​Good governance is vital to any sport. Without insightful regulation and thoughtful influence lies the fissures for insurrection and disregard for authority and those empowered to enforce that authority. The British Horseracing Board, at least over the past few weeks, have come close to losing the respect of their most important stakeholders, the people who hour-by-hour care for the animals at the very heart of our sport. It is too easy to ridicule and make jokes at the expense of the lawmakers, I have done so myself, yet when the governing body of the sport make decisions that can only aid those who might be considered the enemy of the sport, the time has come to ask whether those appointed to run the sport are fit for purpose.
I did suggest that changing the rule regarding whether a horse can run with only front shoes or shod all-round, taking the responsibility away from the trainer, was by far the stupidest idea the B.H.B. has thus far manufactured. What made the proposed change, now put on hold for six months, more regrettable and brainless, was the assertion that they had consulted all relevant parties before coming to their decision. Obviously, this was a big fat lie as thus far not one trainer has come out in full unqualified support for the proposal.
Yet the fine metered out at Uttoxeter to Henry Oliver for waving his arms in order to get his horse to the start far outstrips any previous stupidity committed by the B.H.B. or even their predecessors, The Jockey Club. In fact, it has the hallmarks of a Monty Python or Spike Milligan sketch. Of course, as we might expect from a governing body displaying all the signs of losing the plot, a spokesman for the B.H.B. had to make the situation even more ridiculous by stating straight-faced that ‘in waving his arms Henry Oliver was taking away the horse’s free-will to race’.
This small incident, which might be tagged, ‘horse not hurt in any way by trainer with out-of-control arms’, has the power of Pandora’s Box to inflict the rule-book with any absurdity you care to think of.
Give it a moment’s thought: waving your arms behind a horse to get it to walk forward removes from the horse the free-will to make its own choices. Next time you are watching The Morning Show with a scene of the unloading area at a racecourse in shot and a horse hangs back from going into the racecourse stables and a stable employee waves her or his arms and says ‘Go on, you bugger’, stable staff are prone to use such expletives, just to warn you, that person is committing an offence punishable by a fine of £140. The precedent, remember, has been set.
You might want to defend the B.H.B. and claim that the fine at Uttoxeter was imposed because Henry Oliver was at the start without permission but that is to miss the point. The absurdity lies within the assertion that in waving his arms Henry Oliver took from his horse its right to free-will.
Now, taking this judgement to its logical conclusion, when a jockey picks up his whip to urge his mount to greater exertion, he is taking from the horse its right to free-will, to exert himself or not to exert himself.
The starter’s assistant can never again have the satisfaction of cracking the whip to encourage horses to leave the starting gate at the gallop.
Stalls handlers will no longer be required as they would be taking away a horse’s right to free-will by leading or heaving it into the stalls.
In fact, all horses in future will have to consulted on what feed they prefer, what bedding, on whether they have two or four shoes fitted to their feet or any shoes at all. Upon this road lies madness.
Free-will: the power of directing one’s own actions, without constraint by any external influence.
I wonder what Frodon might have to say on the matter – he will have to be consulted, I should imagine - and other horses like him who jump fences with the free-will only pure contentment can summon.
As with everyone involved in our sport I love and admire the racehorse. Without the racehorse my day would be diminished, my soul would be without value, my heart broken. As with everyone involved in our sport, I wish no harm to any racehorse or animal of any kind. Yet when the governing body of the sport suggest that a horse has free-will, that it and it only can determine whether to race or not, then we must only assume that cuckoos and snowflakes have dominion at the headquarters of the B.H.B. And this is a regulatory body that remains reluctant to act on the main issue that hurts the sport’s reputation, namely the whip, yet seems to believe that arm-waving somehow is detrimental to the sport’s image.
 

