I am saddened to report that news out of the Beagles Nest at Eagle Farm is that the Darren ‘Difstick’ Diffey, the bloke recruited by his mate the Brisbane Racing Club CEO to make sure they couldn’t race at Eagle Farm – the racket from those bloody horses hooves disturbs Whimpey Dave when he’s meditating –  has gone the way of the dinosaur.

Now I’m buggered if I know why Whimpey D’s gone and sacked the Difstick, because he did a damn fine job as General Manager of Tracks and Facilities, and the blitzed his key Performance Target of disappearing the track.

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Then again I’m not quite sure why they appointed a bloke with a background in pubs and project management to take charge of a racetrack course proper, when the only experience he’d ever had with grass was watching Whimpey Dave and Slippery Sam suck bucket bongs over at Slippery’s at lunchtime on a Tuesday when the missus was out playing tennis and flogging Bet Fairy subscriptions.

At the time I rated the Difstick’s appointment as a bit odd I have to admit, because the global convention has always been that you employ a turf man to look after the stuff, someone like Kevin Mitchell at the Gabba or Nevesh Ramdhani at Randwick. You know,  blokes who are expert in the (non-hoochie) couchie trade.

But then I’m just a mere mortal, and Whimpey D’s the Black Caviar of CEO’s, and just like Nifty Nev sitting on the deck of the penthouse at Ascot Green Stage 1 he was chosen to fly, and when you’ve got fairy wings and you’re flying high you see things that ordinary blokes from the Bung always miss.

Things like the genius of the appointing of a bloke you know down the Goldie from the hotel trade who’s never had any experience with turf management to manage one of the three most important pieces of sporting turf in the state.

Who but a visionary like Whimpey D could come up with such an amazingly brilliant idea to make sure that the highly-casualised BRC hospitality crew could come in on a Saturday uninterrupted by stupid horses and set up show for Nifty’s 70th birthday party? They couldn’t have done that if there was a course proper now could they punters?

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So why the hell has the CEO given his old mate Difstick the flick? One minute he’s here  running around Beagle Farm calling himself the Boss of Building Services, the next minute he’s over at Doomben wearing a t-shirt saying General Manager Tracks and Facilities, and then just five minutes later the Bantam comes over the course PA and announces to no-one – just because he likes the sound of his own voice – that the Difstick has left the building, and now he’s bloody disappeared.

Oh what a difference a Dave makes when you work at the BRC.

Difstick and his amazing achievement of presiding over the shut down of metropolitan racing at Queensland’s most famous track will never be forgotten though, because I’ve gone down to the Hendra newsagent and bought a big post-it note and a texta, and I’ve written an epitaph to the Dif that I’m stick on the Buffering statue for the whole world to forever see, as long as they’ve got bionic vision or a pair of the Bantam’s spare binoculars.

It goes like this.

Veni, Vidi, Whimpey.

They came. They saw. They blundered.