Chapter 8

Fall of the hammer

A month later, in March, Robbie Griffiths and I get together at the Premier Yearling Sales in Melbourne, at the complex owned by the auction company Inglis at Oaklands, a large, purpose-built sales complex just up the road from Tullamarine Airport. Hopefully it is an inspired choice of venue.

Robbie has already assured me he is happy to take on Rosie, and happier still to meet up at the sales. This means he can go about his business without breaking stride and I can watch him work in an environment that will no doubt reveal much about his approach to horses. It also means I can see some of the yearlings he hopes to add to his roster for his Class of 2009, and really take into account what the differences are between them and my youngster.

Casually dressed in board shorts and shirt, and deceptively laidback, Robbie is one of those instantly likeable people; at once unassuming and easy to talk with, he is also extraordinarily alert and perceptive.

His horses regularly perform well at both metropolitan and provincial tracks and one of his most popular gallopers was the durable Dandy Kid, famous for being the winning-est horse at Moonee Valley in August 2006, with no less than 15 victories at that particular track.

All this Cranbourne-based trainer needs is one truly outstanding galloper to put his stable at racing’s centre stage. That’s why he is here. Like all top trainers, Robbie Griffiths is always on the look out for that one good horse to change not just his life, but those of everyone working and racing with him.

Every year, he needs to replenish his stable stock, moving on the horses who haven’t made the grade for the up-and-comers who might. Naturally, he’s not alone in this pursuit, this constant search for pirate treasure. On opening day, this sale is overflowing with people who share his dream, and it takes me a few minutes to find him through the hustle and bustle of the throngs of people moving in and out of the main auditorium.

Even when a horse is under the auctioneer’s hammer in the raised, circular sale-ring indoors, there are rows and rows and rows of other youngsters to look at in stables outside, and thousands of horse lovers seem to be doing just that on this muggy Sunday morning—flipping through their sales catalogues as they wander adjacent aisles and walkways. Less than an hour’s drive from Melbourne’s CBD, Oaklands feels like a small country town built for horses.

Robbie and I have agreed to meet up between Barns C and D, and it takes me two trips around the stables to find him. Eventually I spot him inspecting a chestnut filly with a long-time friend and client.

Not wanting to get in the way I slip in behind him to watch. And what becomes quickly apparent is that Robbie Griffiths has a gift. He can look at a young horse and see the future. He can’t predict how many races they will win, or even how much money they might earn, but he can describe the kind of animal they will become. He has a knack for mapping the shape they will take, the height they will grow into, just by seeing them in their baby forms.

He’s a pretty good reader of people too, and misses nothing in the nuance of conversation. In a business renowned for its lack of candour, he is an expert, articulate horseman more than willing to explain what he wants to achieve, and how he hopes to do it. What he doesn’t seem good at is the exaggeration and double talk that comes as naturally as breathing to many in this world of the punt.

Once introductions are over, we spend the next couple of hours wandering through the complex, mainly looking at horses from the various drafts of three main studs: Yallambee, Three Bridges and Little Plains.

This involves a great deal of walking and talking, waiting and watching as these young horses are haltered and brushed to look their best for Robbie’s inspection. He makes it clear that he is particularly impressed with three of the yearlings being presented at the sales by Yallambee this year; intriguingly, they all share the same sire, a former elite sprinter called God’s Own. He is being represented at this sale by sons and daughters from his first year at stud. Many good judges advise buyers to steer clear of any stallion making his sale ring debut, no matter how good a galloper they were on the racetrack. This is for the simple reason they could turn out to be complete flops at stud. Despite this, Robbie is clearly taken with God’s Own’s progeny. And I’m looking forward to finding out why.

Within half an hour of us shaking hands, he has inspected four or five more horses and we have started what is going to be a continuous conversation over the next couple of days, about what to look for in a young horse. Or at least, what this trainer looks for, after he has pored over their pedigree and family histories in the sales catalogue.

Of course, not all genetic theories work out according to plan. And the horses outlined in these pages—their individual family trees spread out over a page—don’t always match the youngsters who step out of the stall for sale. A catalogue will reveal the most important members of a yearling’s clan in bold black type, and the racing and breeding records of their parents. Yet, unless you can see what Robbie sees, physically, in these babies, these inspections can prove frustrating. Even so, this canny trainer is certainly aware it’s more art than science.