​As with all the other ‘experts’, I had not considered Frodon a Cheltenham Gold Cup horse until Paul Nicholls threw a spanner into my internal workings by entering him in the Gold Cup and testing his theory by running him in, and winning, the Cotswold Chase. Now, of course, I dream of him winning the Gold Cup and, rather like a public announcement in the local paper of upcoming nuptials, making official the racing public’s love affair with Miss Frost. Most likely it will not pan out as in a dream. He’ll no doubt lead those not toiling in his wake into the straight only to be out-powered by horses with greater reserves of stamina. It will be a fun-ride, mind you, until the point in the race when the feared inevitability becomes reality.
While there are no ‘geniuses’ (a greatly overused description, especially of people who are no more than exceptionally good at their job) in the field of journalism or the B.H.B., there are a few candidates in the training ranks worthy of consideration. In proving all of us wrong yet again, Paul Nicholls must now be thought of as a ‘bit of a genius’.
Who else can we belabour with such a distinction? Aidan O’Brien, it goes without saying. His namesake and predecessor at Ballydoyle Vincent O’Brien and possibly Henry Cecil, though do genuine geniuses go through barren spells as he did for a few years? Over jumps we are blessed to have amongst us Willie Mullins and Nicky Henderson, two trainers who make inspired decisions based on gut instinct that confound us when, as they often do, they come good. I also suspect that Gordon Elliott is a genius in waiting, though I think the superlative must be earned over a sustained period of time before it can be sensibly applied.
I must admit it bothers me that I cannot add a female trainer to the list. There are a hundred top-notch female trainers over jumps and on the flat and because she is so consistently good over both codes, I am tempted to nominate Jessie Harrington. But a list of geniuses can only be short as no Tom, Dick or Harry should be summoned for the honour simply because they are a personal favourite. So I will keep the list short and male-dominated.
I am sure in decades past there were others who were regarded by their peers and the public as a notch beyond the mere normal members of their craft. But they were before my time and as such my ignorance of their achievements is too great for me to comment on them.
No trainer can assume the rank of ‘genius’ without good, loyal staff, above average facilities, owners prepared to pay large amounts for the best young horses, strength of mind and purpose, and a smidgen of good luck along the way.
What is also required, and something that cannot be acquired as in most cases it is in-bred in the individual, is humility. ‘Big I am’s’ never become successful. In all walks of life, the most successful at their jobs accept that along the way mistakes will be made and lessons to be learned. Geniuses are geniuses because they are fully aware that their staff can only add to the collective knowledge and their concerns and in-put is never tossed aside as unworthy of consideration. I would imagine the trainers at the top of the trainers’ table learn something every day from their staff.
In my own experience I have seen horses’ breakdown on the gallops for no other reason than the trainer refused to investigate a concern of the person who knew the horse best, the rider.
I doubt, if truth be known, if any racehorse trainer can be a true genius, not in the Einstein or Hawking way as too many of their decisions are intuitive. I suspect the ‘genius’ comes not from the mind of one man but from the collective wisdom of the ‘team’ working with and for the man or woman whose name is on the training licence, who must collate the facts and advice and make the final decision on behalf of everyone involved, as Paul Nicholls did in deciding against the judgement of others that Frodon is more likely to win the Gold Cup than the Ryanair. I hope he is right.
 
There is a growing amount of evidence that there is an epidemic of madness sweeping through the B.H.B. at present. It started when they decided that flat racing, as it is and as it has been for centuries, is old hat and in need of a reboot, putting their faith in madcap hullabaloos such as City Street Racing and Formula 1 style Thursday-night-outs. Then, just to prove they were only getting started with bonkers decision-making, they decided that trainers must run their horses with four shoes on, without once, seemingly, giving any real regard for tendons and over-reaches.
Sadly, proving that madness is now an unstoppable force within the headquarters of the B.H.B., they have now backed the decision of the Uttoxeter stewards to fine Henry Oliver for, and this is so silly it might be a Monty Python sketch, waving his arms at one of his horses who was reluctant to go down to the start, citing, as if it was a reasonable defence, that ‘horses must be seen to be willing to race’. Now, of course, taking this stupidity to its logical conclusion, the assistant starter must not crack his whip at the start of a race, stalls handlers will be made redundant as leading or heaving a reluctant horse into the stalls will be deemed ‘forcing it to race’ and jockeys will be unable to kick a horse into its bridle when the tapes go up. Talk about opening up a can of worms. Not to mention bringing the sport into disrepute.

​The Irish, to their credit, plough their own furrows, as opposed to us dyed-in-the-wool Brits who rarely think outside of the box and when someone does have a thought it is usually completely out-of-keeping with the traditions of the sport. City Street racing for example and ‘I know, lets copy Formula 1 and show those dimwits how racing should really be organised’.
The Irish rarely fall victim to stupidity and have not allowed themselves to become slaves to the idea that for the sake of betting turnover all the top races must be run at the weekend. In Great Britain, to ensure television coverage and maximum publicity for sponsors, Saturday has become the prime day for racecourses to stage their main races but in Ireland it takes a huge amount of persuasion to get them to turn their back on tradition.
For ever and a day, for instance, the Thyestes Chase at Gowran Park has been run on a Thursday. It is the highlight of Gowran’s season, a local sporting event of great significance in County Kilkenny. And because tradition is worth holding on to in Ireland, the Thyestes brightens an otherwise dull, and this year barren of turf fixtures, Thursday for the British bookmaker. And Gowran is not alone in sticking with tradition. Thurles hold the Kinloch Brae Chase on a Thursday, Galway stage both the Galway Plate and Hurdle midweek. In fact, away from the big Dublin courses it is traditional in Ireland for the country courses to stage their main events mid-week. So why can’t a little bit of this tradition come to Great Britain?
I have long argued that when a racecourse stages a 3-day meeting it should not be held Thursday, Friday, Saturday or even Friday, Saturday, Sunday but Saturday, with the big race held on the freshest ground, and Sunday, Monday, brightening the weakest day in the British racing week. Two-day fixtures, to my mind, and perhaps running a horse and carriage through my argument here, should be, as in Ireland on occasion, should be Saturday and Sunday, improving the class of racing on offer on a day when most people are free to go racing.
Away from this diversion from my point, I have also argued that every racecourse should have a signature race, with financial aid provided to ensure a well-above average purse. In my youth, to give an example, on Boxing Day, Sedgefield staged a 2-mile handicap chase named in honour of a Sedgefield specialist, Rent Roll. I always considered the Rent Roll Cup to be Sedgefield’s premier race, so why has it disappeared from the calendar? This would be a great example of a race of note that could be staged mid-week. It is not as if notable 2-mile handicap chases are two-a-penny in this country, especially in the disadvantaged North of England.
The powers-that-be should go through the racing calendar and course-by-course help to instigate a signature race for every British racecourse flat and jumps, with each new race held mid-week or at a pinch on a Sunday. What we lack in the British racing calendar is a Thyestes Chase type of race staged mid-week. A race, it need not be a handicap, to boost betting turnover on a dull day and to boost attendance at our smaller racecourses and to give horse racing a place of prominence in the local sporting calendar.
This is how to get ‘bums on seats’, to click the turnstiles over more quickly. Give the sporting folk of county Herefordshire, Northumberland, Norfolk etc, a reason to go support their local racecourse. Give Hereford a valuable handicap hurdle, Hexham a good quality novice chase, Fakenham a handicap chase. Spread the love around. Spread the finances around. Bring county fayre and country commerce to the local racecourse. There is too much emphasis these days on weekend racing, the top racecourses, and the high-end of the sport in general. We must grow the base of the horse-racing pyramid to give the sport solid, long-lasting foundations and a policy of ensuring every racecourse has a signature race, staged midweek is, I believe, the way forward. Perhaps I am advocating a look to the past to build a brighter future but to know where you are going you need to know where you have come from.
 

