Moods

by Helen Thomas

  *

  Throughout this long day of legal contention, the trainer sat, resolute, next to his counsel, the rest of his defence team in the row behind them. He rarely moved, his arms often straight by his side, his expression impassive. On the other side of the room, chief steward Terry Bailey sat in the row behind Jeff Gleeson, often with his arms leaning on his knees, sometimes with his head in his hands. For both men, who had known each other for so long, the proprieties of this legal theatre doubtless bordered on surreal.

  All present were aware that a decision had to be close now, so no one quite knew how to react to Judge John Bowman’s final words of the day: he was unsure when the board’s judgement would be handed down. ‘We’ll do it as promptly as we can, and you will be notified,’ he told the parties.

  The RAD Board would reconvene a month later.

  18

  BY THE STANDARDS of most Australian trainers, the last 18 months of Peter Moody’s career were strong. Between 1 August 2014 and 30 July 2015 he had 1254 starters across three states – New South Wales, South Australia and Victoria – from which he notched 206 winners, 323 place-getters and $11,031,490 in prize money.

  From August 2015 – just weeks after he was charged in relation to Lidari’s illegally high level of cobalt – and into early 2016, those numbers were holding up: 668 starters, for 107 winners, 151 place-getters and $4,796,540 in prize money. But as he admitted, he no longer had a high-profile horse in the yard he could bank on, a star who race fans could follow.

  Dissident, Australian racing’s reigning Horse of the Year, was no doubt enjoying his new career as a stallion, and while Moody Racing’s team was strong, they were not horses who fired the imagination. Amelie’s Star, Bassett, Gold Symphony, Kinglike and Rock Forthe Ladies were paying their way, but only the little chestnut called Flamberge seemed cut from cloth similar to the trainer’s best performers.

  A son of Exceed And Excel, one of Australia’s most impressive sires, Flamberge surprised everyone by surviving his difficult first few hours of life as a foal. After refusing to follow his mother in the paddock just a few minutes after being born, he had to withstand an infection 24 hours later. But that tenacity should have alerted owner David Moodie to his spirit.

  Flamberge started building a strong racing CV, with his two-and- a-half-length maiden win at Ballarat as a two-year-old in 2012, then his second start victory at Flemington three weeks later. Eventually he moved through his grades so successfully that he travelled to Morphettville on 16 May 2015 for the Group 1 Goodwood Handicap.

  He won the race convincingly, if in the last stride, and nine months later repeated the feisty performance in an even more respected event, the Group 1 Oakleigh Plate. Not bad for a galloper both Moodie and Moody originally thought would struggle to win much more than his maiden.

  Flamberge’s owner had worried he was a slow learner. ‘I thought this bloke is going to battle to even get to the races,’ David Moodie said in early 2016. ‘When I sent him to Peter my suspicions were well founded. “No ability” was the message that came down the phone line. [Moody] told us that the horse was running at Ballarat. After he managed to win there, he told us to get a nice picture as there will not be many more. So he had no great hopes even from the day when he first won a race.’

  Little by little, they realised that the former ‘backward foal’ was actually one of those horses whose heart was bigger than expected. ‘It was always all too much for him, but he never gave up,’ Racing Victoria’s chairman said. ‘Everything seemed to be against him, and yet he’d find his way to win a race.’

  This persistence endeared Flamberge to Moodie and his family. ‘Sure, he had a soft spot with us,’ he said. ‘The whole family knew that he wasn’t born with a silver spoon in his mouth, but he was that back-pocket player or half-back who was always picked first because he gave you everything and often a bit more …

  ‘You’re always emotional when you win a Group 1 race. But I suppose the family were more chuffed, because it was Flamberge and [because of] where he came from. In fact, with Peter Moody over the years, I’ve never seen him so moved by a win.’

  Flamberge was the kind of horse any trainer would love to have in their yard. And at this stage in Peter Moody’s life, the underdog must have seemed like his new best friend. Even better, Flamberge had by now amassed more than $1.3 million in prize money, winning 10 of his 33 race starts. But even he wasn’t able to carry this stable-in-strife, especially an operation so big.