‘There’s a few too many million dollar babies running round the country tracks,’ Robbie notes. ‘This isn’t exactly foolproof.’ He has a dry sense of humour and a quick, infectious grin, although he is always polite and almost reserved on this round of inspections. Unlike some of the major players in this arena, there’s nothing loud or flashy about the way he goes about things. He seems intensely focused on the job at hand, more than willing to put in the time required to find the right kind of horse and very clear about what he is searching for.

‘A well-balanced athlete that doesn’t waste any time moving, a straight-forward horse,’ he says. ‘I’ll probably see 400 to 500 of the whole 700 in the catalogue. (But) I’m mainly interested in fillies, because I’ve a couple of clients who want them. And top colts will probably be more expensive, to be honest.’

Robbie tells each of the stud managers exactly which horses he wants to see out of their stalls, and within minutes they have been re-haltered, brushed and combed, led out of the stable and brought to stand before us in a walkway. He wastes no time on pleasantries, keenly aware he is just one in a long line of potential purchasers who have done exactly the same thing, perhaps just minutes before.

For my benefit, he explains that he’s especially focused on ‘rein, barrel and rump … the mechanics we can see. The fastest things in the world have good length about them—look at Tiger Woods and Greg Norman, or a cheetah—so that’s what you’re looking for in these guys. The majority of the better horses have it.’

I try to picture Rosie as he describes his measuring stick. She has a good strong bottom, but she may not have the body length yet—the size, or rein that Robbie’s so keen on. She would certainly be dwarfed by some of the youngsters emerging from their stalls.

After he watches a horse walk up and down in front of him a couple of times, on and off the paved walkway and grass, the trainer feels under their chin, looks more closely at their head and then feels their knees to see how ‘open’ they are: ‘most haven’t grown into them yet.’ Intriguingly, he says he doesn’t worry so much about minor leg faults if the top of the horse is OK.

He has been hard at work at this for a solid three days before my arrival, yet still remains keen.

At one point, after buying Lot 11 for $50,000—a lovely chestnut filly by former sprinting star and now top stallion Flying Spur—Robbie mentions he has had a bad headache all morning. Wincing, he pulls a couple of aspirin out of his pocket and washes them down with soft drink.

The yearling sales schedule is especially punishing for trainers. Like Robbie, most work a full session of track work early in the morning before travelling to the sale yard and once they arrive, no down time is possible until they have seen all the horses they have picked out to look at, the ones they believe have potential, the yearlings that might fit their particular set of criteria.

His headache dealt with, Robbie is back in the thick of things, although he’s the under-bidder on a colt by young sire Elvstroem, who was the son of a mare he trained. He dropped out of that race at $65,000, but within 5 minutes admits he should have kept going, because he was ‘a super colt’ and he knows the family so well, having already trained one of the sons from the mother, or dam.

By early afternoon, two more of Robbie’s stable clients have joined our little group and both husband and wife seem determined to buy at least one of the yearlings by new stallion God’s Own that Robbie has looked at from Yallambee Stud’s draft.

The woman likes Lot 108, a filly out of a mare called Startle, while her partner is leaning to Lot 183, from Zippast. Robbie prefers the third candidate from this group, who won’t be in the ring until tomorrow. Nevertheless, he buys both fillies who enter the ring today, for $85,000 and $87,500 respectively.

‘I might go home with a barn full of them,’ he laughs, somewhat ruefully.

I wonder which of the fillies the couple will choose to pay for privately—and can see even Robbie’s starting to think about convincing other stable clients to believe in and buy into the offspring of God’s Own, this young sire he’s so keen on.

While the amounts he is spending aren’t huge in this world of equine dreams and high finance (and you actually become desensitised, hearing so much money being bid, hour after hour), back in the real world it is.

A 10 per cent share in an $85,000 yearling will probably end up costing about $10,000. God’s own, indeed.

Again, I stand back and try to make a comparison between the two fillies he’s just bought and Rosie. After all, they will all be in Robbie’s bunch of babies, his Class of 2009. Both look much more forward in condition than my filly, quite tall and muscular and certainly much shinier in their coats—a bit more sophisticated than the country girl back home. Still, for a yearling who hasn’t been fed up as much and worked properly to hone her young muscles, I’m relieved to see she’s not as far off the mark as I feared. Happily, the scope for hope is pretty equal!