​Well, actually, world rankings are just opinion based on a theory of eminence that is unverifiable and open to bucket loads of scepticism and debate.
Tell me, honestly and without any shade of prejudice – if Cracksman, Winx and Enable were to contest a race over 1-mile 2-furlongs on Good ground and run at a racecourse favourable to all three horses, who would start favourite? You see over 1-mile 4 furlongs I have no doubt that Enable would win on any kind of ground, including heavy. And at 1-mile 4-furlongs I would suggest Enable is superior to a greater extent than Winx is over a mile or mile, quarter and by a greater distance to Cracksman over either I-mile, quarter and 1-mile 4-furlongs. How a horse that can only run to its best on soft ground can be declared the joint-best horse in the world leaves me flummoxed and more greatly cynical than is my normal quota. And why must the best horse in the world always be a middle-distance horse and not a sprinter or stayer?
Of course, all debate on the matter is hypothetical as connections of great horses rarely allow them to compete against their equals or near-equals in case they should lose and spoil their value and reputation. But to suggest Cracksman is superior to Enable is laughable and brings ratings, world or domestic, into disrepute. Frankie Dettori, the man who should know best, would seem to have no doubt which of the two he would ride if they were ever to run against one another.
Winx is a different kettle of fish as she is undoubtedly a phenomenon who will go down in world history, let alone Australian turf history. But how good is she? Or how truly great is she? We’ll never know, will we? The Aussies will bring their star sprinters to Europe but never their middle-distance horses and though British and Irish handicappers are shipped in increasing numbers to Australia, our star middle distance horses stay at home. And the Americans rarely travel outside of their coast-line as U.S. trainers go giddy if it is suggested their horses must run drug-free, a reality that pours ever-greater amounts of cold water on world ratings.
Let’s face it, world ratings are an academic exercise designed with the breeding industry in mind and have very little to do with the actual sport of horse racing. The only true method, and even this is subject to the hazards of fate, clear runs, ground conditions, weather, the correct or otherwise decisions of jockeys etc, is to have horses compete against one another. Arkle was better than Mill House because he kept on beating him. My Swallow was not better than Mill Reef and Brigadier Gerard because he didn’t train on, though the official handicapper thought he was a far superior two-year-old. There are a dozen or more examples I could list if only my broken short-term memory would dredge up the facts and figures.
To indulge in fantasy for a moment. If Coolmore were to offer a free nomination to Galileo to the winner of a match between Enable and Winx, would that and a big fat purse tempt the Aussies to bring their super-mare to Europe? Seeing her in the flesh is possibly the only way anyone over here is going to truly believe that Winx is more than simply an Aussie wonder horse, though my money would still be on Enable as I believe her to be the best flat mare of my lifetime.
 
Someone tweeted the Racing Post that he thought Sea The Stars was superior to Winx because he won over differing distances. Dear God! Sea The Stars was simply the best of his generation. He never won giving weight and as impressive as he was in the Arc he was receiving weight from the older horses. He was a one-season wonder. Winx has remained unbeaten season after season, winning Group 1’s time and time again. The greatness bestowed on horses of legend has to be earned over seasons, not given to a horse that shone magic on turf’s stage for a period of time less than nine months. It is the difference between a shooting star and a star that allows sea captains to navigate their way home by.
And as for people eulogising over and awarding the classics already to Too Darn Hot, all I can say is remember Appalachie, Crown Prince, Air Force Blue, Gorytus, My Swallow and so on and so. I hope Too Darn Hot is too darn hot for his rivals as being owned by the Lloyd Webbers racing will gain coverage outside of the racing pages. But to even think of him in the same breath as Frankel is to tempt cruel fate to intervene. Anyone who has followed this sport for longer than a season should be fully aware that Two-year-old ratings should come with a health and wealth warning as it is more than likely that next season’s Derby winner has yet to see a racecourse.

