​As someone who has followed horse racing all his life, someone who at present feels he has had his life capsized by this Covid-19 scam, you would think I would be grasping at any straw to get my fix of this great sport of ours. Now, it may be because I do not bet, but I just cannot force any fascination out of myself for racing at Gulfstream, Will Rogers Downs or Vaal. I have studied the race-cards in the Daily Express (yes, I have sunk so low) and have determined that racing in the U.S. is not the same as in Europe. Oh, and why is it that in the country where the contagion has taken its fiercest grip, at least if you believe the official figures (hospitals in the U.S. receive 1,300 dollars for each Covid patient it admits, 39,000 dollars for anyone requiring a ventilator.) which I do not, are they racing in certain states, whereas in Britain with ‘only’ 21,000 deaths out of a population of 68-million, we are not.
Horse racing was not banned by Government and within the dictates of the Lockdown rules we could be racing behind closed doors. Yet we are not. I agree with those who suggest Nick Rust should consider his position. He should go if only for his attitude towards the Grand National, cancelling when he could have postponed as has been done with the flat classics. Of course, he has already tendered his intention to move on, so whatever shambles he makes from this day forth he will not be the one to make good the hole in the sport’s finances once, if it ever does, society returns to being democratic and free.
Although it is to be applauded that come the merry month of May – a month that the Express warns will be a wash-out – racing without the public will return, though it concerns me that only senior jockeys will be allowed to ply their trade, following the Government’s policy of only allowing the big boys to trade and basically saying F.You to the small fry. Great to have Moore, Murphy and Dettori back, but what about all those jockeys who will have been hardest hit by having their right to earn a living taken from them?
But to return to the alien world of U.S. racing. At Will Rogers Downs today there are ten races, not one of which is over further than 1-mile. 6 races are claimers, 2 are advertised as a Starter Allowance and a Fillies and Mare Allowance, whilst another is a Maiden Special Weight where all twelve runners carry the same weight and, going by the prize money, the main race is a stakes race for Fillies and Mares over 6-furlongs.
I dare say the Express do not carry the same amount of information as they would a home race meeting but there seems to be no apprentices riding or least no jockey is slated as claiming an allowance, though thinking about it that might be what the ‘Allowance’ in the title is telling me. Over the ten races no horse carries less than 8-st 6Ibs or more than 8-st 12Ibs. There are no handicaps.
For once, I am not being critical. It’s their game, they can play it any which way they want. In fact, although it comes across as samey, straight-line racing, I see no reason why on occasion similar cards cannot be tried here. Top-weight, doubtless, would need to be raised to suit our balkier jockeys but why not have meetings without handicaps? In fact, the rules imposed on clerks stifle ingenuity and experimentation. If, for example, there were a scattering of condition hurdle and chases in the early months of the jumps season, the smaller courses might attract a top-notcher from the Henderson or Nicholls yard and thereby increasing attendance. On the flat if courses programmed a similar number of conditions races over the classic distances for three-year-olds in the early months of the season, they too might benefit from a visit by a classic pretending colt or filly. This always used to happen, with Gold Cup winners appearing at the likes of Hereford and Stratford.
Nowadays the romance has been driven out of the sport by decrees from on high. Unless trained by Sir Mark Prescott, horses no longer go on long winning streaks and the small trainer only very rarely has a classic horse in his or her yard and the Grand National has lost the romance of the permit-holder having a horse with a chance and the challenger from abroad, Japan, Russia or even France, has gone by the wayside.
To advance, it is sometimes good policy to look back from where you have come from. Not too far back. We don’t want to trial 3-heats over 4-miles, followed by a winner-takes-all run-off. Or the days before a kind of centralisation took root, before every race was sponsored by a bookmaker or betting exchange outfit. When horse racing was truly a sport and not an industry. When people bet on the horses without the inducement of special offers, when just winning was a thrill within itself.
Do you know what; the card at Will Rogers Downs reminds me of a lacklustre all-weather meeting at Southwell, samey, one race seemingly like the one before or the one after. Mind you, I would take that uninspiring card at Southwell right now. If I could read about it in the Racing Post tomorrow it might even raise my spirits enough to forget for an hour or two the rape and pillage of my, or our, civil rights. And if I.T.V. were to televise six races from Will Rogers Downs on Saturday I would tune in with anticipation beating from within my rib-cage.

​The title of this book is ‘Aintree’s Queen Bee’, with encouragement on the front cover given to the racing enthusiast that the subject matter is Mirabel Topham and the Grand National. I bought this book with great anticipation of a good read, in a parcel of five other racing books, off the internet and I admit, as someone with a life-long love of the Grand National and its history, I was keen to get stuck into it. Which perhaps explains what is to follow.
