Once upon a time, the first Tuesday in November stopped two nations. Offices paused, televisions flicked on, and the Melbourne Cup was treated like a sacred ritual. Closer to home, Addington Raceway in Christchurch would hum with the same sense of glamour and excitement. People dressed up, placed their bets, and cheered on horses they knew little about beyond their odds.
On Melbourne Cup Day I would desperately try and get hold of my podiatrist Malcolm who knows a thing or two about horse racing to give me a hot tip. I would then queue up at the TAB and place a box trifecta for an extortionate amount of dollars that would ultimately fail. But I enjoyed getting caught up in the hysteria of the day.
But lately, something has shifted. The noise feels more muted. The glamour a little faded. The sight of horses being whipped down the straight no longer carries the same thrill for many of us. Instead, there’s an unease, an internal grimace.
Reports of animal cruelty, injuries, and the number of horses “retired” or euthanised after their usefulness has ended have steadily eroded the hype. What was once a celebration of sport now feels, like an echo of an outdated gladiatorial spectacle a reminder of how our values evolve. The world is becoming more conscious of how we treat animals, the environment, and even each other. The idea of forcing animals to perform for our entertainment doesn’t sit as easily in a society that’s learning to care more deeply and think more critically.
Even the TAB that great institution of the Kiwi punt feels caught in the same shift. It’s still there, but not quite the community fixture it once was. The rise of online gambling has made betting more private, less social, and sometimes more harmful. Yet there’s another way to think about the TAB.
In the disability world, TAB means a non-disabled person as in, ‘Temporarily Able-Bodied’. Meaning that everyone will experience disability at some stage in their life. It may be as a result of an accident, or simply the aging process which is bound to give you an impairment of one kind or another.
Disability is a naturally occurring part of life. My friend Jon has experienced this. He recently had surgery on his shoulder for an old rugby wound. It was more extensive than he had predicted. They detached both muscles from the joint as they cleaned up cartilage and bone fragments. Jon is usually a very hands-on kind of a guy, always up to something physical but after the op his left arm was mummified in bandages. His hand looked like Andre the Giant’s hand with a zombie hue to it. He’s fast becoming familiar with doing things in a one-handed fashion.
It made me pause. Because that little acronym sums up a lot. We’re all, in a sense, temporarily able-bodied one accident, one illness, or one surgery away from needing support or adaptation. It’s a humbling thought, and maybe one that invites a bit more compassion, for humans and animals alike.
Maybe that’s part of the reason why events like the Melbourne Cup or Addington no longer feel like national holidays. We’re changing. We’re learning to value empathy over spectacle, connection over competition. The gloss of the old traditions is giving way to a matte understanding that life in all its forms deserves respect.
Times are changing.
Jonny Wilkinson is the CEO of Tiaho Trust – Disability A Matter of Perception, a Whangarei based disability advocacy organisation.