​I have a profound dislike for politics, whether spelt with a capital letter or lower case. To my mind, and the self-interest and lack of respect for the will of the people at play in the House of Commons over the past months only confirms all of my antipathy, it is time for democracy to move forward, to be rid of political parties and to have a parliament consisting solely of independent representatives of the people. But that is politics, a subject I have a profound dislike of.
Yet Conor McGinn, a Labour M.P. and friend of horse racing, of which there are very few in Parliament at the moment, in his guest article for the Racing Post, made some salient and quite worrying points, and if no one in Westminster wishes to debate them, it is beholding on the racing media to start the debate and to find the solution to how racing can save itself from the misguided prejudices and ignorance of Mr.McGinn’s colleagues.
Obviously, racing must strap a pair on, take a deep breath, and get on with the most radical of moves to rein-in use of the whip. A more difficult problem to resolve is a way of funding the sport that does not involve hand-outs from the Levy, from dependence on bookmakers. Some form of ‘Tote’ monopoly, as in other countries, is, as it has been for decades or more, the elephant in the room. The nettle must be grasped. Bookmakers now have fingers in so many different sports that they would not necessarily regret the loss of its racing finger. I doubt though that the powers-that-be have the balls for such a radical innovation.
Reading Mr.McGinn’s article, though, brought an idea to mind that though naïve, perhaps, might have legs if an appropriate date in the parliamentary and racing calendar could be found. A day’s racing, at Sandown or Ascot, I would suggest, which might be titled ‘Politicians Day’ or ‘Parliament Day’. A day of racing in honour of parliament, politicians and government, perhaps to raise money for a charity associated with politics, an attempt to allay hostility to our sport and to lighten the ignorance, to place before them the recognition that our sport is very much a working-man’s sport, the elitism of the rich only a small aspect of the whole. As a sprat to catch a mackerel, perhaps a horse could be leased for the day to the politicians’ charity or shares in a racehorse given to politicians wishing to experience the sport from the inside over a long period.
Fanciful and whimsical, I know. But our handshake must be warm, sincere and welcoming. Members of Parliament may be our greatest enemy, especially if Labour come to power, and without a Winston Churchill in a position of influence to fight our corner we are vulnerable, seen as a kindred soul of foxhunting and bear-baiting. Remember, Labour propose an ambition of nil fatalities. As hopeless a quest, as noble and desirable as it is, as expecting politicians to bring happiness and joy to every citizen of our country.
And the idea of a day’s racing in honour of other institutions might be founded – the N.H.S., the Unions, Law and Justice, the Police – the list might not be endless but it will be long. The sport must reach out to all sectors of society and invite each and every one to come and experience what we have to offer, after all, where else can royalty, the rich and influential, mix hand in glove with the working class, where each is dependent on the other. Our sport is the beau ideal of any society. We are Utopia, of sorts.
 
There is a bit of a to-do going on over Godolphin’s demand that all its staff ride at 10st 7lbs, a weight that must be achieved by February 1st. The ‘to-do’ is a storm in a tea-cup. In fact, I was surprised that the minimum weight was not 10st or lighter. Godolphin is a slick, blue-chip set-up, professional do the enth degree. When important gallops are involved a trainer must have all the facts before to know how each horse has performed. On one occasion Dick Hern was disappointed by the performance of Brigadier Gerard in a gallop held in a rainstorm until Joe Mercer weighed the suede jacket he wore and found the horse carried a stone more than they thought.
In the bad old days when horses were stopped all season to ensure good odds come the Cambridgeshire, for instance, lads were weighed and on occasion locked in at night so they could not let slip which horse was being primed for what race.
When you discover the benefits available to Godolphin staff – discounted gym membership at a country club, a gym for any member of staff to use on sight, as well as a canteen and residential nurse – weighing less than 10st 7lbs seems a small chore to me.
 
If Frodon proves on Saturday that 3-miles is within his capability, the Cheltenham Gold Cup this season will have an even greater dollop of frisson. All being well Bryony Frost will be the first female jockey to have a realistic chance of winning the Gold Cup. You would have thought there would be stronger stayers in the race than Frodon, though who would have thought beforehand that the likes of Desert Orchid, Kauto Star and Sizing John would be improved for the longer distance. I hope the Cotswold Chase goes well for Bryony and Frodon gives her something golden to dream about for the next two months.

