Gai Waterhouse & Adrian Bott Racing

Racing slang: A day at the track

Tuesday, 5 Mar at 10:31am by Isaac Ling and James Lamb  (

A couple of Harry Coffeys

If you're a punter, you've almost certainly used racing slang in routine conversation. Here is how a typical day at the races might play out, using some of our favourite racing jargon...

When getting ready for a day at the races, you throw on your LUCINDA DOODT (suit) along with a WRITTEN BY (tie), before jumping on the PADDY PAYNE (train) with your mate who's just along for the JOE PRIDE (ride) and the MICK BURLES (girls).

It's not long before you feel like a drink, so you head to the JAMIE KAH (bar) for a DK WEIR (beer).

You want to know how much a HARRY COFFEY (froffy) costs, so you ask, "WHAT'S THE GRACE RAMAGE? (damage)" A nearby punter overhears the cost and exclaims "that's a ridiculous MICK (Price) for a MITCH (Beer)."

You don't fancy the silver coins weighing you down, so you tell the bartender to "KEEP THE KEMBLA GRANGE (change)," throwing the receipt in the BLAKE SHINN (bin). 



Your mate wants a smoke, so he ducks off for a LUKE CURRIE (durry) while you grab the next round at the JOSH PARR (bar). 

You make light work of that AUSTY COFFEY (froffy) so you tell your mate to get on his WILLIE PIKE (bike) and grab a couple more TONY SEARS (beers).

The DKS (beers) are beginning to catch up with you so you head off for a MICHAEL DEE (wee) at the BOBBY EL-ISSA (pisser). 

Upon returning from your DAVID and CORAL FEEK (leak), you use your WARWICK FARMS (arms) to LINDA MEECH (reach) for your JASON COLLETT (wallet) before chucking on a quaddie - one of many JOHN LETTS (bets) for the day on the MIKE MORONEYS (ponies).

After quickly bombing out, you butter up with a BRETT PREBBLE (treble) on the remaining three GRAHAME BEGGS (legs). One of them looks a genuine FRANK WORRELL (moral), but ultimately it PHILLIP STOKES (chokes) and thwarts your chances of having a rare SALLY WYNNE (win)



You quickly find yourself on 'THE CHEVY' (Chase), telling anyone within earshot that you've done your EAGLE FALLS (balls) on the RACHEL HUNT (punt). Another JACOB RULE (fool) admits he's had an absolute MICK MAIR (nightmare) too. You begin to ponder how you'll pay next month's MICK KENT (rent), yet you continue to COURTNEY PACE (chase) that elusive collect.

Everyone else seems to have gone ROBBIE LAING (bang) on the PAT MOLONEYS (ponies) today, with one youthful punter even suggesting he is ready to get absolutely RICHARD (Litt) at the local JAMIE MOTT (nightspot). You opt not to join him though, because he deadset JAMES WINKS (stinks).



After a few more MIKAYLA WEIRS (beers) at the track, you head out for a DARREN (Dance). Your moves are horrifically ROBBIE FRADD (bad) but you still do your absolute MARK GUEST (best), before venturing to the SIGGY CARR (bar) for one final round of WINX (drinks). You notice that a number of other patrons appear to be on the DAN MILECKIS (eccies) and have clearly lost the ADRIAN BOTT (plot).

You roll home two hours past curfew, landing yourself in the EDGAR BRITT (shit) with the other half and knowing full well you'll be in some serious ZAC SPAIN (pain) tomorrow.







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