By the end of this opening day at the sales, the Sunday crowd has thinned considerably after being packed at the start, standing room only for the first hour or so, and two deep at that. There is much talk around the ground about the sale’s low clearance rate so far—at this early stage, the pass-in rate is 30 per cent, which is just as worrying for vendors as low prices—and there is genuine disappointment that some very nice horses aren’t getting sold in the ring, despite being looked at many times and their X-rays getting the all clear.

Some vendors are upset that they are bidding against themselves because the interest is so poor. One stud manager, there with only a small number of yearlings to sell, is amazed that one of the best in her draft didn’t attract even one real bid.

As the afternoon winds down, I catch up with my good friend Jenny from Timor Creek Farm, who has travelled down to oversee the sale of a filly she has bred and raised. By Elvstroem, she should bring a decent price, all being fair in the ring, but the worry is that she could fall through the cracks tomorrow morning, courtesy of the global financial crisis. If the global economy is in dire straits, or buyers are trying to navigate their finances away from them, young racehorses can suddenly look like financially unreasonable luxury items rather than sound, sensible investments.

Jenny is trying to tough it out, or at least put on a brave face, but she is already fretting. And I don’t blame her.

Both she and the handler who will be walking the yearling into the ring are dismissive of the Magic Millions sale just a month earlier on the Gold Coast, especially in terms of its three top sellers. The first yearling sale in Australia every year, the auction is seen as a benchmark for price trends and demand for certain stallions—especially the freshman sires with their first progeny up for public scrutiny.

‘No horse really went for more than a million,’ the handler says. ‘And everyone in the business knows that.’

She was expecting prices at this sale to fall too, but not quite so dramatically. ‘I thought the average (here) might be $80,000, but at this rate we’ll be lucky if it’s $50,000.’

She is spot on. The end-of-day press release puts it around the $57,000 mark. If anything, it is a genuine buyer’s market. Good for those keen on buying a yearling at this sale, in other words; not so good for many intent on selling this year.

I arrive mid morning on the second day of the sale, after test-driving a couple of used cars in my so far unsuccessful hunt to replace the one that burst into flames a month ago.

Miraculously, the first one I drive proves to be pretty good, so I sign a mountain of papers to buy it, and head back out to Oaklands—still in my father’s old Commodore for the time being. Getting caught in the city’s notorious cross-town traffic, I ring ahead to see how things are going in the lead-up to Jenny’s yearling stepping into the ring, only to discover she has already been and gone and the breeder is just about to jump on a plane back to Sydney. But overall her news is good: the youngster fetched $62,500, well ahead of the still falling sale average.

When I finally make it to the sale, I find my newly cashed-up friend about to tuck into lunch in a big corporate marquee, one of several hospitality rooms set up for buyers and sellers alike. It is pleasant and much cooler than sitting outside in the sun, and there’s a big screen up on the wall showing all the action in the ring, which everyone crowds around to watch a relative of Makybe Diva being sold for $365,000. Obviously, this is one of the hottest equine families in Australasia.

Jenny is quietly relieved to have sold her filly, especially to a trainer who will take her home to Cranbourne, where he trains. Just like his father and Robbie.

‘I was lucky, there were two people on her,’ Jenny says. ‘Two people who really wanted her.’

Jenny admits that she had steeled herself to accept the worst this morning; after watching the first 20 lots go under the hammer, she and her adviser saw the reality getting harsher and adjusted their reserve from $50,000 to $40,000 accordingly. As her filly went into the ring, she positioned herself behind the auctioneer’s box, and by the time she reached the reserve and he turned to ask if they were selling, she was ready to throw her hands in the air. Better to get out square, she was thinking, than take a serious financial hit. But then interest picked up, and the price steadily increased until the final bid.

‘It just took off in its own little way,’ she says. ‘It was good.’

Still, she’s only drinking soft drink. She has made it out ahead, but only just.

This brings the reality of dealing with racehorses back to the financial bottom line of buying, if not selling, yearlings. While it is easy enough to work out how much it costs on a monthly basis to keep a broodmare, get her in foal, wean and nurture the son or daughter to this point of sale—where profit or loss is very clear—it is much harder to work out the long-term costs of the yearlings sold. The higher their price, the more a youngster has to earn on the racetrack to balance the books. The simple truth is that not every horse can do that.