This is an awful book, and I speak as an authority of the subject as I have written a great many of a similar description. As a writer writing without the assistance and steadying hand of an editor or proof-reader it is too easy to lose track of the narrative, to become self-indulgent, to altogether lose the plot. Joan Rimmer, the author of a book I have the nerve to rip to shreds, began her work concentrating on her subject matter, Mirabel Topham, an interesting and important character within the realms of horse racing in this country, Her problem was that she was a friend of Mirabel and her family to the point where they entertained each other, went on holiday together, or at least to Mirabel’s holiday home on the Isle of Wight and because of their friendship and the sentiment of writing about Mirabel after her death objectivity was cast aside in favour of reminiscence and irrelevant fact.
If you have not read this book, and I doubt if many have had the ‘pleasure’, I’ll give the example of chapter 5, ‘Topper the Toff’. Remember, this book purports to be a biography of Mirabel Topham and her close association with the Grand National, the world’s most famous horse race. So, it comes as both a surprise and great annoyance to have a chapter, and a long chapter at that, given over to one of Mirabel’s dogs, with the greater part of 30-pages dedicated to an exchange of ‘letters’ between Topper and Joan Rimmer’s dog, Nippy. I kid you not. I have not skipped so many pages in a book for many a long year. That particularly chapter would have sold more copies than the book in its entirety if it had been excised from ‘Queen Bee’ and sold at Crufts.
We all have quirks and preferences when it comes to books, I suppose. I prefer brevity of length and short chapters. Short chapters allow the reader to fit in a ‘quick read’ during a brief lull in the day or a quick read before sleep overcomes the enthusiasm for the book. The lengthy chapter, when the reader is old or just plain sleepy, is a feat of endurance that does neither the writer nor reader any favours. ‘Aintree’s Queen Bee’, at 222-pages, is not an overly long book, I admit, its downfall is that those 222-pages are divided into only 7-chapters.
And the author goes off topic with the ease of a spaniel after a rabbit and it takes her as long to get back on topic as it does to bring the excited spaniel to heel. And she makes the classic mistake when writing a biography of putting the spotlight on occasion on herself, informing, quite needlessly, the reader of stories that have absolutely nothing to do with the subject matter of a book she has given so much of her life to writing. She seemed to be the under the illusion that her core audience would not be horse racing enthusiasts but members of the Jam and Jerusalem brigade as she listed at one point the qualifications of a good housewife, a position in life that though married Mirabel never considered to be her fate. The qualification, by the way, covers half a page, a full-page if you include everything the good housewife should achieve when spring cleaning. There are also recipes, including one for fish and leek pudding which seemed quite yummy.
At one stage she remembered what she was about and quoted Ginger McCain and Red Rum is brought into the story, and while she was about it, she allowed a few well-known anecdotes about other Grand National winners, with an informative section on the Russian invasion in 1961. Unfortunately, Ginger was really the only racing person she spoke to about Mirabel. Also, and given the subject matter you would be forgiven when picking up the book that it would at the heart of Mirabel’s story, the long-drawn saga of her decision to sell the racecourse for housing development is given scant coverage. It was 7-years between her announcement to sell-up and Ladbrokes stepping in to safeguard the racecourse and yet the protracted legal wrangles, the subject did not even warrant its own chapter, with Bill Davies (now living in Monaco. Or at least in 2007) were glossed over in two short paragraphs.
I say no more.

​Every professional sport must have within its structure a layer of professionals who do not necessarily require a deep understanding of the sport that employs them. To advance its cause, perhaps in some instances its very survival, each and every professional sport must have in its ranks movers and shakers who need no introduction to politicians and corporate sponsors. Horse racing has as its governing body the B.H.A., the British Horseracing Authority, an organisation I seem to criticise on a regular basis, sometimes out of ignorance, I admit, but on more than one occasion because I believe they have failed the sport and are just not fit for purpose. I do not believe in beating around the bush.
Although, to take football as an example, the head of the Premier League does not need to have any idea how to conduct a training session or to comprehend why a coach would employ a back line of three or only one up front, he would be failing in his duty if he had a similar outlook when it comes to finance and integrity. As every football coach has a training session most mornings, racehorse trainers also have a training session every morning, only in racing that session involves a combination of rider and horse. This distinction is significant as horses do not play by the rules, they react to circumstance and it takes a lifetime in their company to understand their foibles and only then in what might be small measures.
It is the equine aspect of our sport that persuades me to the opinion that ‘horse people’ should be at the heart of B.H.A. decision-making. When it comes to job advancement within the sport, we are light-years away from being the equal of other industries and even some sports. Why employing someone from rowing to head-up the sport was more beneficial than employing someone with a lifetime’s knowledge of both the horse and the sport is beyond my comprehension. I am not directly criticising Anne-Marie Phillips. I am sure she is doing a noble job, now she has familiarised herself with what she has let herself in for. Yet so many outstanding men and women retire from our sport, both trainers and jockeys, as well as owners, and yet nowhere within the B.H.A. hierarchy is there a place for these people to share their expertise. When Fred Winter retired as a jockey the Jockey Club, racing’s rulers at the time, would not even allow him to interview for the post of starter! It beggars belief, doesn’t it? As far as starters are concerned things have thankfully changed.
