So it turns out that putting all your money on an alcoholic and expecting them to come through with the goods is optimistic thinking at its best.
Yes, Drunken Sailor, my pick in the Melbourne Cup, clearly spent too much preparation time propped up in a bar somewhere knocking back cheap shots like they were lolly water. Did it even make it to the starting gate? Or was it still in the bar, slumped in a corner, drooling onto a barmat? Who knows. What I do know is that I shouldn't put my faith in a tipsy seaman. Or horse. Or whatever.
The LOML it turns out had a bit better luck. Or would have if it wasn't for the pipping at the post by a nostril hair. He had a trifecta on. The horse that won (Dunaden) he had picked to come second. The horse that came second (Red Cadeaux) he had picked to come first. He picked the third placegetter. He also picked fourth and fifth, not that that made any difference. If it weren't for that nostril hair, I would be not far from kicking back beneath an umbrella in a resort on an island off the coast of Thailand sipping a strawberry daquiri whilst watching the sun set.
Stupid nostril hair. Horse should have poked out its tongue and won.