As Robbie Griffiths observed, there are a few too many horses that cost the odd million dollars galloping around provincial circuits for comfort, and this seems to suggest that paying excessively high amounts for young horses doesn’t guarantee success.

What is really astonishing, given the amount of money changing hands at these sales—and that some of Australia’s biggest business movers and shakers are actually driving a large part of the business—is that so few studies have been done looking into how horses perform as racehorses, in relation to what they have cost as yearlings.

Melbourne University’s Equine Centre did look into this recently, as part of a wider investigation into the pre-sale radiographs of yearlings, and its conclusions are instructive. ‘Purchasing a yearling as a potential future race horse is a high risk investment,’ the 2009 report says, somewhat ominously, in its introduction. It tracked 2773 horses that were sold at auction in the 2002/2003 season ‘to assess associations between (their) purchase price … and race performance in the first two years’.

‘Of the thoroughbreds included in this study, 79.6 per cent had at least one race start during their two and three year old years. Of this group, 61.5 per cent earned some prize money, with 11.2 per cent earning enough to cover the estimated costs of training during the two-year timeframe, while 14.4 per cent earned enough to cover their purchase price. Alarmingly, only 5.1 per cent won enough at the races to pay for their combined costs and purchase price.’

This report points out that the top-selling yearling of the study group ‘earned almost $600,000 from only seven starts’. Yet, the top money earner only cost $80,000 as a yearling and earned almost $3.5 million in only 16 starts. Now that’s a clear profit margin!

However, the study concludes that price does matter.

‘Purchase price had a significant effect on all measures of race performance and earnings. With increasing sale price category, the likelihood of starting in a race, the number of race starts at two and three years of age, the number of horses earning prize money and total prize money earned increased.

‘This may confirm buyers’ ability to select better horses, but other reasons are also possible … buyers paying higher prices could be more motivated to race their purchase, or more expensive horses may go to more proven trainers who have the ability to achieve maximum racing performance for a longer duration from the horse.’

But the real kicker comes a little later in this document, surely required reading for everyone in this industry.

‘As the sale price category increased, the chance of a buyer earning back the cost of the yearling decreased. Horses purchased within the $0 to $10,000 category were, on average, almost four times more likely to earn back their purchasing price than those purchased for more than $100,000.

‘The $50,001 to $100,000 category had the highest proportion of horses earning back the combined purchase price and estimated costs. However, only 7 per cent of horses within that category earned prize money in excess of the combined costs, so purchasers are still unlikely to make a return on their investment within the first two years.’

These statistics are sobering, and certainly cast a pall of doubt over the oft-repeated maxim that there’s so much prize money for two year olds to race for here in Australia, they will have no trouble paying back what they cost in the ring. But there’s a little wiggle room for hope here too. I realise that if you are working at the cheap end of the market and get it right, there is a chance of maybe breaking even. According to this report and applying it to my situation, unless I’m reading it wrong, the odds are better on Rosie returning her production costs than Makybe Diva’s $1.5 million son levelling the ledger.

As Jenny heads to the airport, I see Robbie engrossed in conversation with potential clients, so I wander back to the parade ring behind the main auditorium and watch the babies walk until he’s free. It is not such a hectic day for him as he has already done most of his inspections, personally checking nearly 500 of the 780 horses on offer. His energy and dedication to his job are inspiring.

He’s especially keen on Lot 320, the third of the God’s Own yearlings we were discussing yesterday. So we move back in to his favourite spot inside the auditorium, at the edge of the wall just in from one of the side doors. He leans around the wall whenever he wants to bid and pulls back behind it when he doesn’t want to engage—and he enters this particular fray around the $30,000 mark, staying on the horse until his final offer of $65,000 is passed. The brown colt eventually hits the $100,000 mark.

‘Did you see who bought him?’ he asks me.

In the crush of people around us, I don’t. But we both spot the young woman from Inglis with the sales docket all buyers have to sign after the hammer falls. Robbie follows her to congratulate the successful buyer. I wonder if he ever asks to train a horse he has been the under-bidder on.

No time to find out as Tony and Craig, two of the stable clients I met yesterday, are talking intently to Robbie about a couple of yearlings they are interested in and we wander down to Oakford Stud’s draft, where he organises to have a couple of colts pulled out of their stalls.

