This absolute crock of craven crap spouted by the alien clown and desert vet Not-Doctor Eliot Forbes is one of the greatest displays of self-flagellation seen on a BrisVegas race track since Happy Jack decided in his cups to water the roses down at the fence separating the great unwashed from the beautiful people and copped a 4 week ban from the track and a gobful of vitriol from the upright hypocrites who ran the show back in the days when Happy used to lead the Diehards out in A-Grade at Lang Park.

He was an absolute pain in the arse old Happy Jack, but I’d always sling him a few beers and a cab fare home if I had a bit of scratch after the last, partly because he was a character and identity, but predominantly because that’s just what punters do. We all know that there but for the grace of god goes us wearing Happy’s sombrero, and that for men of racing and wagers the slippery slide from the penthouse to the sh*thouse or worse takes but the blink of an eye, a bad ride and a bobbed head.

ET almost certainly doesn’t even know who Happy Jack was, and Dave Whimpey wouldn’t let him into the course on sight, and Nifty Nev the networking chairman of the people never actually leaves the members other than to walk to and from his car and couldn’t have found a paddock public bar if he wanted to, and he doesn’t.

The dirty great unwashed out there are no doubt cursing and sculling in a fog of airborne plague virus cells bursting out from their soot-blocked pores, and Nifty doesn’t want any bloody part of it.

Most importantly though of course the general public don’t vote, so therefore in the Chairman’s view the mugs who have just spent 15 bucks to pass through the turnstiles -and who will punt and purchase plenty throughout the day – can go and get f*cked, and if they don’t like wading through three inch deep overflowed piss so they themselves can piss into 80-year-old cracked porcelain troughs that haven’t been upgraded or repaired since the day they were installed well the Hamilton Hotel’s just down the bloody road and perhaps they might be better placed taking their whining arses down there instead of just continually asking for more, more, more.

Bloody hell if you encourage that sort of crap and give the peasants a single inch the pricks will be wanting to take an extra mile, and before you know it the next thing will be that the¬†bastards will want the race track to have a course proper too, and then they’ll want grass on it and we will have to pay people to water it and on and on and on and it will never end.

It’s a lot cheaper and a lot less hassle to just to forget about racing altogether and just whack on a good Christmas movie.

You seen that one about the Grinch Nifty? Some people reckon he looks like you. Me personally? I think that bloke’s far better looking.

Pass the remote will you son?