  *

  The strain of the three serious charges hanging over Moody Racing had already exacted a toll before the trainer gave evidence to the RAD Board. In October 2015 he wrote to staff in his smaller stable in Sydney, advising them that the stable doors would be closing on 30 November, after three years in the Harbour City.

  ‘It was partly just [not having] the time to be there,’ he explains. ‘I found it impossible with this going on, and horse numbers down a bit. I could’ve kept it afloat, but I didn’t have the time to invest in it myself, even though I had very good staff there.

  ‘It was a bit of a thrill to be training there, where I learned my trade with Tommy Smith and Billy Mitchell … I was really proud to be there. I was training out of Neville Begg’s old stables too, a trainer I greatly admire. But I’ve had to give that all up, which is very disappointing.’

  For his 26-year-old Sydney manager, Clare Cunningham, it was bitterly disappointing. ‘It’s the end of my favourite chapter in life so far,’ she said after receiving the news. ‘I’ve been with Peter for four years and have learned so much. He took me in when I was still pretty green, and through his guidance I’ve really developed. He’s a brilliant trainer and horseman, but on top of that he’s just a lovely man. I couldn’t measure what he’s done for me and my career. Losing the stable is a shame, but I know I couldn’t be better trained for whatever comes next.’

  Several weeks earlier she had made clear that she thought her boss was being maligned. ‘They’re really hating on Pete, and it’s quite disheartening because he’s given so much for this industry … Training is so much hard work and there are a lot of lows,’ she said. ‘A lot of people get low in the game. But all it takes is a win to get back on top.’

  Cunningham had learned well from her master. But the hard fact was that, at this point, more than just a win at the track was required to put this trainer back on top. What he really needed was a legal victory. By the start of 2016 he was keenly aware of how his professional world was starting to shrink.

  There had already been belt-tightening where it was least needed. ‘Business is under pressure, I suppose,’ he says, sitting outside his office in front of the Caulfield stables one cool summer morning in January. ‘We’ve just been to our first major yearling sale since all this came about, and we’re probably down a third on horses. We usually bring home 30 [horses] – 25 to 30 – from the Magic Millions. This year we brought home 10.

  ‘It’s not by design. I probably didn’t spend as much as I normally would personally on horses, “spec horses” to come home and split with clients, because obviously I’m a little bit guarded [about] the future, and other people didn’t invest in my stables. They’re probably a bit guarded too, which is probably understandable, and it’s hard to convince them otherwise at the moment. That creates frustration.

  ‘I think we’re staying on a pretty even keel. Our horses have been racing terrific. I think we’re still running fourth on the national trainers’ title [ladder], and third in the Melbourne metro title, so that tells you we haven’t fallen by the wayside at all. But could we be going better? Yes – you can always be going better. And the other thing is we need a good horse. We haven’t got one at the moment. We got a few that maybe promise to be good horses, but they certainly aren’t there yet.’

  The trainer lights another cigarette as he ruminates on where things stand with his case, given that a decision from the RAD Board is still a month away. ‘I know I’m innocent,’ he says. ‘I�
�ve done no wrong … but they’ve still proceeded with these administration charges, which are the ones that put the big cloud over you, and it’s cost me an absolute fortune to defend myself against these charges.

  ‘I think the case has shown that there’s no evidence against me, but we’ve still got to go through all the hoops to clear our name, and [it] drags your name through the mud and your business down the gurgler. I’m fortunate. I’ve got a very loyal band of owners and a terrific staff; hopefully we’re not going to go down the gurgler, and I certainly don’t think we are.

  ‘Let’s hope we can fight to live another day, but it’s like anything, isn’t it? I don’t want to put it in the same context, but whenever a person’s got a sexual charge against their name, they’re always looked down upon – and it doesn’t matter if you clear your name and [are] found to be at no fault. You’ve always got that against you, and this is no different.’