While we wait, Tony, Craig and I look in on another colt who is so exhausted by what he has gone through at the sale so far that he is actually stretched out on his bed of straw with his rug on, trying to sleep.

‘We’ve been here since Wednesday last week and we’ve had 600 inspections,’ his handler tells us. ‘I feel like lying down in there with him.’

It must be hard for these young animals to take part in this selling process. For a start, they are far from home, standing in boxes day and night for more than a week, surrounded by strangers staring in at them. Then there’s the physical exertion of walking in and out of their stalls each day, at the beck and call of prospective buyers, and the noise level of the PA broadcasting the sale around the grounds is a lot for these little ones to cope with. They are, after all, only a year old!

The heat alone out here this week is enough to slow everyone down.

Tony, Craig and I move to the shade of some trees to wait for Robbie to reappear. As we chat, it becomes apparent that I am not the only shadow Robbie has at this sale.

He has at least two others, and they have been trailing him for a while. Tony and his wife actually rang Robbie six months ago to ask if they could come and work with him, voluntarily, to learn the racing ropes.

‘We wanted to learn, so why not try for the best?’ Tony said with a grin. With brother-in-law Craig, they have set up a farm on the Mornington Peninsula and have three of Robbie’s horses spelling there in between campaigns, so they must be getting the hang of it.

Of the trio, Craig seems the one most interested in being a racehorse owner, and is determined to take one of the God’s Owns Robbie bought yesterday to race himself. He sells luxury cars and, at this stage, the financial crisis hasn’t dented either his confidence or his buying power. Our small group reminds me, again, just how democratic racing can be. Perhaps the only industry where sheikhs do rub shoulders with taxi drivers, and who can say who will win? In this world it doesn’t necessarily follow that the most expensive yearling grows into the best horse. Still, I’m biding my time to see one of my favourite God’s Own so far, a filly from a terrific old mare called Espiare.

She was the smallest of the Yallambee group I inspected with Robbie the day before and she’s not much bigger than Rosie. ‘A little mushroom, a real athlete who’ll grow,’ was how Robbie described her. On the day she is up for sale, Robbie’s interest in her has waned because he’s worried that he’s buying up too many of God’s Own first season offspring. I’m disappointed, as I had hoped she would make it into Robbie’s Class of 2009.

But as the bidding on the little bay filly starts, Craig, Tony and I see Robbie roll around his favourite wall on the other side of the auditorium from where we are seated, and he makes a tentative early bid. We head over to Robbie just in time for his winning bid, a comparatively modest $35,000. He’s smiling, a little ruefully.

‘Bloody hell, mate—I hope they can run,’ Craig laughs once the sale is sealed.

‘Just call me God’s Own Pty Ltd,’ Robbie mutters, as he signs the sale receipt.

‘Happy now?’ he asks me as we walk back outside, and I have to admit I am.

He’s still not quite done for the day, admitting he is interested in the strong colt coming up in the next hour, another son of the same stallion, but expects he will go for more than $100,000, which is too steep for his budget.

He’s right. Trainer Mathew Ellerton gets him for $150,000. In the interim, and at Craig’s behest, Robbie buys another Flying Spur filly, a cousin of the good race mare Mnemosyne, for $40,000.

With today’s sale almost over, I assure Robbie I will be back in the morning, even though he won’t be there first thing. It will be a chance for me to have a look around on my own and test what I’ve learnt the last couple of days.

I know Robbie has his sights set on one more of God’s Own’s fillies today, out of a male called Fraarie, although she is slightly offset in the knees, a flaw that could hold her back in the racing stakes. Despite his misgivings, I learn later that he has snapped her up for $100,000.

Later that night, I drift off to sleep wondering how much a tenth share in the Espiare filly will cost. But even in the dream, the financial reality that is Rosie intrudes and I know the other little filly will have to run without me.

The third day of this long sale, the 24 hours of extreme weather everyone in Victoria has been warned about dawns overcast and muggy. Thankfully it’s nothing at all like the severe conditions predicted. I get to Oaklands about half an hour into the session and the crowd has trimmed down again to at least a quarter of what it was yesterday. Sitting inside, I watch a few horses go through the ring before wandering out to see if Robbie’s arrived.

No sign of him yet, so I take the opportunity to walk around the whole complex again, this time more slowly. I go to the new Barn H where a filly from Excited Angel’s family is stalled. I wonder what, if any, similarities she will have with Rosie, who also boasts the former top race mare in her family tree.

