Its a sad day for sport when a once influential mainstream media man whose career is on a sad, slow hubris and addiction driven decline abandons the tenets of truth in journalism and starts spouting unfounded errant nonsense that he dreams up in his booze sozzled brain and puts out to the punters as fact isn’t it sportsfans?
That sort of lazy, undisciplined and to be perfectly Francis downright deceptive unprofessional conduct is a sure sign that the light’s staring to fade on the fella’s once glittering career, and that he will end his days in the spotlight much as Cain did in the days of old after showing his true colors as a king-hitting creep by sneaking up and knocking off his brother Abel because he was jealous of the young bloke’s success.
“I am not my Brother’s keeper!” the biblical stab in the back merchant infamously declared to his lord when the allegedly omnipotent old fella asked him where his little bro was, but Cain was wrong cos we are all each other’s keepers when the chips are down and we’ve lost our way, and if you don’t believe me then treat your bloody self when you get sick instead of going to a public hospital for help, or grab the garden hose rather than calling Triple O if your house catches fire, and make sure that you have a gun handy too if three masked escaped cons mistake your house for the ice dealers next door and break down your door and demand the stash, cos there is no use calling the coppers, they’re not your bloody keeper.
Truth is sportsfans that Cain was just spinning porkie pies as if they were frisbees because he was a venal, vindictive, ego driven duplicitous c*nt who didn’t give a rats arse about any other bugger but himself, and if gushing out bulldust and declaring it as gospel truth got him what he wanted and kept him in French Champagne then bulldust was the order of the day and that’s what we’d all be served.
Little Sport – the second rate broadcaster and number 2 Brisbane race caller (but not for much longer) David Fowler – isn’t a killer, but when it comes to dealing out crap there’s no doubt at all that he’s the modern day Vegas version of Cain, with daylight a distant second and the rock formerly known as the planet Pluto distanced in third, with Uranus a late scratching after a big New Years Eve spent with Little Sport down in the dungeon at the Sportsman at Spring Hill.
There are a million examples of the one-time Dux of the devils playground down the road from The Sportsman that sports a sign saying its a Grammar School telling porkie pies, and everyone who has met Little Sport has their own favorite tale to tell.
Mine’s the line he spun at the Bung after 6 beers one day telling me and my mate Yeah Good that old Clip Clop wanted to make a comeback as Chairman of the Albion Park trot club after his transformational gig as a good guy on the State Hospital Board fell over when he backed the wrong political horse.
According to Little Sport poor Clip Clop was so desperate to regain his place in the big leather chair he’d bought in the trot club that he’d bought’s boardroom that he’d bought that Moses who he’d bought’s biggest owner even began lobbying the club board members that he’d bought to vote him back to the Chairman’s position that he owned, but the big man was out of luck because Little Sport who’d he’d bought and owned wasn’t prepared to give up the padded luxury seat at the top of the table that Clip Clip had lent him and it wasn’t because Little Sport doesn’t believe in repaying his debts either, even though his lifelong short hands, long pockets approach to loan repayments is well known and absolutely true.
Nup, that wasn’t the reason that Little Sport wouldn’t hand up the seat at the top of the table with the uninterrupted views of the 520 metre starting box and the Garrards Horse and Hound sign to the two-faced mean old tight-arse grey-haired control-freak prick
(quote unquote, and Little Sport’s words not mine; for all his faults, against my better judgement and no matter how hard I try to stop myself I actually really like Clip Clop, despite the fact that he was prepared to buy a dirt file on me as a presumed sure-fire means of stopping my run of corruption in harness racing exclusives prior to QRIC starting to print them out and placing them one by one along Newstead Road from the Brekky Creek and forming a path that would lead straight to his plush Teneriffe penthouse front door; to tell you the truth sportsfans Clipper’s naughtiness really just us brought us closer together because now we share a strange sort of bond in dog turd and fleas that jumped from the mangy hide of the wannabe shit file sales tycoon Butler, and I get a laugh every day imagining the look on old Clip Clop’s dial when the thrice committed and recently released delusional drug addict rocked up and thrust forward his 1979 scrap book with a single sheaf of paper in it in the form of a letter from Julie Day to Janet Moore declaring me a love rat because I’d kissed Kim Coomber on the bush trail at Kondalilla Falls during the great Geebung Academy school camp of the summer before, and sometimes I even get a laugh out of it every half hour. I wonder if Clip Clop bought Crazy Craig brekkie? Nah, he’s not his brother keeper, not when all his dirt file has in it is a 37-year-old letter from a two-timed twelve year old who was indignant that I hadn’t given her a tongue pash but only a closed lipped smooch anyway).
The debts had nothing at all to do with his decision to refuse Clip Clop’s request to return to the big chair Little Sport declared as he knocked back a schooner in Zac’s cafe at the RSL that fine spring day, and repeated as he knocked back a few more later in front of my girl Annie downstairs in the Zillman Waterholes Sports Bar just metres from the memorial to Australia’s bravest ever hero the immortal Albert Jacka, nothing to do with it at all.