  His voice low and steady, and his gaze direct, this is an unusually stripped-back Peter Moody, still forthright as ever and trying to be positive about the eventual outcome of this saga. But there is a grim note to his analogy, and he quietly admits he is not enjoying his work as much as he has for most of his life.

  ‘Oh, it’s certainly less enjoyable,’ he says. ‘We run the stable the same, same as we have for the last 20 years; that’s not changing. We’re training the horses the same. Am I doing it with the same enthusiasm? Well, I’d be lying if I said I am. No, I’m not.

  ‘You know, I wonder why the bloody hell I’m doing it if the heads of the industry obviously don’t want me, and that’s starting with the RVL Board, bar none, through to the Integrity Department, bar none. I’m not sure what I’ve done to upset them, or to deserve this. I respect the fact that they’ve got a job to do. But when they’ve publicly stated they’ve got no evidence, but they’re still going to drag this out … I find it a bit of a joke, really.’

  As he talks, ubiquitous cigarette in hand, it is hard not to wonder: given that this has already gone on for a year, how much longer can he continue? How much fight does he have left in him?

  ‘That’s something I’ll have to measure as it goes along,’ he replies. ‘I’ve invested hundreds of thousands of dollars to this point. Now, if I just stop and walk away – I probably should’ve done [that] a while back, before it got to this stage. So I’ve got a big investment in it, so it is a concern.

  ‘But at the end of the day, I’m not going to put everything that we’ve worked hard for, myself and my family, in jeopardy [just] to save face. I’m not going to do that. If it gets to the stage where I feel the industry doesn’t want me here – well, it’s probably a waste of time going on anyhow, which would be a sad day. But I’ve got to be realistic, haven’t I?’

  Apart from the financial and emotional burden of the current scenario, Moody doesn’t try to disguise the broader impact the uncertainty over his future is having on his operation.

  ‘No one has left because of what’s going on – it’s the business that hasn’t come in the door,’ he says. ‘That’s downplayed, you know? There’s existing owners that have horses in numerous stables that would probably always have a sprinkling with me that haven’t come forward in the last 12 months. So no one’s actually removed a horse, but nothing’s come in the door because of it either, outside of horses that I’ve gone and sourced myself.’

  While the situation is intimidating, it is not what worries Moody most. He understands how much he will miss the horses – this life – if he does get banned from doing his job. ‘Well, it’s all I’ve done all my life,’ he says. ‘That’s the thing about this: if they disqualify you, you can’t work in the industry in any way, shape or form. Now, I’m 46 years old. I’d be unemployable in a lot of facets. It’s a biggie, you know – what do you do?

  ‘I’m prepared to do anything to make a living, I’m not too proud. But I reckon for some people it’d be bloody hurtful and hard, because to take away the only thing you’ve ever done for 30 years, the only thing you know how to do, [would] be pretty hard, pretty daunting. And does anyone have the right to do that? If I get disqualified, I’m not allowed at a horse sale, I supposedly can’t [talk to] my mates that I’ve grown up with. You’re not supposed to have any contact with them. How ridiculous is that?’

  At the start of the new year, the usually ebullient trainer can’t quite come up with a confident spin to put on what he sees on the horizon.

  19

  ON THE MORNING of 16 March 2016, the RAD Board found itself the focus of Australia’s national press. Every major media organisation was on hand for the ‘Moody verdict’. Newspaper, online, radio and TV journalists jostled for seats in the hearing room, while broadcast crews set up in the foyer and outside, in front of the main entrance. Innocent or guilty, the boy from the bush was big news. The board’s decision was set to reverberate internationally, too, with racing journalists and fans on the other side of the world taking an avid interest.

  Perhaps responding to the media’s presence and sense of urgency, Judge Bowman did not waste time. He indicated he would read from a written judgement, which would then be made available publicly.

  First he outlined the main issues: the general background to the case, the so-called AR 178D argument put forward by the trainer’s defence team, and matters surrounding the three charges.