Excited Angel, winner of the VRC Bloodhorse Breeders’ Plate as a two year old and 11 other races through her career—including the Group 3 Coongy Handicap and the Queen of the Turf Stakes in Sydney—was a fantastic galloper. In 1993, when she ran in the Doncaster Handicap, one of Australia’s great races, friends and I made a banner that read ‘Go, Angel, Go!’ and hung it over a balcony in the grandstand, the crowd around and below us chanting her name as we unfurled it. She didn’t win that golden mile at Randwick Racecourse that year, but she ran bravely and has since proved to be a quality broodmare, producing four good winners, including Aquiver and more recently Tollemache. As far as I know, she is still at work as a 20 year old!

Surely this is a family that deserves selling in the select part of the sale, and yet this filly—Lot 706—has been relegated to the fourth and final day, the so-called second session. When I reach her stall, I quickly see why. She’s tiny! I think Rosie is actually much taller, although not quite as solid. I make a mental note to try and get Robbie to assess her, if he has time, and head back to the main ring, resisting the temptation of getting this young girl out of her box for a closer look. It will be interesting to see how much she brings tomorrow.

Still no sign of my trainer, which is a bit worrying as the filly he really loves—by Elvstroem, out of a mare called Luxapal, mother of a good horse he trains called Testalux—is now only 10 lots away. I call his mobile and he answers straightaway. He’s running late but the auctioneers have been instructed to call him as soon as the bidding starts.

The filly, Lot 491, is next to step into the ring. I dash back inside as the filly takes her place centre stage.

‘Looks like a filly who will get up and run for you,’ says auctioneer Jonathon D’Arcy, as she starts her walk around the large raised dais. And then he calls for the first bid. ‘$80,000 for her? $70,000? $60,000? $20,000? All right …’

And they’re off, quickly jumping in $5000 increments to $70,000.

D’Arcy holds the hammer up, a good dramatic pause for all bidders to consider their position one last time. And then he drops it. ‘$70,000 to the man on the phone. She’s a lovely filly.’

Within minutes, Robbie’s back on the phone to thank me for letting him know how close things were.

We discuss the colt he was the under-bidder on yesterday that was bought by prominent Brisbane trainer Gillian Heinrich’s husband. This gives me an insight into his approach to bidding in the ring, as well as working with horses in general. The more we talk, the more convinced I am that my filly is going to be in good hands. Robbie’s the right man for Rosie.

As Robbie continues to drive towards Oaklands, he focuses on the always contentious role X-rays play at these auctions. A decade ago, a buyer had to take a leap of faith about the horse they were bidding on, in terms of their overall soundness: what you saw, you hoped, was as good inside as out.

Now, most vendors have their yearlings X-rayed before the sales, so potential buyers can be sure how the youngsters look skeletally. Inside out, in other words. Fetlocks, knees, stifles, all the important parts come under scrutiny. This means even the tiniest imperfections are revealed, along with more major bone spurs, chips, OCDs and worse.

The X-rays are publicly available through an on-site data-bank at these sales, so anyone who is interested can view them before the auction. It’s certainly a service much appreciated by buyers expecting to pay big money for a horse. In fact, some vets swear by the scans and usually advise clients against buying if the results aren’t clear.

Others use it as just one more tool to help them make an overall assessment of a young horse. They argue that these young horses aren’t lame, or even sore in any part of their bodies, yet are being X-rayed as if they are. And even if a small irregularity is revealed, if it’s not actually worrying the horse, chances are they will grow out of it.

So many high-profile trainers are willing to back their overall sense of a horse, rather than losing heart because of a niggling problem an X-ray detects. And Robbie Griffiths is one of them. But even he prefers not to go against his senior vet’s advice, although he finds it odd that pictures are being taken of horses who appear to have nothing wrong with them.

It is an issue on his mind today, because he is mulling over what to do about a particular colt he likes, whose X-rays have revealed something serious enough for the vet to fail him. In other words, buyer beware. But not the senior vet, at least not yet, and that’s who Robbie wants to get a final opinion from as quickly as possible. And if he fails the colt too?

‘If he says no, what’s the point of paying for advice and not following it? They’ve probably saved me more than they cost me.’