My main criticism of the B.H.A. is that, and this no doubt has to do with no one at the pointy end of the organisation having any hands-on experience of horses or indeed the sweat and grind of the sport, they are only capable of reacting to situations, with every good idea (like moving start-times so that the racing channels can give a better service to its customers) only rarely emanates from them.
There seems no procedure for demanding a vote of confidence in the B.H.A.. Trainers and jockeys might moan spasmodically about decisions made by the B.H.A. but no one puts his or her head above parapets to demand change or to call foul.
As I said, great people retire from our sport, their knowledge left untapped when they could offer insight that men in suits cannot dream-of. Just looking swiftly at the bookshelf next to me and I see the names of Ian Balding, Dick Hern, Martin Pipe, Richard Dunwoody, Simon Sherwood, Ruby Walsh, A.P. McCoy, Richard Pitman, Henrietta Knight. The list goes on. Were any of these people approached by the B.H.A. so that their expertise could be utilised for the sport’s benefit?
To my mind, horse racing should have a supremo, someone to take the buck as well as the vital decisions and that person should be someone steeped in the history of the sport, who has a deep understanding of the horse and who has an arching experience of many aspects of horse racing. At the moment there are too many ‘stakeholders’, too many vestige interests, for any one man or any body of men to be able to make the sound judgements calls required to get things done, as with the decades old controversy surrounding the use of the whip.
It is my opinion that within the next couple of years the manner in which the sport is governed should be reformed, with greater emphasis placed on ‘horse people’ achieving positions at the higher echelons, with those from the world of finance and business employed to do the ‘white collar’ aspect of running a professional sport. Horse racing is not an industry that can be learned from a book or from a few months research. Those employed within the industry, the blood and guts of the sport, are not employed in a mere job but are employed by a life, by a life’s work. C.E.O.’s can come and go, with their three or five-year contracts they are mere transient beings compared to the man and woman born to the sport, who no other life but horses and the racecourse.
I have now done this subject to death. I will leave it alone until the next time the B.H.A. inflames my ire.
On another topic: I have written to the clerk of the course at Aintree to ask for an explanation as to why the Grand National was cancelled when eight-months were left in 2020 to reschedule the race, when the B.H.A. are moving heaven and earth to ensure the Guineas and Derby are staged this year? There seems to be double standards at play, especially when the Grand National is head and shoulders more popular with the public and generates far greater revenue for the sport. I will report back when, and if, I receive a reply.

​On the home page of this site there is a heading titled Racehorse Names. If you go to this page you will find an ever-lengthening list of random words that could be used to name a racehorse. The stimulus for what has become, I admit, an obsession was a comment by someone from the B.H.A., in defending the re-use of the name Spanish Steps, claiming ‘it is not as easy as you might think to name a racehorse’. A secondary stimulus, and this is more of a personal opinion and not one that I would suggest bothers anyone else, is the profusion of French-born horses coming to race here and Ireland and bearing, not unnaturally, names relevant to the country of their origin. Back in the days of my youth, long long ago, the occasional French name was not the vexation it has become, especially when the horse was French-trained. Now, due to the epidemic or ever-increasing upsurge in young French horses coming to our racecourses, for me, perhaps alone, it vexes me greatly. I have not liked the French language since my school-days when I considered it bizarre to be forced to sit through French lessons alongside classmates who, like I, had yet to master the native tongue, with a teacher fresh back from Hong Kong who had a very strong Scottish accent.
But to return to the ‘it’s not as easy as you might think to name a racehorse’ comment of the B.H.A. official. He is correct, of course. What with there being over 1-million words to choose from, and that is only using the English language, plus the 6,500 languages world-wide, the choice is beguiling. And there is the combining of English words, as in Spanish and Steps, which must elevate the choice to a number similar to the stars in the heavens. Then there are names that can be made-up – Elioso, Pordarten, Adrezza, etc. And the names of villages, landmarks, towns, cities, rivers, canyons etc etc.
Of course, for those fortunate enough to breed their own horses or who as a matter-of-course buy unnamed yearlings or jumping stock it is a personal matter what they choose, or try to, name their youngsters. There is a limit of 18-characters, including spaces between words and the winners of classic races, many of the most prestigious flat races, plus Grand National, Cheltenham Gold Cup and Champion Hurdle, cannot be re-used. There is also a restraint on the number of syllables and the name must not be offensive. The guidelines are tight but as I have stated the possibilities are innumerable. 
What grieves me, surprises me, is that very few people use the contact page to comment on my ‘good ideas’ for improving our sport. Or challenge me by proposing ‘good ideas’ of their own. Or put me right when I make a mistake. But the piece that receives by far away the most contacts is when I vented my spleen on Coolmore being allowed to name a horse Spanish Steps, the horse who was, until Denman came along, the horse I most revered in my lifetime in love with this sport. To this day I receive comments that mirror my own thoughts on this horse and how disrespectful it is to his memory that a lesser horse should have his name.
Some people get the impression that I believe no name should be replicated. To adopt such a position would truly make the naming of a racehorse difficult. It is my view that any racehorse that leaves an indelible mark in either the formbook or the memory is worthy of having its name die with him or her.
