Magic Memories TREVOR MARSHALLSEA
FROM HUMBLE BEGINNINGS
SOMETIMES YOU CAN PAY A BARGAIN BASEMENT PRICE AND BUY A CHAMPION. AT OTHERS YOU MIGHT PAY MILLIONS AND END UP WITH A SNAAFI DANCER.
It seems the second scenario can apply to accommodation as well – even on the Gold Coast - as the men from Rosemont Stud and their “party whip” Peter Moody found in a misadventure which will be remembered, with much discomfort, for some time to come. “We call it the Great Magic Millions 2020 Accommodation Fiasco,” says Rosemont principal Anthony Mithen, a man never stuck for a catchy headline as a former journalist who started that previous life not far from his stud at the Geelong Advertiser. Rosemont would traditionally send a team to the Coast comprising Mithen, his brother, general manager Ted, and bloodstock GM Ryan McEvoy. A few years back they also roped in Moody, who teamed with the stud during his hiatus from training. The larger-thanlife Queenslander, back in his home state, was “a great addition to vibe of the house”, says Mithen, reporting the team “always had loads of fun and plenty of banter”. Those times were always had in some “quite luxurious houses” over the years. But in 2020, all that went bizarrely, and shockingly, pear-shaped. Though
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they’d booked through a luxury accommodation site, somehow this unloved nag of a joint had sneaked into the stable. There was a basement feel alright, but no bargain. “We’d been really looking forward to enjoying similar trips as we’d had in the past with a bit of camaraderie and a great horse sale,” Mithen says. “But this place looked like some dive in Pakistan where a terrorist might hide out. “There was concrete everywhere, broken tiles; one bedroom smelled like vomit. It looked like there’d been mice and rats through the place because you could see plenty of what they leave behind. There was a pergola out the back, but it had holes in it. It was just a shambles. And we were looking at 10 days of this.” Moody had already performed what had become his traditional task – the shopping. The man who once traded a training prize of a year’s supply of champagne with a year’s supply of his state’s native nectar – XXXX Gold – had duly filled the fridge. “To be fair there was also Coke, and some other necessities like salami, tasty cheese, and … no, that was about it,” Mithen says.
There was no caviar, black or otherwise. In fact this felt light years removed from those heady days, with the trainer’s haul barely lifting the mood. “We sat under the pergola having a beer, and considered our plight,” Mithen says. “Then it started raining, and we were getting wet through the holes.” Enough was enough. Phones were quickly swung into action. “Anyone, everyone, who might have had some accommodation was called or texted. But how were we gonna go finding a place at such short notice on the Gold Coast in peak holiday season? We were three wide and, with the rain pouring through the pergola, literally without cover.” The previous day – while staying a night at a comfortable hotel as he waited for Rosemont’s rented house to be, err, prepared – he’d played golf with Gerry Harvey and Hamish McLachlan. The TV personality, an old friend of Mithen’s from the media world, had been “gloating and quick cocky actually about the fact he was staying at the best place in town, an apartment right on the beach”. Now, down to his last chance, Mithen felt he might as well go straight to the top, and called Harvey.