As we hang up it strikes me that it must be hard taking advice that your professional instinct says to ignore. And some of Australia’s great racehorses wouldn’t pass muster as yearlings these days: Might and Power, Caulfield/Melbourne Cup victor in 1997 and WS Cox Plate champion a year later, failed to reach his reserve of $40,000 when he was in the Easter Sale ring, because he had a funny way of flicking one of his legs out, a trait that looked even worse when he galloped.

Only Anthony Cummings had the foresight, and courage, to make an offer after the horse had left the ring and the big horse went on to win $5 million in prize money.

As I have an early sandwich for lunch, I wonder about where the horse called Mighty would end up if he was sold here this year. Probably still with Anthony, who would still have liked everything about him, and gambled on his leg being strong enough to withstand its eccentric action.

Robbie rings again; he’s just arrived and is out back of the ring, trying to duck the wind and have another look at the colt with the bad X-rays. The good news is the senior vet has cleared the youngster, so we move quickly to Robbie’s favourite corner and he buys the horse for $40,000.

At this point, he has almost finished his job, with only a couple left to bid on; one this afternoon, the other tomorrow. Not surprisingly he wants a breather and wanders off to have a beer and contemplate the best approach to secure the next horse on his list.

‘I train for the breeder, so I’ve got to keep my wits about me,’ he tells me.

Surely that should make things easier? Then I think it through: if he shows too much interest in the youngster before the actual sale, the breeder might arrange to have another bidder present to push the price up. No wonder he’s keeping a low profile for an hour or so before Lot 612 enters the ring.

I meet up with the trainer again in the parade ring behind the main auditorium as he tries to have one last look at the filly without attracting the breeder’s attention. He explains that as well as being a well-conformed daughter of emerging stallion Hold That Tiger, she also represents value for a client who’s looking for a potential broodmare as well as a racehorse. This filly fits both bills.

‘This could be a strong family to be a part of,’ Robbie explains.

He looks at me with sudden interest.

‘Have you ever bid on a horse?’ he asks.

I assure him I have, though not a yearling.

‘How do you feel about bidding on this one?’

I laugh, then realise he’s serious as we position ourselves in his usual spot inside, this time tucking himself behind the wall as the filly enters the ring.

‘Just follow my cue and keep going until I tell you to stop,’ he says, that lopsided grin easing my obvious sense of alarm. Is this a good idea? I ask myself and perhaps more significantly, is there any chance I’ll actually have to sign the sales slip?

‘OK,’ I reply and wait for Robbie’s cue to jump in. He has the potential owner on the mobile and he nods for me to make our first bid, at $40,000.

I try to adopt the laidback stance of someone who has spent a vast sum of money on an untrained, untried, unknown young thoroughbred before, casually holding my sales catalogue in one hand.

And nodding, no sudden movements here, to make the next bid of $60,000.

Then again at $80,000.

And $100,000.

Until the actual amount I am indicating we are willing to spend no longer means anything tangible. It’s a game, kind of like Monopoly, yet I’m playing with Robbie and we’re dead-set centre stage and the adrenalin rush of knowing I hold what looks like the final bid at $140,000 is amazing.

But just as I fall into Successful Yet Still Relaxed Buyer’s Mode, our main competitor gets cagey and halves his next bid.

‘$145,000,’ the auctioneer cries and suddenly, seriously, all eyes are on me.

Simon Vivian, the man with the hammer in his hand, is leaning forward in the auction box looking at me, hands literally outstretched, imploring me for just one more bid. I hold what I hope is a resolute yet dignified pose, waiting for Robbie’s instruction.

‘Half,’ he says softly and I raise my palm, indicating another bid of $5000.

‘$150,000!’ the auctioneer says, turning back to the centre of the ring, ‘$150,000!!’

Somehow I sense this is the magic number, our magic number, not to mention a limit of sorts. The hammer comes down and the filly is ours.

Robbie’s owner is obviously pleased because the trainer’s grin widens as he emerges from behind the wall to sign the sale docket.

‘Thanks for that, you did great,’ he says.

‘No worries,’ I laugh. ‘It was fun.’

And let’s face it, it wasn’t my money. Robbie heads off for a drink and I head for the car park. Along the way a number of people congratulate me on my purchase.

‘Good luck with her, she’s a lovely filly,’ one woman remarks.

‘She certainly is,’ another man says, as I walk out the door. ‘I had my eye on her too.’

In this world there is no higher praise.