As with these damn French names: the former editor of the Racing Post, Bruce Millington, came up with a solution – he, too, has a problem with the plethora of Frenchness plaguing racecards – and that is to translate the name they come with into English, even if that goes beyond the 18-character rule. It shouldn’t be mandatory for owners to change the name from French into English, we are not declaring a State of Emergency here, but it should be allowed and without cost.
In my naïve wisdom I thought, or hoped, to raise some funds for equine charities with my list of possible names. I also thought I would be giving assistance to the likes of Godolphin and Juddmonte that have hundreds of horses to find names for each year. I was wrong; I am sometimes.
As someone who is extremely unlikely ever to have the ready money to own a racehorse, a dream, like so many others, doomed to forever remain just that, it would be nice, to step into the rays of reflective glory, if you wish, if a name I had thought-up was carried to victory and immortality in a classic. I would prefer victory at Cheltenham or the Grand National but that is to presume I will live that long but with the present ‘crisis’ to live through, which is becoming increasingly like a long walk to the edge of reason (when I get to the actual vicinity of the edge there undoubtedly will be a queue as well as social distancing) well, optimism is not my strong suit, as many will have noticed down the years that this website has been in existence.
While I concede that racing should be fun, it is, it should be remembered, both an industry and a seriously-minded sport. Commentators should be kept in mind by both owners and the naming department at the B.H.A.. Tongue-twisters and names that when said quickly sound rude and before the watershed should not be allowed. And owners should bear in mind that good horses rarely carry silly names. Though if the horse could understand us, all names would doubtless be silly to them.
 

​The Dickinson’s, father Tony, mother Monica, and the genius son Michael, trained between them some, or indeed most, of the most iconic steeplechasers of the seventies and nineteen-eighties. The list is long and includes The Mighty Mac, Gay Spartan, Bregawn, Wayward Lad, the hugely under-appreciated Badsworth Boy and of course Silver Buck, perhaps the best of the lot. He died in tragic, almost freakish circumstances: he was on his way to the gallops when it began to rain heavily. Graham Bradley, who was riding him, decided to return to the stables to put on waterproofs. It proved to be a fatal, if innocent, decision. As a young horse, Silver Buck was mercurial from the get-go; he could spook at virtually any object, small, large or imagined, and when being mounted gave the impression he was about to be united with a knight in shining, clanking armour. Although he got better with age, he was never, it seems, altogether ‘bomb-proof’. Brad’s waterproof flapped in the wind, spooking ‘Bucket’, as he was affectionately known, to the extent that he bolted across the yard, to collide with a stable wall. As soon as the vet diagnosed a compound fracture of the pelvis, there was only one humane course of action. Whether making the decision to euthanise the best steeplechaser of his age was harder than communicating the tragic news to Silver Buck’s owner, Christine Feather, only Michael Dickinson knows. But it was a sad end, as so frequently is the case for our truly great horses.
If you read Andrew Hoyle’s book about Silver Buck, the surprising feature that comes across is where the Dickinson’s choose to run the horse prior to his tilts at the King George and Cheltenham Gold Cups and the weights they were prepared to allow him to carry.
As a novice chaser he won at Teesside, Stratford and Leicester, as well as Wetherby, as you would expect a Dickinson horse to run. The following season, 1979/80 season, he won at Wincanton, Hereford and walked-over at Nottingham before winning the King George and finishing his season back again at Hereford. The following campaign saw him begin at Worcester and Folkestone. Before he won the 1982 Cheltenham Gold Cup, he lumped 12st-7Ibs to victory at Market Rasen. In his final season he won again at Folkestone and Market Rasen, was second at Chepstow, won a handicap at Cheltenham and finished winning once again at Wincanton.
Can you imagine Nicky Henderson or Paul Nicholls, or indeed any present-day trainer, running a horse as good as Silver Buck at racecourses such as Hereford, Worcester or Folkestone?
And he ran often. None of this getting him ready for the big day with a racecourse gallop or keeping him fresh at home. He ran eight-times as a novice hurdler and seven as a novice chaser. He then ran seven times in his next two seasons, then five, when injury side-lined him between November and March. In fact, his win under 12st 7Ibs in the Cox Moore (sweaters) Handicap Chase at Market Rason was less than two-weeks before his Gold Cup triumph. In each of his final two seasons he ran six-times.
We too easily forget the heroic performances of former great horses. When we list the best steeplechasers of the decades we always, it seems, put the most recent horses above those of the past. This is unfair and short-sighted, especially when you consider that in Silver Buck’s era all-weather gallops were unusual and the myriad of modern-day training aids, treadmills, swimming pools, horse-walkers and solariums and alike were unheard-of and their connections had little choice but to expose them to handicaps on occasion, lumping weights that present-day trainers would shy away from. And if Silver Buck was not as consistent as say Kauto Star or Altior, then it has to be argued in their defence that the calibre of horse they raced against on a regular basis was perhaps a mite bit higher. Night Nurse was one of Silver Buck’s rivals, the great former Champion Hurdler failing to beat him on any of the many occasions they met. Bregawn was not also around but stabled alongside ‘Bucket’. Little Owl was also of Silver Buck’s era. In Kauto Star’s time and Altior and others, though, perhaps the Irish presence was stronger.
