Week ahead

Right, you lot. Strap in.

If your idea of cardio is lifting a schooner and yelling “GET UP!” at the last 100, then congratulations — this is your Olympics.

We’re rolling into a week of absolute carnage on the turf, and if you’re not trackside, what are you even doing with your life?

🏇 Monday – Newcastle Racecourse

We kick off at Newcastle, where the sea breeze is fresh and the form is… questionable at best.
Perfect.

This is where reputations are made, multis are murdered, and someone inevitably says, “I knew that would win,” despite not having it in anything.

Monday racing: because productivity is overrated.

🏇 Tuesday – Kembla Grange Racecourse

Ah yes, Kembla.
Where punters either look like geniuses or need to have a quiet word with themselves by Race 4.

Tidy track. Sneaky good races. Horses that jump like rockets and occasionally steer like shopping trolleys with a dodgy wheel.

You’ll tell yourself you’re just “having a look.”
You’re not. You’re unloading by the third.

🏇 Wednesday – Warwick Farm Racecourse

Another cracking card at Warwick Farm.

Midweek? Technically.
Serious racing? Absolutely.

This is where the sharp money plays, the trials watchers crawl out of their caves, and someone’s “moral of the year” runs a brave second.

Stay humble. Or don’t. It’s more entertaining when you don’t.

🏇 Thursday – Hawkesbury Racecourse

Hawkesbury to ease us into the weekend.
Ease. Us.

That’s adorable.

Nothing says “taking it easy” like four deep turning for home and you screaming like you’ve just seen your ex walk in.

It’s the calm before the storm. Sort of. If your idea of calm includes heart palpitations and form guides with coffee stains.

🏇 Saturday – Rosehill Gardens Racecourse

Now we’re talking.

A cracking race card at Rosehill Gardens. Proper horses. Proper speed. Proper chaos.

This is where legends are made and excuses are rehearsed on the train home.

So grab ya form guide.
Grab the kids.
Hell, grab ya grandma (she’s been backing winners since before you were a bad idea).

Get ya backside trackside.

Because there’s nothing better than the thunder of hooves, the roar of the crowd, and that one mate who tips 20 horses and lands one — and dines out on it for a week.