Just like Albert Jacka had fought off 14 of the sultan’s finest and slayed most of them with his bare hands so he could save his mates, Little Sport told Annie, Yeah Good and Yours truly that he too did it for his country, for his State, for his comrades, for his club, for the good of harness racing, to save the world.
And because he wanted to, and the fine folk on the board wanted him to too. No-one wanted that megalomaniac has been (quote unquote again) Clip Clop back he told us, it was time for the old grey nag to call it a day, and because the deluded yesterday’s man’s (quote unquote – QUQ – once more) head was so huge and filled with his own self importance (QUQ) and the board hated him like poison (QUQ) they’d rather eat sh*t and die (paraphrasing this time) than have him back in charge.
They wanted David Fowler in charge so he could lead harness racing back to glory Little Sport said, and so he stood tall and used his numbers and kept Clip Clop out.
Now my telling of the story as related by Little Sport is absolutely true, and I have witnesses to prove it, but if you believe the tale about his doing Clip Clop over that was told to us that day then you will believe anything, including the last couple of pearlers from the vaults of what Little Sport surely must have dreamed up on the back of a third bottle of Passion Pop used for medicinal purposes as a hair of the dog on Boxing Day morn.
I’ll keep it brief because we all have to shoot off and have brekky.
A. Lil Sport’s declaration to the ABC news a couple of weeks ago
The trots in the years since 2010 are a bit dodgy, but they are nowhere near as hot as they were in the 1970’s.
Can you repeat that Little Sport?
In the 1970’s you were still a schoolboy. You were aged 7 at the start of the decade and 17 at its end. How can you talk about the corruption in that era with authority when you weren’t even old enough to place a bet, let alone be in the centre of the action and totally in the know?
Little Sport can’t. He’s just making it up as he goes, and doing so in some bizarre attempt to protect his legacy, the sum total of which is 10 race fixing arrests, the disqualification of the Dixon’s, losses of over ten million dollars, punter confidence at an all time low, attendances non-existent, wagering turnover falling through the floor, a membership roll no bigger than an envelope, a ramshackle mess of scaffolding that his heirs as Albion Park race callers have to risk their lives climbing in order to get to work, no succession plan, no strategy, no leaders capable of taking the sport forward, and an industry in absolute disarray.
But it’s not your fault is it Little Sport? It’s all because you don’t have a grandstand, that’s the tired old excuse that you have been rolling out like a broken record for the better part of the past decade, ever since you got all hot and sweaty watching Kevin Costner pretend to be someone else in Field of Dreams.
Build it and they will come, that’s the Albion Park Strategic Plan 2018 – 3008 isn’t it? That’s all you’ve got, that a broken down product that’s going to be pulverised by its own sin if someone doesn’t do something to fix it real damn soon. I tried to join the club four months ago so I could play a role in helping fix the mess but you haven’t even had the courtesy to send me knock back letter, and you’ve still got my two bucks joining fee that I handed over too.
Well let me tell you a few things Little Sport.
One, if I don’t get a response advising me of the status of my application for membership of the APHRC by the end of this week, and a refund of my 2 bucks plus interest if its a no, I’m going to sue.
Two, Field of Dreams was a movie you fool, it was make believe. There’s no-one to put in a new stand Davey, no one at all, and they won’t just magically appear like the ghosts of baseballers past turned up to Kevin Costner’s field. It’s the sport you need to rebuild to get people back, not the stadium, and that you and your board delude yourself about this self-evident truth tells a very sad tale.
Three, one of those ghosts who came in the movie was Shoeless Joe Jackson. He was a f*cking crook Little Sport! A match fixer! He ruined the hopes and dreams of a generation. Say it ain’t so Joe, say it ain’t so. He couldn’t, because it was. ]
Four, you can make up all the stories you like but I have spent the night trawling through the old records and I can absolutely assure you that based on the evidence the corruption in Queensland harness racing is far more widespread and far more pronounced than it ever was in the 1970’s, or in any other decade since that the trots have been run.
Get this through your champers addled head Little Sport, you are the Chairman of the dominant club in a sport that is absolutely riddled with corruption, and we are not just talking about a few drivers pulling a horse up here and there, we are talking about wholesale conspiracies to defraud and serious organised crime.
But hey, why am I telling you that? You already know don’t you David, and perhaps it is time you told all, including the full details of your betting using accounts that you don’t hold and those in other people’s names?
C’mon sport, lead from the front. That’s what your committee swung behind you ahead of Clip Clop for, and that’s what Chairmen do.
Tell all son, c’mon! Pull the whip!
Save QRIC the time and resources, come clean and tell all.
B. There was once a cardinal rule in protest decisions that stewards had to be satisfied “beyond all reasonable doubt” interference caused should trigger a result reversal
Merry Xmas Little Sport. I’ve just quadrupled your readership.
Absolute unmitigated nonsense and crap.
When exactly was this cardinal rule in place Little Sport? What year? What decade? What era? What century? On what planet?
Can you point me to this particular rule in any racing rule book? Can you roll us out some old timers who can attest to it? Can you pull the other one as well?