Silver Buck won two King George’s and a Cheltenham Gold Cup and as he was usually at his very best at Haydock, if the Betfair was in existence in his day it was a race he would have no doubt added multiple times to his list of big race victories.
Finally, and perhaps I am alone in this, and I appreciate that Michael Dickinson was, and no doubt remains, an ambitious man, but I thought it at the time and still do till this day, that it was a tragedy for the sport of National Hunt when he was lured away by Robert Sangster to try his hand at the flat. Perhaps for the men and women who took over from him at the top of the trainers table it was a good thing he did go first to Manton and then to the United States but would it not have been fascinating to see what further heights he might have attained and how he might have fared against the next genius to grace our sport, Martin Pipe?
I would like to hope that one of the great American equine writers, Laura Hillenbrand or Dorothy Ours, to name but two, have him in their sights. I am loathed to admit it but when it comes to writing about racehorses and horse racing, American writers write with a more authoritative sweep of the pen and broadening their reach to include the society of the times of which they write. You learn so much more than just the subject matter when the American writes about our sport. It grieves me to say so.

​I would imagine those responsible for drawing up the racing programme at the B.H.A. have prepared Plans A, B and C and maybe are working on Plan D, just in case ‘normality’ has not returned to the planet by August Bank Holiday. Call me cynical, if you like, but if social distancing is still ‘the law’ come autumn, and if you believe what you read (and who doesn’t?) that just might be the situation, but I predict there will be rioting on the streets, domestic abuse will have reached unthinkable heights and both a general malaise and outright madness will be seen in all walks of life.
Incidentally, pertaining not to this article but to life as we now know it, isn’t startling to discover that mortality rates in Italy are almost identical to this time last year?
Yes, I am a critic of the B.H.A.. For a governing body they are too reactive, and many times inactive, to events instead of leading the way with either practical or innovative ideas. At times, too many times, they have proved to be an embarrassment to the sport. But I do not envy them at this moment. We should be a month into the flat season, with Guineas trials to the fore and Derby hopefuls nearing levels of fitness that have their connections plotting a path through the season and yet we remain under lock and key. The Guineas are postponed, as are the Derby and Oaks. If Royal Ascot takes place it will be behind closed doors. Why they have made this decision so early – perhaps to prevent women ordering new outfits and hats – is beyond me as mid-to-late June is still eight to nine weeks away. The virus will have withered and died by then, if not the scam that is driving it.
So, the B.H.A. must squeeze the 2,000 and 1,000 Guineas, the Derby and Oaks into a season shortened by at least three-months and which from June onward has a big festival meeting virtually every two-weeks. And, of course, Ireland and France have exactly the same dilemma to overcome. There is no solution that will suit everyone, that is for sure.
I dare say the flat season will be extended into December, with eight or more races at most meetings. I.T.V. will have tricky decisions to make as to which meetings to cover, especially on Saturdays, as many big races will have to clash just to get them staged this season.
I would hope someone at the B.H.A. will look at the flat programme and realise what a hodgepodge it is. Not only the sheer amount of racing, and the ridiculous amount of all-weather racing at a time of year when it is not required to ‘save the day’, as is the case during the winter months. I am a traditionalist at heart, with nostalgia for the long-established races, many of which are lost to the mists of time or are pale shadows of their former self – the Queen’s Prize, the Roseberry, Great Metropolitan, to name but three. But as I have argued many times, it is absurd to have four classic run by the first week in June, while the fifth, the oldest, languishes at the tale end of the season. To my mind it is time the St.Leger was removed from its traditional classic status (I will return to it), with the Eclipse restricted to three-year-olds and elevated to the final leg of the Triple Crown.
The St.Leger I would elevate to the richest race in the country, the third leg of a middle-distance Triple Crown, along with the Hardwick and King George and Queen Elizabeth, keeping the distance at 1-3/4-miles and opening it up to older horses.
Although I understand, though do not approve of, the concept of Champions Day and why it is run at Ascot and that it is highly unlikely that it will be jettisoned, the actual racing hangs like a flag at half-mast, coming no way close to its grandiose description. There is a rhythm to the National Hunt season. It begins quietly, ramps up through the gears from November, to climax at Cheltenham and Aintree in the spring. The flat, on the other hand, is a helter-skelter from beginning to end, rather like Benny Hill forever chasing after, but never catching, a scantily-clad blonde. It’s just a bit of relief when it is all over. Not that it is ever over, not exactly, not with the ever-present all-weather. I would re-route Champions Day to Doncaster, with the St.Leger the centre-piece of the final day of the season. Drawing a clear line under the season, with the Champion jockey the one who has won the most races in a complete season and who has bothered to stick around from start to finish.
