Great Expectations Fulfilled

Some thoughts on the Cheltenham festival just past. Fabulous, ultimately bloody fabulous.

I was there for the first three days, which taxes a man's stamina. How anyone does all four is beyond me - well actually it's not of course but I do admire their adhesion.

Day 1 - the Mullins/Ricci/Walsh show knocked temporarily from its orbit by the theatrical fall of Annie Powers. Thankfully both man and mare emerged unscathed but it was the purest sporting drama. The understandably excitable punter next to me had already embarked on his badly choreographed victory dance to mark the last leg of his accumulator - I had to tap him on the shoulder to outline the denouement. He took it well. For my part I had backed the ultimate second whose loss in a photo-finish separated me from profitability.

Sport's power to surprise

Day 2 - deemed (rather against my prejudices) as Ladies Day, this means acres of goose flesh in ill-advised outfits which ignore the reality that national hunt racing is a winter sport. Another day without a big winner for the Boy Roberts, what might loosely be described as my betting plan being derailed by the defection of Champagne Fever from the Champion Chase.

The Albion Social Club

Day 3 - never before in my ill-starred career as a punter can I recall an entire day without even the smallest consolatory each-way pick-up. This was it. There was however the compensation of witnessing the remarkable A.P. McCoy ride his last Cheltenham winner. Pernicious losing can, and nobody should deny this, take you to the hinterland of misery but the atmosphere of the Festival pulls you back. Most specifically I was pulled back by the creature comforts of the Albion Social Club (£2 membership, cheap food and beer) and a comical taxi ride home. There were four of us, in various degrees of intoxication. The youngest and drunkest did the decent thing and fell asleep after a modicum of slurred conversation, leaving two of us to roam over the excellence of Derek Statham, Laurie Cunningham and Cyrille Regis and for him to try to persuade me to join a greyhound-owning syndicate. I resisted.

Carrying the burden of
the OG's money

So what do you do when you've backed a hatful of losers. Well if you're like me you take your medicine and then get back on a horse. Just one horse in this case - a solitary betting shop punt on the Gold Cup on Friday. Coneygree. A great story, an antidote to the Mullins/Ricci axis - not that I begrudge them their success, it is just that their efforts threaten to swamp the endearing humanity of the jumps. 8/1 winner. The beast is back!

Worst thing about Cheltenham, and this is a personal thing I know - the proliferation of skinny suits and round collars. Come back the double-breasted all is forgiven.