Puh-lease Little Sport! Do you ever bloody stop lying?
There was never, and never will be, a rule – cardinal, golden, My Kitchen, Aussie, Rafferty’s, Murphy’s or otherwise – that decreed that Stewards had to be satisfied beyond reasonable doubt that sufficient interference had occurred to trigger a role reversal.
You’re full of sh*t Little Sport, and for a bloke who always tells every person he meets how clever he is you are really not that bright at all.
It’s like crushing an ant with a sledgehammer and humiliating a bloke by showing him up as an absolute tool is not something that I would usually do, but hey I’m not my brother’s keeper am I David, and even if I were you are not my kin or my kind, so ready set go.
Beyond reasonable doubt is the criminal law standard of proof. With certain exceptions such as frauds committed by virtue of prior knowledge about fixed races and matches, breaches of the Anti-Terrorist money laundering laws by betting using false or other people’s accounts, sex with minors, failure to declare under the table cash payments to Taxman – just as examples – matters pertaining to the racing industry generally fall under the auspice of the common law.
The common law standard of proof is the balance of probabilities, which in essence means the judge or jury, or in the case of racing the Steward, has to determine on the basis of the evidence presented before them whether it is more likely that something happened or would have happened if the matter complained of had not occurred than it is if it didn’t.
Here’s a simple example:
Little sport drinks a bottle of champers more at Ginos restaurant on a Sunday night than he usually does, meaning that he has downed three bottles. He crosses the road to play the pokies at the Hammo but as he leaves the footpath he drunkenly stumbles onto the road and an unmarked QRIC surveillance vehicle which is traveling down Racecourse Rd at a speed within the limit is unable to stop and runs straight over him, and in the process blows a tyre.
Ross the Boss sends Little Sport – who was unhurt by being run over, but was by his subsequent drunken 1000 dollar losing spree on the Queen of the Nile machine – a letter of demand for payment of the cost of the replacement tyre. Little Sport sticks to form and won’t pay, so Ross the Boss sues him and the matter is heard at QCAT, just like racing appeals are.
Tim Carmody, who is copping a chief judges whack for the rest of his life to do whatever he wishes, takes the case because he is bored.
Carmody, who likes to dazzle punters educated at the special schools with his legal brilliance, delivers a 968 page judgement of which 965 pages are blank, but in one of the pages with words on it pronounces that if the criminal standard of proof applied he would have told Ross the Boss to get stuffed as there is no way he can be sure beyond a reasonable doubt that Little Sport wouldn’t have tripped over the gutter if sober as well because everyone knows that he is an unco.
However the standard of proof at QCAT is the balance of probabilities Carmody declares, and on that basis it is more likely that Little Sport fell on the road because he was pissed than it is that he would have gone arse up sober, so he has to pay for the QRIC tyre that he caused to be blown out by lying on the road singing Gloria Gaynor’s I will survive to himself instead of getting up and dancing.
If you apply the logic expressed in this example to protests you can see that under the criminal standard of proof no protest would ever be upheld again, not unless a jockey running second at the 100m mark took out a gun and shot the one in front.
How could they be? It is simply impossible to know beyond any doubt that a big bump at the 300m and another one inside the furlong has cost the second horse who was beaten a neck the race.
Can the stewards know beyond any doubt that the runner-up isn’t a pea hearted non-winner who wouldn’t have catted it in the last 50m anyway?
Do they know that the winner doesn’t have the guts of Northerly and wouldn’t have kicked back and won regardless?
Is there any way they can be absolutely certain that the runner-up wasn’t about to bore in and put its jock over the running rail if it hadn’t been knocked sideways by the winner?
See what I mean?
On the other hand though under the evidentiary test of reasonable probability they can decide that it is more likely than not that (a) the runner up is not a pea-hearted squib because there is no evidence to suggest that is the case (b) that the winner was unlikely to have kicked back sufficiently to beat the 2nd horse by the length and a half that the interference cost that runner (c) that Laura Cheshire can ride a horse 2 laps without a bridle, is as strong as an ox despite her petite appearance, is a horse whisperer, and hates going over rails, so it is more likely than not that she would have been able to keep her mount straight in the unlikely – but not reasonably impossible – event that it tried a sharp right turn on.
David Fowler, you are bloody idiot.
Even worse, you are a lazy lounge lizard who utters ill-formed and illogical statements and presents them as if they are fact.
Wake up to yourself Little Sport.
The race-loving punters deserve a whole lot better than this, and your time would be far better spent working on fixing up the mess that you and your mates have made of Queensland harness racing than it is on spouting intellectually bankrupt palaver about protests, but then again you would have to have some interest in finding common sense solutions to not so difficult problems wouldn’t you?
And have half a clue.
Stick to sucking on the free raw prawns in the Silks marquee and whinging and whining about long-lost stands built by the most corrupt minister Queensland has ever seen and torn down by the bloke you did over with your numbers on the board Little Sport,.
Just don’t turn your back while he’s got the oyster fork in his paw hey Kev?
I’m off to the track.
Hope I’ll see you there.
Or the beginning of it anyway.