If we'd ever met I'd call him Noel. But these are the days when you make somebody's acquaintance without ever having to look 'em in the eye. Tanqueray & Tonic is a member of the KFC (or Kalanisi Fan Club), a small online community of racing punters and enthusiasts that's been on the go for years. Last Christmas, T&T marked our card at the big Leopardstown meeting: "I am lucky enough to be one of the 6 members of the Man About Town syndicate that owns Our Conor. From day 1 Dessie has been giving us huge reports on the horse. Based on what Dessie says the 7/4 is too big and he should be backed."
In the event Our Conor was a non-runner that day but when he reappeared at the Irish Hennessy meeting he fairly bolted up. I doubt any amount of stable confidence, though, could have prepared T&T and the boys for the absolute hatchet job he produced out there on Friday. And now they can dream again as they eye up next year's Champion Hurdle.
You have to go back to 2002 and Scolardy to find the last Irish winner of the Triumph. We were there. It was the year Brynaldo speared the Champion Hurdle, Queen Mother and Gold Cup on his trident. It was the year of the bajan gayboy bandit and the leather-panted temptress.
At the track Nick's ambition has always been to neck his hipflask before the first and back one winner before the last. I doubt he remembers the name of the Irishman who gave him the tip that day but he'll never forget the name of Charlie Swan.
"Put ahl o' yer money on Charlie Swan in the first boys."
Jenkins took note. For all he knew Charlie Swan could have been the name of a horse. But no - it turned out Charlie Swan was riding in the first. And Nick's ambition was realised big time when yer man Charlie steered Scolardy home by eleven lengths at an SP of 16/1.
In the Triumph field that day was a 40/1 no-hoper called Non So, owned by the Dawn Run Partnership. One member of this syndicate was Alan Fordham who used to work on the same floor as me. Alan loved his racing. He had a bet every day and had no illusions of making it pay.
Non So was his first foray into racehorse ownership. After winning a couple of little juvenile hurdles at the gaff tracks he caught up with me at work. "We're running him in the Triumph, Steve, I can't believe it. We'll lead 'em round - at least for the first mile." And that's what he did, until weakening and pulling up before the last.
A great thrill to have a runner at Cheltenham but that wasn't the end of the road for Alan. Non So went on to win the Lanzarote Hurdle, finish 2nd in the Tote Gold Trophy and 4th in the County Hurdle itself. A small horse, he never seemed quite so good over the larger obstacles. Yet in his final race - at the Festival on 16 March 2006 - he somehow managed to stuff 23 rivals in the big two and half mile handicap chase, the old Mildmay of Flete.
Meanwhile back in the real world of Fantasy Festival, there'd been a good bit of rain about and it came in time for At Fisher's Cross, who won the Albert Bartlett convincingly.
Our Conor had won at 4/1. At Fishers Cross was returned a mere 11/8. Most of us were flapping about for winners at big prices. Si, however, who'd started the day with a workable bank of around £140, did not overlook these good things. By the time we got to the Gold Cup he'd gathered a stash of £275.
Meanwhile Colin had found the strong staying Inish Island each-way in the Albert Bartlett and was sitting on £373. The thing to do now was to lump the lot on Bobs Worth at 11/4. That would have been enough to take the lead. Instead he went for the mud loving Cape Tribulation. If someone who wasn't already pissed up on booze had told him this was in fact an illegal second each-way bet of the day maybe he'd have come back to Bobs Worth? Si put a ton on Long Run.
The Gold Cup was an epic contest, absolutely brutal. They don't come tougher than Bobs Worth. When you closely observe a race like that you begin to appreciate why Gold Cup winners struggle to come back and defend their title. Best Mate was able to do it (the first horse since L'Escargot in 1971) but even he couldn't recover from the total warfare that was his third win in 2004.
Most of us had something to play with in the finale - the aptly named Grand Annual. The formbook was now irrelevant. The only thing to do was to back something at a price. I needed a lively one at around 16/1. Davoski made his calculation and when his original fancy shortened up he had to choose something else! Tim, Si and Colin could afford to look nearer the head of the market. Neville had pulled up and gone home early in what turned out to be a hospital job for an inflamed pancreas. Get well soon mate.
Steve went for Ulck Du Lin. When Ruby pulled him up at the top of the hill, putting the tin hat on a miserable week for Paul Nicholls, the chasing pack was in with a real shout. Our chances came and went. As they freewheeled down the hill for the very last time Petit Robin was stilll in the mix for Si. But as they approached the second last two horses had pulled clear: Alderwood, the 3/1 favourite (effectively running for Steve) and Kid Cassidy (the selection of Colin).
And the Kid took it up 2 out! "Come on Kid Cassidy!" called out Col, edging urgently forward, his body now in bookies' reflex. Some of his mates joined in: "Go on the Kid! Go on!" But Alderwood, in the hands of AP McCoy - the strong man - gradually asserted in the final climb home.
And then a long low drawl from the back of the shop: "Go a-h-n McCoy-y-y! G-e-h-t in!".
Not Steve, who'd stayed behind in the pub resigned to whatever the Fates threw up.
Just a punter who'd backed the final favourite in the Getting Out Stakes. Or the self-satisfied hollow cackle of Christopher Marlowe's bad angel arriving right on cue to lead Colin to the underworld.
Back to the pub for the brief ceremony and what the telly pundits like to call "the reaction".
 |
| Steve M being led up in the sponsor's rug |
I introduced a second prize this year and (here's psychological profiling for you) only Nick and Colin had had the nerve to leave a few quid behind in their banks. Nick just shaded it but had the good grace to consign his prize immediately to the whip.
And so we set our sights on next year. You can already get stuck into Our Conor for the Champion, or maybe you prefer The New One? Surely the aging Hurricane Fly will have to give way to a new one. The game is all about renewal.
And also anticipation. A Julian Barnes character wrote about it in the novella Flaubert's Parrot:
"I remember the end of L'Education Sentimentale. Frédéric and his companion Deslauriers are looking back over their lives. Their favourite, final memory is of a visit to a brothel years before, when they were still schoolboys. They had planned the trip in detail, had their hair specially curled for the occasion, and had even stolen flowers for the girls. But when they got to the brothel, Frédéric lost his nerve, and they both ran away. Such was the best day of their lives. Isn’t the most reliable form of pleasure, Flaubert implies, the pleasure of anticipation? [And here Barnes borrows a phrase from Philip Larkin] Who needs to burst into fulfilment's desolate attic?"
Well obvioulsy we bloody well need to, so that we can see who comes out on top in the Champion Hurdle and the Gold Cup - and Fantasy Festival too. But we also need the anticipation. At Cheltenham it is unique because it's so long-lasting and for some the countdown has started already.
So until next year, lente lente currite noctis equi - as they say in Basildon.
No comments:
Post a Comment