EMBARRASSING: Winning Melbourne Cup horse just ran around in a big circle like some kind of idiot

What a stupid animal.

What a stupid animal.

It’s been revealed today that Melbourne Cup winner Cross Counter only won the race by running around in a circle like some big, dumb, horse-faced idiot.

Counter, 3, was hailed by the excited crowd as he crossed the finish line.

But a close examination of race footage shows that although he ran a total of 3200 metres, he finished only about 700 metres from where he began.

Worse yet, he had already passed that finishing point once before, having run in a big circle.

Sources close to Counter say that he was unaware that he had won the race, that he was in a race, or even what a race is.

He mostly ran due to the cheering and hollering of the crowds, plus the whipping by his rider.

Few in the crowd are talking, but it appears most were aware that the horse was running in a circle, and chose not to intervene.

Those who were sober enough to speak reported taking great pleasure at watching the hapless, splay-legged fool run without really getting anywhere.

The horse knows not what is going on.

It is believed that this isn’t an isolated incident, and may go back to the very beginning of the Melbourne Cup.

The horses run as fast and as hard as they can. If they ever knew why, they certainly do not now. Each is trapped in a cycle of giving people what they think they want; stuck in the same loop of playing to the hawing masses, but without ever really getting anywhere.

The horse knows not what is going on.

Was there ever a reward for them? Maybe a certain thrill, one time, long ago. But that thrill can never be enough. So they keep going, chasing that elusive feeling that’s always lost, no matter how hard they try to grasp it. The more they try to grasp it, the more it slips away into nothingness.

Horses are not very smart.

They race an unbeatable foe: time. That enemy that makes minions of us all, ticking ceaselessly towards nothing, not even an end. Because time, by its very nature, is without end. It just is, taunting us, fooling us, torturing us, making us race towards things we don’t want, for reasons we cannot recall, in the vain hope that we can find something better, or avoid something worse.

We know not what is going on.

They say the race is little more than three minutes, but it is not the true race. The true race is unwinnable, and we are all at its mercy. Uncaring, unfeeling. Falling without even knowing it.

All Blacks 69, Japan 31.

Cross Counter refused to comment, responding to questions with “Nay.”