​After Altior’s facile, if somewhat concerning, victory in the Clarence House last Saturday, there was a short-lived debate on whether the race should return to being a handicap or left as easy-pickings for the best 2-mile chaser around at the time of running. As anyone who has visited this site in the past will know, I am fervently of the opinion, for the sake of the historical record as anything else, that trainers should either be enticed or persuaded to run the top horses in the occasional handicap, as was the case for their predecessors in years gone by.
The introduction of Grade 1 handicaps would not necessarily entice Nicky Henderson to subject any of his best horses to, what he would consider the unnecessary burden, giving weight to horses who might put it up to Altior, Might Bite, etc., though we will never know until the innovation is trialled. Once upon a time the Mackeson Gold Cup, the first big handicap chase of the season, was run over 2-miles, and as top 2-mile chase handicaps are in short supply throughout the season I would welcome the race, whoever might be the sponsor next season, reverting to the minimum distance.
There are 4 races for the likes of Altior up till the Champion 2-mile Chase – the Tingle Creek, the Desert Orchid, the Clarence House and the Game Spirit – the third named being the one I would change to a Grade 1 handicap. I would also have a sprinkling of ordinary yet moderately valuable 2-mile chases throughout the season, starting, as I have already suggested, by reverting the old Mackeson to 2-miles. The Grand Annual is an important race to win but only because it forms part of the Cheltenham Festival, yet it seems to have assumed a gravitas undeserving of the quality of horse it attracts solely because there is not really a race to rival it throughout the season. Making the Clarence House a Grade 1 handicap would provide a focus for trainers of good 2-mile chasers, with the Game Spirit in the programme for horses considered too put-upon by the handicapper to be risked at Ascot.
To continue on the topic of 2-mile chasers and going on to the wimpiness of present-day trainers, in the excellent series on the best 2-mile chasers in the Racing Post, todays offerings were two of the most remarkable horses ever to grace the turf and an eye-opener to those who believe a horse has only one distance it can excel at.
Crisp and Fortria did things that if suggested he should think about doing the same Nicky Henderson would have sleepless nights and a perpetual nervous tick.
On only his second run in this country Crisp won the 2-mile Champion Chase by 25-lengths. But he wasn’t sent from Australia to win 2-mile chases but to win the Grand National and didn’t bloody nearly pull it off. It was, in my opinion, and notwithstanding the small fact that he didn’t actually win, the greatest performance of my lifetime, and I doubt I’ll see the likes of it again if I should break the world record for not dying. He carried 12-stone and gave 23lbs to Red Rum, which, as subsequent history was to prove, was an impossible concession. Yet he nearly achieved the impossible.
Fortria was as equally versatile. He won two 2-mile Champion Chases and twice won the Mackeson, yet he also finished second twice in the Gold Cup, beaten by horses of the magnitude of Mandarin and Mill House. Was he beaten for stamina? Well, his 1961 success, carrying 12-stone, in the Irish Grand National suggests not.
The question I now raise is this: are todays horses fundamentally different to their forebears? Tom Dreaper, trainer of Fortria, also won the Champion 2-mile Chase and Irish Grand National with Flyingbolt.
My argument is that we will never know whether Sprinter Sacre or Altior, or even Dunkirk or Badsworth Boy, is the best 2-mile chaser ever to race because their victories were in races basically framed for their convenience. Altior, for instance, is by far, with the possible exception of Un De Sceaux, though he is only his better by a lesser margin, the best 2-mile chaser around and as such, given he is also a bombproof jumper, should always win level-weight contests. In the past the likes of Fortria would win top-class handicaps giving away lumps of weight and his career, as it was others, was not cut short by the hardship.
A good few years ago Charlie Mann ran his stalwart 2-mile chaser Celibate in the Grand National. On all known form he should have pulled up around the 3-mile mark or before. Yet he finished, and not last or miles behind either.
You cannot expect Nicky Henderson to run Altior in handicaps just to find-out his limitations when there are so many easy pots to pick up prior to Cheltenham. But the race-planners might at least amend the 2-mile programme to try to entice him once-a-season to give it ago. Or our modern-day horses not as robust as the Tom Dreaper horses of the fifties and sixties? Or is there something lacking in the way horses are trained today that takes away the robustness from their constitution?
Also featured in the top 2-mile chasers was Barnbrook Again who was trained by that courageous and masterful trainer David Elsworth. When tried over 3-miles in the King George, to finish second to his superstar stable-mate Desert Orchid, Elsworth was asked if lack of stamina was the cause of Barnbrook’s defeat. “Well,” said the maestro. “He stayed better than all those he beat.”
Will Altior stay 3-miles? Of course he will. The real question is will he be as formidable?