As with what is proposed for this season, I would have the Derby after Royal Ascot. This makes sense as the three-year-old races at the Royal Meeting will become the final, and perhaps most important trials for the Epsom classics. It would allow the Dante to become a race in its own right and not simply a Derby trial and also allow a longer period for development for the horses who have run in the 2,000 and 1,000 Guineas, and if the Eclipse were to become a classic, the time-span between each leg would be approximately the same.
I hope during this Covid-19 interlude the powers-that-be have used their spare time wisely and effectively, taking stock of the current flat programme, with the amount of pruning they must be forced to carry out an eye-opener to the mess that the flat season has become.

​On Thursday March 26th the industry newspaper the Racing Post published its last edition with the headline ‘See You Soon’ on its cover page. I hope the next edition is published soon as without it to accompany my breakfast a large hole has appeared in my life that no other newspaper can bridge. I fear, though, as its only current media presence is on-line, somewhere I have yet to follow them, that given the cost of producing a hard-copy of the newspaper, on-line is where the newspaper will remain.
The Racing Post is horrendously expensive to buy on a daily basis and, at £25 for the week, is far outside the reach of the ordinary working-man. I am sure Tom Lee, the current editor, is not sitting on his hands or taking advantage of the Government’s furlough scheme, and is itching to get the paper back on the newsstands. I hope, though, that he is reflecting on matters other than the Covid-19 (scandal) outbreak and when normality is restored (as well as our democratic freedom to go where we please and say what we feel to be the truth again) and we have our sport returned to us, he will have realised that the current cover price is detrimental to the clarion call to bring the sport to the masses.
As editor of racing’s only daily newspaper, Tom Lee has a duty to assist all of racing’s stakeholders to present the sport to all levels of society. At its present horrendous cover price only those people with large salaries can afford to buy the paper on a daily basis. Those employed in the racing industry, of course, have little choice but to cough up the £3.50 a day, and without the betting shops taking the bookmaker’s edition of the paper Tom Lee could only pull stumps as to continue publishing would have no doubt bankrupted the paper. I would urge Tom Lee, though, to seek ways to reduce the cover price; not by cutting the numbers of excellent columnists he employs or by reducing the overall quality. In fact, I believe he is making a major mistake by not including a weekly column by a female journalist. But that is another matter.
I would like to see the Racing Post published in two forms: one, a horse racing edition, though covering sports betting in general; and secondly a greyhound racing edition, again covering general sports betting; with the cover price of both editions set at no more than £2. This maybe a naïve suggestion to a problem I have no understanding of. And in my tiny mind this would increase rather than undermine current revenue for the paper.
I surmise that those of us interested in horse racing would buy one edition, those interested in greyhound racing would buy the second, the Greyhound Racing Post, with those with an interest in both horse and greyhound racing forking out for both editions.
The Racing Post is the shop-window of the sport. The newspaper is blessed with great writers who not only explain the sport with eloquence and verve but also bring it to life for the reader. In Alastair Down the paper has one of the greatest sports writers of the age, with many equally talented writers on its team. These are the people who could enthuse the casual visitor to our sport to stay awhile and learn more about the stars, equine and human, and its unique history.
I have suggested in the past that Tom Lee should consider either hiring out his columnists on occasion to the daily newspapers that no longer have a regular reporter or selling at a reduced rate racing stories that have already appeared in the Post. To boost attendance at racecourses, to I.T.V. racing and the betting shops, the sport must be sold through truthful representation of the sport by those with the talent to enthuse and interest the reader and there is no group of people better able to do that than the journalists at the Racing Post.
To the sport, the Racing Post is indispensable. It is unthinkable for it not to be represented in newsagents and supermarket shelves. Yes, it no doubt will exist in digital form but that would be to hide it away, out-of-sight of the man-on-the-street. We all should support, when funds allow, of course, the paper. We, as readers and racing enthusiasts, have that duty as the paper has the duty to promote the sport when and wherever possible.
But Tom Lee must reduce the cover price. The £3.50 price-tag alone puts into the minds of the non-racing man and woman that this sport is for the rich and even richer, is out of the reach of the working man and is a world that he or she has no right to be involved in. The image of racing is demeaned by the cover price of its industry newspaper. It shouts elitism.
 

​As I have suggested, the B.H.A. and its ‘stakeholders’ are attempting to move heaven and earth to get Royal Ascot and the Epsom Derby staged this season. I applaud their efforts and sincerely hope they succeed. We need something to look forward to, don’t we? They have also postponed the 1,000 and 2,000 Guineas, no doubt hoping to shoehorn them into what will be a packed and shortened season at some point. But the key word here is ‘postponed’. They cancelled the Grand National without, seemingly, giving any effort to run the race even though eight-months were left in the year in which to do so. If it was convenient to cancel the Grand National, why is it an imperative to stage the Royal meeting and the Epsom Derby at a later date? And why has there been no outcry at this complete dereliction in their duty to do all they can to protect and promote the sport? Without I.T.V. racing, not that they would knowingly upset the applecart with criticism of the B.H.A. or the Racing Post, who would at least pose the question of why the Grand National was cancelled and flat racing’s biggest meeting and classic races only postponed, it is up to the individual, enthusiasts like you or me, to contact the B.H.A., Aintree, Randox Health, I.T.V. and the big bookmakers, to suggest in combination they either move heaven and earth to stage the 2020 race or give an explanation why it is not possible.
