1973. you know what i'm talking about.

​Richard Pitman is both one of the good men of racing and one of its greats. On his own admission he wasn’t one of the most stylish of riders, yet Fred Winter, a man revered and honoured still to this day, employed him as his stable jockey, and it must have been for more than his honesty and loyalty. Richard Pitman must have been effective as a jockey. 
You can admire Richard Pitman for donating a kidney, if you wish – he inspired me to attempt to do the same, only to be told I needed both my kidneys as one wasn’t as good as the other – or for his charitable work. I admire him mostly, though, for continuing to take the blame for Crisp failing to give the immortal and greatest-ever Grand National winner, Red Rum, 23Ibs in the 1973 renewal of the world’s greatest race.
What is less known about the 1973 Grand National, though on firmer ground Mr.Frisk would break the record many years later, is that not only did Red Rum win in a record time, 9-min, 1.9-seconds, but Crisp also was inside the record, carrying 12-stone. They may have smashed the old record-time but the third and fourth, none other than two of the most popular horses of the time, L’Escagot, carrying 12-stone  (2-time Gold Cup winner, remember) and Spanish Steps, 11-st 13Ib, also finished within the old fastest time and they were 25Ibs adrift.
38-horses faced the starter on 31st March, with 17 finishing. The ground was firm, the sort of ground to be feared today for steeplechasing but just what is needed to destroy long-standing track records.
Legends rode in the 1973 race. Tommy Carberry, progenitor of a great riding dynasty, rode L’Escargot, one of only two-horses to ever beat Red Rum in a Grand National. Bob Champion was sixth on Hurricane Rock. Lord Oaksey seventh on Proud Tarquin. Edward Courage, a permit holder, owned and trained the mighty Spanish Steps. Brian Jenks owned the fifth home Rouge Autumn. Mrs. J. Bowes-Lyon (must have been relation of the late Queen Mother) owned The Pooka that finished twelfth. Robert Sangster owned the fifteenth-finisher, Sunny Lad.
Jonjo O’Neill fell, as was his tradition, on Red Rum’s stable-mate Glenkiln. David Nicholson pulled-up Highland Seal. Jeff King fell on Ashville and the Duke of Alburquerque failed to complete on Nereo. It was a proper traditional, old-fashioned Grand National. The likes of which we will never see again.
Usually, I accept losing as part of life but I wanted to lodge an objection when Dancing Brave’s win in the Arc – I can’t even bring myself to stand-up and take down Pat Eddery’s autobiography to confirm the year, my irk remains so great – was voted the greatest race ever by Racing Post readers. I accept it was a memorable race and perhaps one of Pat Eddery’s greatest-ever rides. Yet better than a race where the first four broke the course record! A race where a horse giving away 23Ibs nearly achieved the genuinely impossible! In youthful culture, wisdom is denied and historical truth left unread. To the young, 1973 is as ancient as 1873.
Crisp was a former 2-mile Champion Chaser. The Cheltenham Gold Cup distance stretched his stamina to breaking point. He was Australian-bred. He came to this country on a quest, an adventure for his owner Sir Chester Manifold. Few considered him a likely finisher. Yet this bold jumper laughed at Aintree’s fearsome reputation, treated its fences as if they were upturned dandy-brushes and led for the vast majority of the 4-mile 4-furlongs, only to be collared close to the line, and only, on his own admission ‘it was a boyish error from a man’, when instead of staying still and holding the big horse together, Richard Pitman took a hand-off the reins and gave his gallant mount a slap with the stick. ‘’The ground we forfeited at that point was greater than the three-quarters of a length he was beaten by Red Rum’.
Of course, without that error, Red Rum would have only won 2-Grand Nationals and though he would still be revered today, he would only be the equal of Abd el Kader, The Lamb, The Colonel, Manifesto, Reynoldstown and Tiger Roll, not their superior and not the legend he will remain for the whole duration of horse racing history. Sometimes, the stars align and things are meant to be. Red Rum, remember, is credited with saving the Grand National. Without that riding error by Richard Pitman – ‘I am proud to have played my part while realising John Francome would not have fallen into the decision, I wrongly made half-way up the 494-yards run-in’ – we might not have enjoyed fifty Grand Nationals since 1973. Instead, we might be looking forward to on April 15th a far from replica of the Grand National staged over ordinary fences on an ordinary racecourse. A woke National. Perhaps even reduced to being staged at a point-to-point course; at Larkhill as someone helpfully suggested when it seemed certain that Aintree would disappear under a developer’s J.C.B.
God bless you, Richard Pitman. Your error was not an error of judgment but a subconscious sacrifice to save your sport and our greatest horse race.