​When Big Bucks retired it never crossed my mind that his record of 18 races unbeaten would be broken. If asked, I would have said it would not happen in my life-time. So as long as I keep breathing until the middle of March, I will at least witness the record being equalled and if Altior goes to Aintree in April, for the 3-mile chase if Nicky Henderson takes my advice, with ordinary good fortune I will, if my life is spared until then, watch in awe as Big Bucks is shuffled down the pecking order to ‘only Altior beat his sequence of wins’.
Altior is undoubtedly a brilliant horse; almost certainly the best National Hunt horse trained either here or in Ireland. But is he yet on the same sphere as Sprinter Sacre, a superstar who can be talked about in the same breath as the equine legends that preceded him? I don’t think so. Not as yet, anyway.
This is not a vintage era for 2-mile chasers, which does Altior no favours, with his only serious rival, at least at the start of the season, Footpad proving a bit of a disappointment so far. For a horse to become a true great, to be a rung higher than the mere great horses that win Gold Cups, Champion Hurdles etc, even multiple times, he or she must win against horses that are considered possibly their equal if not until conquered their superior. Altior is yet to achieve anything more remarkable than to win races he is expected all known form to win. It can be argued that in winning the Champion Chase last season he pulled the fat from out of the fire as even entering the straight he did not look the most likely winner.
Arkle beat Mill House, the horse his trainer, the legendary Fulke Walwyn, nominated unequivocally as the best horse he ever trained. For the sake of racing history, it is a regret that Arkle and Flyingbolt never met on a racecourse as that would have proved one way or the other whether Pat Taaffe was correct in his judgement that Arkle would have beaten Flyingbolt with something to spare. Incidentally Pat Taaffe put Mill House ahead of Flyingbolt in his list of best horses ridden. And, of course, Kauto Star beat Denman, as Denman beat Kauto Star, the two most recent great and legendary racehorses.
Apart from the admirable Un De Sceaux, who it can be fairly argued is better over 2-miles 4, Altior has not beaten anything approaching the top echelon of steeplechasers. Sprinter Sacre did give Sizing Europe a thorough beating in his first Champion Chase victory, even if Sizing Europe may have been a few pounds short of his best on the day. I am not convinced Altior has beaten anything yet of Sizing Europe’s quality. Indeed, in his miraculous comeback in the 2016 Champion Chase, Sprinter Sacre beat Special Tiara and Un De Sceaux who went on in 2017 to respectively win the Champion Chase and the Ryanair, a form-line that over fences Altior has yet to come close to equalling.
Of course, all my reticence will be blown out of the water if Altior proves that 3-miles is within his capabilities and wins the King George, which will raise him up to a rung on the ladder that will allow him to spoken of alongside Desert Orchid and Kauto Star.
Although jockey and trainer were unconcerned by Altior jumping out to his left in the Clarence House, I was unnerved by it. What cannot be denied is that Altior is a brilliant jumper of a fence and that type of horse, though they may fall, as did Kauto Star, Denman and Desert Orchid, they do not ordinarily suddenly start running down a fence. Doubtless Nicky Henderson will get him checked over this week and over the coming days every inspection of his legs and every inspection of his movement will be accompanied by the haunting fear of finding something amiss and we all must keep our fingers crossed that no explanation for his out-of-character jumping comes to light.
Personally, I think something is amiss. Perhaps in his withers or shoulder. I pray to a God I don’t believe in that if there is an injury it is neither ligament, tendon or bone. If I were a betting man, especially ante-post, I would be hedging some money on Footpad, Min or something else, just in case Altior doesn’t make it to the Festival. What a loss he would be!
 

​I suppose the proposed Northern Racing Festival planned for next season is, on balance, a worthy initiative. A good wodge of extra prize money for racecourses that in main just make up the numbers, even if the three racecourses umbrellaed in this venture, Musselburgh, Carlisle and Ayr, are amongst the best in the entire Union, without a doubt deserving of a bit of spotlight shone in their direction.
I have two small problems with the concept of supporting our backwater cousins ‘up north’, a devoted lot with hardly a penny to rub their backsides with. Number 1 is my lack of enthusiasm for the ever-swelling number of ‘racing festivals’ and the use of the word festival to overarch what is in fact three separate race-meetings. The definition of festival is as follows: pertaining to or characterising a feast; festal day or time, a joyous celebration or anniversary; a merry-making; a musical entertainment on a large scale, usually periodical; an entertainment or fair where fruit and other eatables are sold. Away from Galway and Punchestown in Ireland and the Cheltenham Festival and Aintree, use of the word ‘festival’ is tantamount to theft of meaning. Could you even buy fruit at any of the aforementioned venues? If The National Hunt Festival is the epitome of a racing festival, which it is, every other ‘festival’ must pale by comparison.
My other problem is the North is awash with trainers of the highest calibre, jockeys too. I would suggest that Donald McCain, Lucinda Russell, Sue Smith, Tim Easterby, Ian Jardine, Keith Dalgleash, Ruth Jefferson, Nicky Richards – look, the list goes on and on – are as good at their jobs as any southern-based trainer. What happens, as inevitably it will, when the Northern trainers turn from being poor relations to an equine powerhouse and raid the big Southern tracks with the aplomb and uncaring attitude of Vikings taking over Wessex? Will Nicky Henderson and Paul Nicholls demand ‘fair play for the poor Southern trainers’? It has happened once already in my lifetime. It was Winter and Rimell versus the massed battalions of Richards, Dickenson and the two Easterby brothers. It was a kindness that Arthur Stephenson preferred little fish to fishing in the big pools.
The actual answer to the problem, as it is for the majority of racing’s problems, is better all-round prize-money. If the Northern racecourses received a greater amount in general prize-money – not five-figure prize-money for the Northern trainers who already train top-class jumpers but large four-figure prize money for every race and every trainer in the north – then top owners, and perhaps new owners, would place big-value horses with Northern trainers. Build it and they will come.
It never fails to make me wonder how big money can be found for ‘festivals’, six-figure amounts of money, yet the same amount cannot be distributed to increase the reward for every-day fare, the wonderful every-day.
 
