Disqualified trainer Darren Weir’s remarkable fall from grace
Darren Weir had every reason to feel invincible. In one racing season he trained a world record 491 winners to $31 million in prizemoney. Then one January morning it all came crashing down.
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As Darren Weir rolled triumphantly into the 2018 spring carnival, he had every reason to feel confident. Perhaps invincible.
With a world record 491 winners and $31,367,448 in prizemoney from the 2017-18 season alone, the self-styled horseman had built a training regime of unimagined scope and success.
But as the former two-horse bush battler took aim at more of racing’s brightest orbs, his ascendant career trajectory was under threat.
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Weir, a man with an unerring sense of danger, was for once unaware of the enemy at the gate.
Long the subject of derision, suspicion and envy, Weir had no idea he was being watched by anyone other than his legions of fans and, increasingly, Racing Victoria’s compliance assurance team.
But Weir had also attracted the attention of Victoria Police’s Sporting Integrity Intelligence Unit.
Unbeknown to Weir and his Forest Lodge employees, a gaggle of people gathered at a supermarket just around the corner from Weir’s Kennedys Rd, Miners Rest, stables weren’t plumbers, electricians or brickies.
They were police, and they were in full investigation mode.
As unsuspecting owners — most of them, at least — and sycophantic punters were increasingly enthralled by Weir’s ability to out-train well-heeled horsemen from the big smoke, police were setting out on their own race.
Cunning use of distraction paved the way for cameras to be installed in Weir’s supposedly impregnable stables.
One area of focus was a barn containing treadmills. Rumours of horses being “jacked” or “harped” — struck with electronic jiggers as they exercised while wearing blinkers on treadmills — had done the rounds for months.
By late December, Weir did sense something was up.
He was acutely aware of the broadscale scepticism about his methodology but, as a lone wolf, he cared little about how he was viewed.
A summer storm is believed to finally have revealed the presence of the covert camera, found by a tradesman in the stable roof.
The game was all but up, but it still had to play out.
To outsiders, business continued as usual.
Weir travelled to the famed Karaka Sales in Auckland in January and, as he now routinely did, forked out millions for a handful of yearlings.
His confidence seemed unshakeable. After all, condemned men don’t buy green bananas, let alone expensive yearlings.
When Weir flew back to Melbourne on a balmy Tuesday night on January 28, he had no idea of the mayhem to unfold the next morning.
Neither did Jarrod McLean, his ally-in-chief, nor did confidant Tyson Kermond.
By mid-morning on January 29, the worlds — and careers — of all three had been up-ended.
By day’s end they had all been arrested, questioned and released without charge.
But within a week, Weir agreed to a disqualification of four years after police walked into his bedroom and allegedly found three jiggers.
With his reputation and operation in ruins, Weir sold his Ballarat stables to Ciaron Maher and, allegedly, David Eustace. Soon after, he hocked the state-of-the-art ’Bool boxes to a former client.
He retreated to his property near Maldon, bought cattle, and mulled over his future.
As recently as last week he had speculated to friends how he was confident his ban would be halved on appeal.
He had kept 60 of everything — saddles, bridles, rugs and saddle cloths — for his intended return in 2023.
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The police had beat a regular path to Weir’s door since January.
He told friends of drones flying above his sprawling property and a desire to return to racing to prove cynics wrong.
How all of that plays out now in light of Wednesday’s criminal charges — mostly alleged animal cruelty offences — remains to be seen.
Either way, he is a man light years removed from his lofty status of a year ago when he was routinely swamped by back-slappers.
His reputation remains in tatters, future uncertain. No one, not even Weir, could have suspected the size of his fall.
leo.schlink@news.com.au
