the greatest race, at least to my mind.

​My favourite race, at least thus far, is the 2016 Two-Mile Champion Chase. I also believe in this race one of the greatest fetes of training was achieved. I well-up even now when watching the race again on YouTube. Sprinter Sacre rolling back the years to prove that form is temporary while class is permanent. Thank-you, Nicky Henderson, for such a fabulous, memorable day. But the 2016 Two-Mile Champion Chase is not, in my opinion, the greatest race of my lifetime. 
I did not back the winner of the race and by halfway, I had eyes for only one horse and come the elbow I would have sold my soul to have him triumph. Unlike the Two-Mile Champion Chase, the 1973 Grand National is a hard watch and even now my heart calls out for history and the form-book to be wrong.
The 1973 renewal of the Grand National, remember, was to be the last under the managerial control of Mirabel Topham. For £3-million quid, property developer Bill Davies had acquired Aintree, doubtless ambitious to have the sacred ground turned-over to houses on streets and roads named Devon Loch Road, Red Rum Street, Manifesto Drive and Golden Miller Avenue.
38 faced the starter in 1973, 10 more than faced the starter in 1970. So perhaps my critical outpouring at the maximum number of runners being reduced to 34 was misplaced. Perhaps. This renewal of the great race was typical of all Grand Nationals prior to its neutering by the present-day custodians of the race - a smattering of top-class horses, perhaps in decline of former days, and, as should be, the rest being no-hopers in hope of good fortune shining on them. 
Crisp and L’Escargot bore top-weight of 12-stone, with Spanish Steps one-pound lower. I would have backed Spanish Steps as he is my all-time favourite horse, just ahead of Frodon, the last equine love of my life. On 10st 5Ibs lurked Red Rum, trained by a used-car dealer and owned by an octogenarian Liverpool-based former engineer who had built his company up to be a major force in the construction industry in the North-West and who had not previously owned a racehorse. In 1973, Noel Le Mare had two runners, Glenkiln being the forgotten one of the pair.
The race is simply told. Crisp led from the get-go, made a wee error at the first and then preceded, unchecked by Richard Pitman, to demolish all the myths and legends that extoll the big black birch fences as monsters designed crush dreams and to pull horses and jockeys down into the bowels of the earth. Crisp was an equine comet that day, flying around the green swarth of Aintree racecourse with a zesty eagerness rarely seen at Aintree, jumping as if the fences, as so often reported, were nothing more formidable than upturned dandy-brushes. 
As Crisp soared over Bechers for a second-time, Brian Fletcher, already a Grand National winner in 1968, decided it was now or never to start to hunt down the leader. He had made little impression by the Canal Turn or even Valentines and entering the straight with two-fences between Crisp and the most deserved of all victories, the margin between first and second, with the rest trailing by considerable distances, was still twenty-lengths. Crisp jumped the second-last with the same aplomb as the previous 28. Seemingly, his energy reserves were used-up by one more immaculate leap at the last fence and by the time he got to the elbow, where Richard Pitman believes he lost the race by picking up his whip to keep Crisp on a straight course for the winning post, the great Australian chaser was running on fumes and reserves of courage. Red Rum chinned him on the line and a true legend of the sport was born.
On March 31st, 1973, I believe, and will always believe, Crisp came with three-quarters of a length of achieving the impossible. Could any horse give Red Rum 23Ibs at Aintree in a Grand National and beat him. The following season, Red Rum carried 12-stone and beat a double Cheltenham Gold Cup winner by seven-lengths giving him a pound. And, of course, Red Rum went on to win two-more Grand Nationals, the only horse in Aintree history to achieve the fete, and finish second twice. I do not believe even Arkle could have given Red Rum weight and a beating in a Grand National. Everywhere else, yes, but not at Aintree.
Also, Red Rum shattered the course record for the race, as did Crisp, with L’Escargot and Spanish Steps also finishing inside the old course record.
The greatest race, the greatest performance by any horse in my lifetime, four-horses beating the course record, and the birth of horse racing’s greatest equine legend. I rest my case.