To my way of thinking, this opposing mindset is a scandal, a dereliction of duty, hypocrisy and a clear indication that flat racing is far more important to the B.H.A. than National Hunt.
 
The Covid-19 interlude, as frustrating as it will doubtless prove unnecessary, will have some positive effects. Jockeys who have rode with half-healed injuries are now forced to take some r and r, the rest and recuperation allowing bones and muscles to properly heal. And for those free of niggles, the rest in its self will prove beneficial, recharging batteries and whetting the appetite for competition. Some horses, too, carry injuries unknown to their connections and a forced time on the easy list will do them no harm either.
Trainers will have the down-time to freshen-up their stables with a lick of paint and disinfectant and perhaps top-up their all-weather gallops. Their staff, too, after many years of constant journeys up the motorway in horseboxes, starting before the crack of dawn and finishing long into the night, will at long last have the opportunity to chill and reflect on life. And a furlough, of course, as the mechanics in my local garage view it, is just a paid and extended holiday.
I fear owners may not have a whole lot to smile about, though. Many, I suspect, will have lost the spare income that allows them to indulge in what is an expensive hobby, as intriguing as it is. And it might not be over for them once the government has compensated them as it looks like China will be sued right, left and centre as they are judged by both science and governments all over the world as the villains in this state of world emergency. Manufacturing, all over the globe, will be coming home, or at least taken somewhere other than China.
 
There are seeds of hope, though. German football teams are returning to training. President Trump is keen to get America back to work by Easter or soon after. And British football’s leaders seem convinced that the leagues will be allowed to finish their seasons. Oh, and the worst of Covid-19 is over. It was over the day the virus was downgraded from a highly infectious decease to only an infectious decease. That was on March 19th by the way. Check it out on the Government’s website. Our own immune systems will conquer this ‘pandemic’ and very soon people around the world will come to understand that we are being subjected to a staged event. Horse racing will return, and quite soon. I would suggest the middle of May or sooner.
For news of the pandemic I would suggest anyone reading this, and by Christ I wish I could get back to writing and thinking about my sport, go to the checktheevidence website.
Stay healthy; stay informed.

​The first remark I, and I dare say any member of the near 5-million who tuned in to watch the Virtual Grand National will agree, must make is what a dreadful race the virtual Davy Russell rode on the virtual Tiger Roll. I very much doubt if the virtual Gordon Elliott will ever employ the virtual Davy Russell again for many a long year. What was going on in his virtual head to be in front at halfway on a horse carrying the steadier of 11st 10? No wonder Tiger Roll didn’t get home. I dare say if Davy could go back in time and ride the race again, he probably wouldn’t bother.
If I were Davy Russell, I would consult my lawyers with regard to suing whoever was responsible for creating the algorithm that stopped Tiger Roll from running the same sort of race that was responsible for him winning the previous two renewals of the great race, as well as a Virtual Grand National. As one of the greatest jump jockeys of this or any other century, I would be miffed to kingdom-come and back to have myself represented by such poor judgement.
That said, Potters Corner was a feasible winner of the race, though the ground he made up from the Melling Road to the second-last fence looked suspiciously like he had a hidden motor in his hooves. Of course, come the real thing next year, he’ll no doubt have a stone more on his back, which will make turning the virtual into reality a darn sight harder. But at least now nearly 5-million people know his name, if not the name of his up-and-coming trainer and young jockey, if we can assume Jack Tudor rode enough winners between Cheltenham and Aintree to qualify to ride. That will not be a problem for him next year. A small crumb of comfort I would hope.
I know virtually, which is appropriate, nothing about algorithms or any of the voodoo magic that goes into the production of a virtual anything but you might as well throw dice to decide who falls, pulls-up or doesn’t stay if victory and defeat is to be determined by computerised randomness that has little to do with actual form. Why would Bristol De Mai fall after Valentines, say, and not before? I don’t see where in his form it would suggest he would exit the race where he did. Or why a confirmed front-runner like Yala Enki would not at any point be up with the leaders, even if he did not have the pace and class to be at the pointy-end when it really mattered. Why would O.K.Corral refuse – has he refused in the past?
I know it is only a bit of fun and this year it was staged to raise funds for a good cause and it is proving what a misery I am to criticise the thing but it is all a bit of ‘how-clever-we are’ nonsense, isn’t it? And this year’s creation worries me because of the huge audience it drew. I fear that during this Covid-19 interlude I.T.V. might start filling our Saturday afternoons with ‘all the action’ from Steeple Downs or some other virtual racecourse and non-racing people will get addicted to it and demand more and more non-racing racing.
