Wobbly bits

-

As my attention over the last few days has turned fully to the Cheltenham Festival, I found myself in need of some backbone.

Odd really, because I’ve just solidified the logistical aspects of my assault on the Championships. Three days at the course this year in company with a select top-slicing of the lads: Nev, Colin and, long shot, maybe even Bacchy at the Champion Hurdle, Champion Chase and World Hurdle days. And a treat this year, on the middle night I’ll be staying over in Cheltenham after racing to soak up the atmosphere at the thumping heart of that glorious happening. Then Gold Cup Day in the Barley Mow with the rest of the gang: a burgeoning crowd of merry-makers increasing year-on-year at a rate George Osborne would sell his soul for. If it hadn’t already been hawked it off to the banking sector in the halcyon days of Opposition, that is. And this week, they are demanding a refund…

With the campaign mapped out, I should have been clear of vision and light of step, ready to bear down in the weeks that remain on the big prizes. And at that crucial moment, I recognised that confidence was leaching away like David Pipe’s hopes for Grand Crus. The dreaded long run of losers had me in its icy grip. Paralysed and dispirited I had begun to question my judgement as outsiders were tailed off and warm favourites went cold. The 40 to follow stable, so often a barometer, was properly in profit to December and peaked at +26 points on 5th January. It has since bombed with 1 win from 15 runs (including the farcical Ambion Wood episode at Wincanton at the end of the month). The yips made me look at ante-posts built around this barn and fret about their shakiness. Victor Chandler’s free bet offer for no-shows was only some comfort. This lot could well turn up only to lose. Who will refund that?

It’s all about context though. Before I felt too sorry for myself, on Monday I saw Darlan cruise up to the leaders in a decent Champion Hurdle trial, dive at the last obstacle, flip over and break his neck. He was most likely on the way to a win that would have put him into a share of favouritism for the big one. This was only his 8th run over hurdles. How quickly careers are made and broken.

I watched the race, hastily arranged and with great credit by the course and the BHB in a poky William Hill near Euston. I’ve been there maybe five times in two months. On each visit, an old Polish guy, tidily dressed and groomed, has occupied a plastic bucket seat in front of the big screen. He’s there when I arrive and there when I leave, whatever the post-time of the race I’ve pitched up to see. He bets on every horse and greyhound race. I’ve never seen him have a winner. Each time he loses, he reels with pain and mutters an unbroken stream of expletives. “Fucking vanker. What you fucking do that you vanker? Fuck. Fucking vanker. I can’t believe you fucking vanker. Vanker.” And then picks up a slip and scribbles out the name of the next loser.

When Darlan fell there was a cry of anguish from everyone in the bookies, quite full for a Monday. Thankfully the cameras did not linger on the stricken horse, but as Rock On Ruby pulled away from the hurdle there was a sickening glimpse of Darlan’s twitching legs. I’ve seen this before and knew instantly that the horse would not survive. The Pole jumped up with his arms in the air. Another bloke in front of me did the same and barked to the Pole “I said, didn’t I? I said the only way he’d get beat was if he fell. I said that. Why is it always the last?” He was distraught. The Polish guy was the same. “Vanker. Fucking vanker! This is not fucking fence. Is fucking matchsticks. Fucking matchsticks. Fucking vanker!” Just another loser for Lech. But much more than that for Nicky Henderson who gave a tear-stained interview soon after the event. Much more for AP McCoy who has suffered this plenty, not least Valiramix who died with the Champion Hurdle itself at his mercy in 2002. And much more for owner JP McManus who lost his Gold Cup winner in the Grand National only last April.

Wobbly bits on the road to Cheltenham. We all get them. Some are a bit more serious than others.


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Seaside Special - Skye is the limit: west Highland

-
Image
  I’m surrounded by a jigsaw of blurry photo prints, OS maps and website screen-shots spread out across the office desk. It looks like an evidence board for a murder drama. I’m trying to piece together a youth hostel trip to Scotland from the late 80's/early 90's. None of the prints are dated or annotated. I recognise the faces of our group and some of the buildings. And even some of the landscapes. But not all of them. They were chucked in an album with pics of the Peak District and the Norfolk Broads from 1991. So that’s the year. But wait. The photos were in the wrong album. After a bit of checking, it’s definitely 1989, the year after I graduated.  Geographically, the trip fits well in the blog series at this point as we go clockwise round the UK, but the recollections are going to be as patchy as a politicians autobiography. Picking out a few highlights and strong memories, whilst skating over the rest. The trip was a big deal at the time. Our most ambitious youth host
Read more

Seaside Special - NC500 part 2: north and north-west Highland

-
Image
Day four was a dog-leg day: north from Staxigoe to Duncansby Head in the far top right of mainland Scotland before swinging west along the top of the world as far as Bettyhill. We passed close to Castle Sinclair Girnigoe again before skirting the bay beyond with its pristine yellow-white beach which we had glimpsed from the castle’s ramparts yesterday.   First stop was Duncansby Lighthouse, where we were lucky to find a park. For the first time, we had hit a populist bit of the NC500 tourist trail. Camper vans of all shapes, sizes and nationalities packed onto the verge parking. The lighthouse held a prominent view (as you would hope, to be fair) towards the Orkneys, Dunnet Head – Scotland’s most northerly point - and in the near distance John O’Groats where the sunshine glinted back from rows of yet more camper vans docked by the famous sign post. Their number was a shock at first, but we soon got used to the idea and it was really only at the most popular stops where they grouped i
Read more

Seaside Special - A honeymoon and a fast car: Argyll & Bute

-
Image
Before I first visited Argyll - so before 1996 - I had imagined it to be characteristically highland Scotland: full of muscular, bare crags heaped upon each other with scree slopes crashing down into lochs overlooked by impossibly romantic ruined castles. This betrayed uncharacteristically rank research on my part. Argyll was not like that at all. I usually made an exhaustive study of the nooks and crannies of any of my potentials destination long before making a booking. On this occasion, I was under-prepared and poorly informed. But as this was a honeymoon stay, maybe other matters were legitimately clouding my mind. I do not wish to suggest that I was in any way disappointed with the geography of the area. Far from it. I was thoroughly pleasantly surprised. Our cottage was in a remote spot off the road between Crinan and Achnamara, perched above Loche Choille-Barr. The one-bedroom bungalow, converted from a threshing barn, had acres of land sloping away to the shore. The air was s
Read more