  He quickly disposed of the defence push to dismiss the analysis of Lidari’s urine sample because of the way it was carried out and the stewards’ alleged interference. ‘At the hearing, the AR 178D argument was referred to as the “knockout blow”, on the basis that if the analysis evidence is not admitted, then the charges against Mr Moody cannot be sustained,’ the chair of the RAD Board read. But the board accepted the submission of the stewards that they were not prevented from proving that a prohibited substance was administered by evidence other than a certificate, and so ‘does not accept the AR 178D argument of Mr Moody’. In other words, nice try – but no go.

  Next, Judge Bowman moved to the most serious of the three charges: administering a prohibited substance ‘for the purpose of affecting the performance or behaviour of a horse in a race’. This was the accusation that infuriated the trainer, the so-called ‘cheating charge’ he had always taken umbrage at. It had already cast a slur on his reputation, he felt, and in the next 15 minutes might yet destroy his training business. Moody sat straight in his chair at the end of the table, his face as reserved as it could be, given the circumstances.

  While the amount of Availa fed to Lidari generally and in the lead-up to the Turnbull Stakes ‘were central issues to the board’ – especially with regard to the ‘Subsequently Alleged Supplementation (SAS) of Availa that emerged in September 2015’ – it was not impressed with the testimony of the stable’s two feed-men, Neil Alexander and Rami Myala.

  ‘Neither was convincing or impressive. Both were poor witness,’ the judge said. ‘The unreliable evidence of Mr Alexander hardly clarified the situation, with about five different versions of the number of scoops and the size of the scoop or scoops used for Availa being advanced. Mr Myala was much more adamant – two scoops in the morning and one in the afternoon – but his version does not sit with the ultimate version given by Mr Alexander, or with the instructions for Availa written on the whiteboard in the stables. It is not even completely clear who fed Lidari and for how many days per week, at the relevant time.’

  This was damning enough. Parts of Peter Moody’s own evidence and performance, especially in relation to his knowledge of cobalt and the rules around its administration, did not impress the board either. But there was light at the end of this tunnel.

  ‘Mr Moody gave the impression of having no direct knowledge, and even little general idea, of the level of Availa fed to Lidari,’ he continued. ‘However, even if the board were not to accept that Lidari was given Availa in accordance with the SAS, it does not necessarily follow that the board should be comfortably satisfied that Mr Moody administered or caused to be admin
istered cobalt at above the permitted level for the prescribed purpose.

  ‘In the absence of the SAS, there is no evidence to explain how Lidari came to have cobalt at the levels detected … save for the suggestion, by Mr Moody’s expert Dr Van Eps, that even the amounts of Availa as initially declared (i.e. one scoop a day) could possibly bring about this result, given the lengthy period of supplementation.’

  Significantly, Judge Bowman explained that the stewards ‘do not contend that the vitamin injection given to Lidari on October 3, 2014 was the cause’ of the high cobalt reading the next day, ‘notwithstanding the unusual circumstances in which that vitamin injection was given. This gap, or “vacuum” as it was referred to at the hearing, arises notwithstanding the stewards have had full access to all relevant records of Mr Moody and the benefit of stable inspections. The stewards contend that this vacuum should be filled by inference. On balance, the board is not comfortably satisfied that it should do so.

  ‘More particularly, while we are satisfied that the prohibited substance found its way into Lidari as a result of something which occurred within the stables, we are not comfortably satisfied that we should draw the inference from the evidence before us that Mr Moody administered or caused to be administered cobalt for the purposes of affecting the performance of Lidari in the Turnbull Stakes.’

  The trainer and his counsel were as still as if in church at this point, the horseman gazing intently at the judge, his barrister looking down at his notepad; behind them, journalists new to this complex case were trying hard to follow the nuance of the chairman’s words. While the stable’s routine had clearly not pleased the board, the trainer’s intent seemed a different matter. It was a crucial distinction.