Fate is fickle. I was pondering on fate and more importantly the arbitrary, almost unfair, nature of it, the other day. Why some horses are granted three score years and more while others – I was thinking particularly about Denman and Kauto Star – are not granted any-more than their teen years. It struck home once again yesterday with the news of the death of Iain Jardine’s work-rider, a girl with the best years of her life ahead of her, or should have had. I cannot claim any acquaintance with either Natasha Galpin or her employer but you would have to be made of stone not to appreciate the engulfing black hole that must be central to the everyday thoughts of her colleagues and family. What might have prevented the tragedy? What might have been? The life that will not now be lived.
It must be a one in a hundred-thousand chance for both a horse and rider to die in a single incident on the gallops. It is easy to surmise the chain of events and I hope the folly of Health & Safety do not use this accident to get themselves involved in the welfare of stable employees. No back protector designed will prevent a horse crushing the air from the lungs of a prostrate man or woman. So, so unlucky.
When I remember the scrapes foisted upon me when I too rode gallops and across fields – saddles slipping, reins snapping, horses rearing over, stumbling on the roads, kicks in the head. Yet until the last horse I rode, nothing worse than bruises and bruised ego. Apart from the kicks in the head, they certainly scrambled the brain and are doubtless responsible for my failing memory and general diminishing intelligence. Why I, or you, should be spared and someone far more useful to the world should perish is a conundrum that very few of us will ever be able to unravel.
It was wonderful to see the photograph in Sam Twiston-Davies column last Saturday in the Racing Post of Young Hustler, 32 and looking absolutely wonderful. Obviously, he is well cared-for, yet fate decrees that caring for an animal with love and devotion is not enough to grant them a full and healthy life. Nor is being a good human being. But then no one said life would be fair, did they?
 
 

​Just recently two of our greatest ever jump jockeys have featured in The Racing Post airing their views on how best for the sport to move forward. I was particularly taken by A.P.McCoy’s (should I address him as Sir Anthony? It seems disrespectful to refer to him by his initials) belief that horse racing should appoint a supremo, someone in the mould of Barry Hearn, a man who, apparently, has reinvented and reinvigorated the pub sport of darts. (I’m not a fan of darts and think it more of a pastime than a true sport. But then I dislike rugby union and golf, so what do I know of manly pursuits?)
My only problem with horse racing adopting the supremo idea is the memory of Bernie Ecclestone getting involved with a horse trained by the late Terry Mills and in an interview suggesting the very idea of the flat jockeys’ championship that is a stain upon the sport to this very day.
Horse Racing is a good and sound product yet it is made too unwieldy to govern efficiently by having far too many ‘stakeholders’, all of whom are only interested in paddling their own canoe. What is required, as Sir A.P. suggested, is someone to listen to all sides of a debate and then come to a single decisive conclusion. Applicants could show their hand to the public, with the appointment being made not by the B.H.B. but by the professional men and women who will be directly affected by the decisions made by the head of their sport. I might put forward Baroness Harding as a possible first supremo. She has ridden winners, owned a Gold Cup winner, has been a C.E.O. of a major company and worked in Government. Others might have ideal applicants of their own. I, though, stick with Baroness Harding.
John Francome’s idea for financing horse racing needs to be taken seriously. Money from betting on horse racing should benefit horse racing, not shareholders with no interest in the sport. The annual hand-out from the Levy is humiliating, demeaning and inappropriate in an age when the 1.30 from Taunton can be viewed electronically from all corners of the world.
What interested me more though, was Francome’s views on the whip, mainly because they run parallel to my own opinion. As the great man said, the controversy of the whip would be banished tomorrow if use other than corrective use was outlawed today. As he said, there would be a fuss for a few weeks and then jockeys would get used to the new rule and the media would stop focusing on races lost because the jockey was not allowed to hit his horse and those people who cannot abide our sport because horses are beaten by whip-happy jockeys might like us more and attend a meeting or two.
Personally, I am in favour of setting a date in the near future to finally ban the use of the whip, except for corrective purposes, and would faze it in by incrementally increasing the number of ‘whipless’ races so that jockeys are fully primed for the new way of riding a finish come the due date. But if John Francome was to become horse racing’s first supremo and he declared April 15th 2019 as the day the whip is banned, who am I to argue with someone with far greater experience than I’ll ever hope to enjoy.
What struck me reading the opinions of McCoy and Francome is the sad history of horse racing ignoring the opinions of its heroes and champions. Fred Winter only became a trainer because the Jockey Club refused his application to be a starter, deeming him ‘unsuitable’. Not military or nobility, you see, for such an esteemed position. I remember being surprised when I witnessed a race started by someone who was neither a major nor a captain. My God! I’ve saw a race recently started by a woman of all creatures?
The recent stupid amendment to the rule on shoeing horses for racing demonstrates clearly that the people with the greatest experience in such matters were completely side-tracked when the B.H.B. came to their lamentable decision to ban horses from running unshod behind. This was a decision by committee, hence the furore it has brewed. If they had only asked Nicky Henderson they might have come to a different decision. But then what experience could he have brought to the table? When all is said, he is only a racehorse trainer, isn’t he?
It is time the powers-that-be stopped turning their backs on the knowledge, wisdom and experience of people like McCoy, Francome and all the other great jockeys, trainers and indeed journalists when high-profile jobs in the industry become available. Appointing from outside the sport has not, in my view, been a towering success in the past and cannot think such appointments will prove any better going forward. If John Gosden shook the racing world by announcing his retirement at the end of the season would he be swamped by job offers to head up any of the high-profile organizations that constitute horse racing’s stakeholders? Probably not. Neither did Fred Winter receive any invitations to avail the sport of his knowledge, wisdom and experience. But then he was only a jockey, even if he possibly at the time the most respected man in the sport.