Actually, if I’m honest, perhaps too honest, I thought the Virtual Grand National was a slap in the face, given there remains no chance the 2020 Actual Grand National being run, despite my letter in the Racing Post asking for anyone who supported my suggestion that the 2020 race be run in November instead of the Becher Chase. My racing year is rendered redundant without a Grand National as its peak. It seems to me that the B.H.A. are simply relieved when a justifiable reason to cancel comes their way. Will the Derby be cancelled this year, do you think? Of course not, they’ll run the race a week before the St.Leger if it comes to it and at Redcar or Hamilton if that is there only option. They will barter with the devil to get Royal Ascot on. But the country’s biggest race by far, and its most popular, a race shown all around the world, the biggest betting race by a country mile? Not a muscle stirs at B.H.A. headquarters, not a phone call is made to any of its many stakeholders. The B.H.A., if truth be told, could not give a toss. It’s almost like they consider by abandoning the race they are dodging a bullet.
At my age, it is a fair possibility that I have watched my last Grand National. If I am to die in the next twelve-months I shall go to my grave not knowing if Tiger Roll has managed to surpass (at least in the records book) the horse who remains the greatest Aintree horse of all-time, a feat I never expected to witness in my lifetime and perhaps now never shall.

​This Covid-19 interlude, which I remain convinced is 9/11 on a global scale, is doing no one any good, the country, especially. The Horse Racing community is but a small minority amongst the 67-million who live in Great Britain. (As of today, just over 30,000 people are officially registered as contracting the Covid-19 flu virus out of a population 67-million – the percentage is miniscule, with the death rate a country mile away from the highest ever number of flu-related deaths in England which stands at just short of 29,000. The long-standing average for England is 17,000. And for this we have curtailed liberty and limited free-speech!) And it would be wrong to highlight the discomforts and financial crisis that is being played out amongst those jockeys whose everyday lives is one of a hand-to-mouth existence.
Jockeys are people, too. They may be sportsman who perform and display their skill and courage in front of huge crowds, the elite amongst them hailed as heroes, the highest of the elite wealthy and able to ride out this political and health storm. But they, too, have mortgages to pay, children to feed, etc. The backbone of this sport are not the heroes of Cheltenham but the men and women who have become to be known as ‘journeyman jockeys’, the jockey who is up before the crack of dawn to ride out for a trainer who may or may not be able to give him or her the odd ride and who then drives, perhaps hundreds of miles, to a far-flung racecourse for one ride in a seller or 100/1 outsider before travelling the long road home with virtually no profit for their 12-to-18 hour day’s toil.
These men and woman barely scrape a living and any compensation they receive from the government’s scheme for the self-employed will reflect their paltry annual income. And, though, yes, if the current band of journeyman fail to survive the Covid-19 interlude, there will be others waiting in the wings to follow their path, everyone in hope luck will shine on them and they will have a career where they become the next Barry Geraghty or Nico de Boinville. But to hold that view is to miss the point. These men and women give their lives, willingly and voluntarily, I agree, to the sport. They are racing’s equivalent, in some ways, to the bit-part actors and extras that allow films and t.v. soaps to seem real to life. If you removed the actors whose names you do not know from feature films and the likes of Midsummer Murder you will have great holes in scenes, the already scarcely believable plots rendered laughable and devoid of reality.
We, and by ‘we’ I am referring to the B.H.A., have a duty of care to these people. In times of hardship ‘we’ need to give something back. Not charity or handouts. But opportunity. I suspect the B.H.A. have no plans to offer succour to the journeyman, keen just to get racing back on, to return to the status que, to move heaven and earth to stage the Derby and Royal Ascot somehow, at any convenient date in the calendar. You can be sure the B.H.A. will look after those at the top long before they give consideration to those lower down the pecking order.
I have always ‘given out’ my views on the appalling way the racing calendar treats the less fortunate amongst our jockeys. There are races aplenty for apprentices and conditional jockeys, amateur rides (flat and jumps), lady riders, point-to-point riders, celebrity riders and charity races but absolutely zilch restricted to the journeyman, the rider who, for example, rides less than 20-winners in a season. I have made the case many times in the past, on this site and before that in letters to the Racing Post and Sporting Life, to no effect. One reader of the Racing Post (it might even have been the Sporting Life, now I think about it) commented that to support the lesser riders is to support the unskilful, the substandard. I have always argued that it would cost the sport not one bean if there were to be a race a day or a handful of races per week restricted to the journeyman jockey. I am not talking about a series of races with a valuable final but just ordinary workaday races, lower banded handicaps and sellers.
When racing resumes, when a kind of normality returns to our lives, the sport must give consideration to those worst effected by this intolerable embezzlement of our freedom to go about our lives as we please. To help the journeyman jockey retrieve some of his or her lost income, there should be one race a day for the rest of the season, both flat and N.H., restricted to the journeyman jockey.
Sadly, I have no faith in the B.H.A. to take a compassionate view on this matter, and even more sadly, I doubt if the Jockeys Association will lobby the B.H.A. to have the matter at least debated.