I'm not sure if it was because I'm the newest reporter, or because the editor delighted in the idea of sending someone who was petrified of cockroaches, but I was the lucky person in the newsroom selected to cover the Story Bridge Hotel's 36th annual Australia Day cockroach race.
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The first race I decided to cover from the safe height and distance of the corporate box.
Below were hundreds of people, dressed mostly in T-shirts, shorts and beer-branded sunglasses. Some sported Australian flag tattoos shaped like Merv Hughes' moustache. Drunk, slightly sunburnt and more of a Cold Chisel than Triple J Hottest 100 crowd, everyone sang along to The Voice while they waited around the arena for the spectacle to start.
And what a spectacle. A trumpeter heralded the names of each major cockroach entrant - or something like that, it was impossible to hear the MC over the rowdy crowd - before the Queensland Irish Association Pipe Band marched around the arena, playing more John Farnham to lead cockroach stewards into place.
One of the stewards was holding a clear canister up high, filled with dozens of the scuttling little bastards, and sealed shut with a VB beer sign.
He placed it on the ground and on the signal lifted the canister, shaking any reluctant roaches free and setting them off around the ring. The other cockroach stewards then caught the roaches as they ran across the black line at the edge of the circle - if they made it that far, as at the end of the race it was obvious a number of racers hadn't survived the short trip to the arena.
The first three roaches across the line were declared the winners, and the people who had bought the winners were called down to the ring where they received a trumpet fanfare, a medal, and a prize. The guy who came second was handed a shoe ... which he proceeded to fill with booze then glug in a ceremonial "shoey".
The cockroach races weren't always like this. Damian Burke, who has called the races for about 23 years, told me it all started as an "amateur sport" in front of the Shelter Bar in 1982, before becoming the crowd-drawing event it is today.
"It's an iconic event in the Brisbane calendar," he said.
And it's not just the cockroach races that entertain the crowd. There were also attractive women in white singlets and Australian bikinis being dunked in a tub of water.
Between races they also held a "Miss Cocky" competition.
A bloke in a pink Hawaiian shirt, blonde wig, with face tattoos and minus a tooth was knocked out early.
Suzanne Manning, in an Australian beer hat, a beer belt, an Australian flag dress and covered in flag tattoos, was the crowd favourite and a clear winner.
Between photos with the crowd, Ms Manning said she loved the cockroach racing because "it's crazy, and no one else does this".
For the next race, I decided to suck it up and move in closer to the six-legged thoroughbreds.
The tension was palpable. Mine, anyway.
While there were a number of stewards, I realised there weren't nearly enough to catch all the cockroaches trying to make a break for it.
I watched in horror as three of the skittering critters made it past the closest steward, running under the legs of the ladies seated next to me. I shrieked as one - number 47, I believe - almost ran over my foot.
The cockroach stewards didn't seem have the same qualms. Ross Campbell, who has been driving up from the Gold Coast for 10 years to help out, told me he had no problem with catching them except "they're a bit smelly".
As in all racing, there were winners and losers. Those who backed the winners seemed happy with their Bundy Rum prize packs. Underfoot, the ground was littered with the squished remains of the not-so-fortunate losers.
