the grand national 2024.

​Many years ago, I had a dream where I witnessed my own gravestone. Inscribed on the weathered old stone were my name and my age on the day of my death. 70. Tomorrow, I will have reached that very same age. Whether the prophesy of the dream proves to be accurate only the passing days, weeks and months, will tell.
Dreams are unreliable, of course. A few weeks ago, I dreamt that Adamantly Chosen won the Grand National. I ignored the prophesy as in the dream he was ridden by Matt Chapman, who, frustrated that Willie Mullins refused to employ him as his race-planner, dragged, at the start of the race, the unnamed jockey off the horse, jumped, displaying an athleticism Olga Korbet would be pleased with, on the horse and proceeded to ride the perfect race to win by a short-head. The dream ended with Chapman deflecting praise onto Willie Mullins, demonstrating that dreams are dreams and nowhere close to being real. As with Elisabeth Taylor and National Velvet, I suspect Chapman was disqualified for not being a real jockey.
As predicted, and this was a prophesy that did materialise in the real world, half the field were still in with some sort of chance of winning at the third last fence, with a half-a-dozen or more looking possible winners at the last fence. Going to the elbow, Rachael Blackmore had a second Grand National within her sights, only for ‘all the air to be taken from her tyres’ by Paul Townend sailing by her on I Am Maximus, to scoot home an even more impressive winner than Corach Rambler in 2023. Delta Work confirmed what an honest old boy he is by also nabbing Minella Indo in the final furlong to finish second, with Galvin overhauling Kitty’s Light for fourth, proving Gordon Elliott correct for allowing the horse to take his chance.
The second, third and fourth, will be 12 ,12 and 11 next season and are unlikely to feature in the finish next season, while the winner will be handicapped out of the race next season, with the Cheltenham Gold Cup his major appointment in 2025. Given better ground, Kitty’s Light is the one to take out of the race for next season, even if he will carry a few pounds more than this year.
I ended-up backing four-horses yesterday, with all of them finishing the race, not that there is any achievement anymore in negotiating all the fences, as a brave pony would have no difficulty achieving a clear round these days, so neutered is the task. For more than a brief moment, I thought Rachael would give me another triumph at the local bookies, only for the flame to flicker and for Townend to snuff out the candle of hope with obvious glee and no little relish. From Valentines to the Melling Road, I thought Harry Skelton was wearing a smile as wide as the Leeds and Liverpool canal as Galia Des Liteaux was travelling and jumping with aplomb only for the stamina needle to waver entering the straight. She finished an honourable 8th, winning her trainer some much-needed prize-money. With the ground obviously far from attritional, I got cold feet about Nassalam and replaced him by Capodanno, my big fancy for the race last year, though seeing Nassalam had gone out to 50/1 and remembering the day I ditched Rule The World from my betting slip, I had a fiver each-way on him, Like Capodanno, who obviously doesn’t stay the distance, he never presented me with any hope of getting involved in the finish.
I must add that I was far from thrilled by I.T.V.’s coverage yesterday. The hour leading up to the big race should have been totally about this year’s race, not reiterations on the race year before. And Ruby’s analyse of the difference between the start this year and the year before infuriated me. At the start of the programme, yes, it would have been interesting and relevant but in the lead-up to the start of the race, I wanted to see horses, how they were behaving, seeing them stride down to the start, perhaps interviews with connections. And, of course, all the presenters read from the same upbeat script when it came to discussing the changes to the race. Ruby was particularly annoying. When he was a jockey back in 2012, he criticised the changes then, saying ‘if they want to slow the race down, the fences should be higher, not lower’. Now, as a presenter, he believes neutering the race is the best way forward. People are entitled to change their opinion, I accept, but to travel from one extreme to other end of the spectrum is evidence of ‘saying the right opinion to appease the bosses’. Ruby, as with the Grand National, is, sadly, also becoming a neutered voice.
The 2024 Grand National was a great spectacle, I accept. With the exception of Corach Rambler who fell at the third fence when riderless, though, having unshipped Derek Fox at the first fence, no horse fell in the Grand National. The non-finishers were either unseated riders or pulled-up. Yes, that was good and I gain no pleasure in seeing horses fall. But where now is the test of jumping, the exhibition of horsemanship? The Aintree Grand National is now closer as a horse race to the American version, which is basically a hurdle race, than the Velka Pardubicka, which the Czechoslovaks can now claim to be the greatest test of the steeplechaser. That rumbling in the distance you can hear, by the way, is Ginger McCain turning in his grave!
If 2024 is to be my final Grand National, at least it had a worthy winner, even if it will be proved to be the beginning of the end.
The poor, the lowly, the honest trier, must have their dreams taken from them. Only the elite, the financially-secure, those who already have all that is worth owning, are allowed to dream of wondrous achievement.