​Firstly, I bet all the tea in my tea-caddy that Paul & Claire get really hacked-off when they are asked if they are related to Wayne. It could be worse, of course, as the follow-up question could be ‘are you related to Adam, then?’ For the unknowing, Adam Rooney is the number nine for Salford City. He also is no relation to the mighty Wayne.
When it emerged that the Rooneys had instructed their battalion of trainers not to enter their horses at Cheltenham as according to their own statistics there is a greater risk of injury at the home of National Hunt than any other racecourse, I was rather cross with them. No one, especially a leading and respected owner, should say or do anything to bring disrepute to the sport, to give ammunition to our detractors by suggesting that harm will come to any horse made to race at our most cherished racecourse.
As everyone who has subsequently commented on their decision has made clear, it is their prerogative to race their horses, or not to race their horses, wherever they like. I am also led to believe that the Rooneys know how to retire a horse well and as someone who advocates the responsibility of an owner to care for their horses from cradle to grave, I heartily commend them on the goodness of their hearts. But there is also, perhaps unwritten and unenforceable in conscience or law, in the contract of ownership a duty of care to the sport that is as vital and important as the duty of care to the horse.
National Hunt is a pursuit that has embedded within its many layers the trophy of extreme highs and the cruel penalty of extreme lows. On a beautiful sunny day at dead flat Musselburgh only a few weeks ago three horses perished in unrelated circumstances. Every equine death is a tragedy, whether it happens at Cheltenham, Musselburgh or at a point-to-point. It shouldn’t happen, no one wants it to happen and if any of us could wave a magic wand or dream-up some sort of plan that would stop death from haunting the racecourse we would give that idea to the sport and forfeit any royalties. But, as in life, death haunts us all. Only yesterday a colleague of my better-half was killed crossing a busy main road. No one wanted her to die, especially not the poor man driving the lorry that hit her, but cruel fate determined that January 10th should be her last day on Earth.
Life has highs; it has lows.
I have other two problems, away from the charge of possibly bringing the sport into disrepute, with the Rooney’s decision: what if their statistics tell them next season that, as an example, Taunton, Kelso and Warwick are more of a risk of harming their horses than Cheltenham, do they then reinstate Cheltenham and inform their trainers not to enter their horses at the three aforementioned racecourses? They might just be opening a can of worms that has the rogue snake amongst its number. Also, what if the Rooneys come upon a genuine Gold Cup horse, another Arkle, Kauto Star etc? Would it never be allowed to follow in the footsteps of those great horses simply because it would be statistically and marginally more likely to sustain an injury at Cheltenham than at Kempton or Aintree?
Upon this road madness lies.
Please, Paul & Claire: run the right horses at Cheltenham and shred your spreadsheets.
 
The stupidest rule change ever to be introduced comes into force on February 1st. From that day trainers must run their horses fully shod – that is shoes on all four hooves. To the uninitiated this may seem a trivial gripe, especially as the rule-change has come about under the guise of horse welfare.
After two years of negotiation with all relevant bodies, it is decided that running horses without hind shoes will reduce the number of horses slipping on bends. Yet many trainers as routine never put hind shoes on a horse at the races due to the risk of horses over-reaching and as a worse-case scenario cutting through their tendons, a far more potent horse welfare issue, I would have thought, than merely losing their footing, something a horse can correct, if lucky. Why not insist on calkins inserted into the shoe, as eventers are shod, to aid traction? Until they were banned because of the damage they could do to a fallen jockey if trodden on they were used regularly by trainers to help stop horses slipping on firm ground. It could be argued that for the safety of jockeys all horses the regulation should be that all horses run naked on the hind hooves.
This a terrible and unforgiveable decision must be rectified as soon as possible. Only a horse-ignorant regulatory body could come up with a rule change that purports to be introduced on horse welfare grounds but which, as any knowledgeable trainer would freely inform them, has the potential to be the complete opposite.