Go Fuchu! I yelled at the top of my lungs

The Melbourne Cup carnival is done and dusted for another year.
While it might not rank with Flemington or Royal Randwick, my work colleagues and I headed to the Newcastle Racecourse for our (early) Christmas get together on Saturday.
Now, while I love all sports and don’t mind a bit of a punt on the horses, I’m not very good at it.
It would save me a lot of time if I just picked the neediest looking bookie, handed him all my cash and went home.
Anyway, as I had a bit of time to kill, I decided to make several small donations spread out over the day – rather than one large donation.
I had a flexi quaddie, where I picked two horses in the first and second leg, and three horses in the 3rd and 4th leg.
I got the first leg up (the second favourite) and the second leg (the odds on favourite).
I’ll fast forward to the last, where I had three horses, one of which I also had a small wager on to win.
The horse was called Fuchu. I kid you not – look it up if you don’t believe.
There’s probably a few ways to pronounce it, but by the last race, with a few bevvies under my belt, I probably picked the wrong pronunciation.
As they hit the straight, Fuchu was is in a three-way fight for the lead.
Like all punters, I believe that if I cheer for my horse loud enough, he will run faster.
In my mind, the horses are only in a canter until they hear me urging them on.
Then, it’s like the horse says to itself, “Oh, Brett is up there and he wants me to win. I’d better gallop a little faster”.
So I start urging Fuchu on. “Go Fuchu”, I say.
He seems to respond, but other punters are now urging on the other horses.
I get a bit louder to make sure Fuchu can hear me. “Go Fuchu” I yell, and he responds again.
But the other punters are just as keen for their horses to win.
With 100 metres to go and the race in the balance, I scream at the top of my lungs “GO FUCHU!”
It works and Fuchu salutes the judge, returning me $29.00 for my $10 outlay.
Unfortunately, an outsider got up in the 3rd leg, so I missed the quaddie. That’s racing.
And remember, there’s no such thing as too much sport!

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