of photos of old mate going boonta floating about media sites this morning.
A lot.
A lot.
A LOT.
A. Lot.
Fucken heaps of the pricks.
Unique trackside entertainment at #MelbourneCup @theheraldsun pic.twitter.com/iBsGDBo9Pf
— Aneeka Simonis (@AneekaSimonis) November 5, 2019
Having a big and normal one.
Elsewhere around the grounds, the non-boys exclusive highlights were in abundance as well. The choice cuts of which we’ve plucked out thusly:
Fake or not, I’m not sure vomit is recyclable, hey.
Never in my life have I ever been more scared for two people’s safety. Old mate on the right there has already dialled the first two zeroes.
Bloody hell. Bon Jovi blaring over the PA isn’t the only thing Halfway There, apparently.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned from attending at least one country footy Mad Monday, it’s that an extended tongue makes any photo 10,000% more memorable.
Nothing quite like a good lie down. And the good thing about the Melbourne Cup is you can just do it anywhere you want. Literally no one will stop you.
Every single person in this photo has cut in front of me at a Boost Juice.
Two points to make here: 1) Usain Bolt is having far too good a time with that sword. 2) That bloke on the left is fighting his entire body to not scream “IT’S A BOY” as loud as he possibly can.
No real harm done through all of this, but. At the end of the day, we all lost a truck load of money, some of us vomited on our Aquila Shoes and sockless ankles, we’ve all got three days of work to gut through, some rich people got trophies without doing anything, and only one horse smashed its pelvis this year.
A great Tuesday. We all have fun, don’t we.
