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This used to be the time of year where we’d look forward to the Christmas Eve racing post, peruse the Boxing Day cards and trawl with amusement through the long list of bookies novelties such as Camilla becoming a queen or Elvis landing a UFO atop the Loch Ness monster. But the paper age is dead and we’re now left with wondering how a certain redhead might price up a rag. Intriguing enough I suppose but not sufficient enough for us to drown out the miseries which are Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.
So in lieu, I have a question;-
What was that one moment that made you truly understand that outside of family, possible religion/spirituality/career and the closest personal everlasting relationships, horse racing was your one true calling?
Not necessarily the day you were introduced to the sport, but the day which made all other sports, cultural endeavours and ambitious sexual positions seem comparatively pointless.
For me, it was when Kauto Star won the 2011 Lancashire Chase.
Here’s my account of the occasion.
I’ve just come back in from Haydock and I’m still in ecstasy.
I wanted to see him in the parade ring prior to the race and even with a circuit to go in the fixed hurdle race I had to pinch the last place against the barrier.
As impressive as the Pipe horse, Dynaste was save for the connections of the horse, his glorious homecoming was met with polite indifference at best. Everybody came to see Kauto’s last appearance in a parade ring and the crowd was at least 5 deep before he was even saddled. Very few people spoke and those who did chose to do so very quietly. The tension was extraordinarily intense. When Kauto finally did come out to parade, the warm applause he deservedly received already had the lass in tears.
I took my seat in the grandstands and after a circuit, I think everybody was pleased to see Kauto jumping with fluency but as Long Run began to hit a few towards the end of the back straight, the sense that Kauto could be seriously involved in the finished began to take hold. As he jumped four out, the calls of “Come on Kauto” began to rise. Jumping three out, the calls turned to shouts. After two out, the crowd was urging him on with gusto and as he cleared the last, it was pandemonium. The crowd was in rapture, the hands stung with applause and the throats growing rough. Fists punched the air and Racing Posts graced the sky.
As he crossed the line, Ruby slapped the hero and the strangers who surrounded me in the stands were my best friends in the world because we shared a moment few people will ever experience. For at that moment, Kauto Star belonged to each and every single person who was at the course.
I am incredibly lucky to be able to say that I was there and I saw what I saw and this is something I will never take for granted.
What was your moment?
i remember sitting outside betting shops in mid 60s waiting for dad,who would tell me not to tell my mother where we had been.
The two horses that stand out for me was Charlottetown and an old hurdler by the name of pawnbroker.After then it was Spanish Steps and a another old chaser by the name of Arctic sunset.Strange as now i dont really follow the hedgehoppers,but even now i get a thrill seeing these beasts in the pre parade ring,Falbrav before winning the international was the best looker i have ever seen
I was hooked on the itv 7 with john rickman and co.My earliest racing memory is The 1978 Grand National. I remember finding it “different”, but it didn’t get me hooked.
What got me hooked though was The 1979 Foxhunter at Aintree won by Spartan Missile. I can still vividly remember sitting watching the majority of the field crashing out early, it was carnage, I’d never seen anything like it. I’d obviously be appalled at such carnage now, but being just a few weeks short of my 6th birthday, that carnage wasn’t of any concern to me.
That was me, totally hooked, and on Aintree in particular. Doomed to spend the rest of my childhood, and far too much of my adulthood, completely obsessed with racing in general, but The Grand National in particular.
Not necessarily the day you were introduced to the sport, but the day which made all other sports, cultural endeavours and ambitious sexual positions seem comparatively pointless.
I would be very worried about myself if that was the case
I think like most punters I won my first bet.
But I was always intrigued by the racing you’d get on channel four and the bbc. My first racing heroes were horses like Carvill’s Hill, Remittance Man and on the flat Zafonic, Rodrigo De Triano, Arazi and Lyric Fanatasy.
I remember being blown away when I saw Carvill’s Hill win a welsh grand national by 20 lengths. It’s the wonderment of youth you see. I don’t think I’m capable of feeling the same emotions as I felt then whatever the performance.
I loved horses as a young boy, learnt to ride at about 7 or 8. Always watched anything to do with horses on TV, show jumping (Harvey Smith and David Broome), three day eventing (Lucinda Prior-Palmer) and Racing (Lester Piggott, Wilie Carson and John Francome) ITV 7 etc. Betting didn’t come in to it at that point. Of all the family, only my Grandfther was remotely interested in racing and that was just twice a year – Derby and Grand National. Anyway, Watching the build up for the latter, somehow we got the family to have a sweepstake. Nan only agreed as the runners lined up, picking just a number. Think it was because of “Ginger” McCain I picked Red Rum. He couldn’t quite manage to win that year. However, finishing second meant this 9 year old picked up the winnings off the coffee table (only pennies but it didn’t matter). Jumping for joy just as the result came up on the TV; “First number 6, Rag Trade”. Guess my Nan’s number!.
Following year told everyone at Junior school Red Rum would win the National. This time got to keep the money. History was made as Red Rum won his third Grand National… And a gambler was born.
Value Is EverythingEssentially 2 things.
Anything to do with Night Nurse from the mid 70s onward. A truly golden era of hurdling followed by a brave effort in becoming the first to do the Champion Hurdle / Gold Cup double. I shouted myself hoarse that day, and could never forgive Little Owl thereafter.
Grundy winning the 75 Derby and then the “race of the century” in the King George to beat Bustino and his pacemakers, Dahlia, Star Appeal et al. Ridden by a young Pat Eddery who went on to be one of the greatest jockeys ever.
Sadly all of them no longer with us.
R.I.P., and thanks for the memories.Arkle in black and white on TV.
Same here and add in Mill House. Then Jay Trumps’s Grand National.
Clincher for watching live racing was Nijinsky’s win in the King George and Queen Elizabeth at Ascot. Exciting acceleration!
My earliest racing memory is The 1978 Grand National. I remember finding it “different”, but it didn’t get me hooked.
What got me hooked though was The 1979 Foxhunter at Aintree won by Spartan Missile. I can still vividly remember sitting watching the majority of the field crashing out early, it was carnage, I’d never seen anything like it. I’d obviously be appalled at such carnage now, but being just a few weeks short of my 6th birthday, that carnage wasn’t of any concern to me.
That was me, totally hooked, and on Aintree in particular. Doomed to spend the rest of my childhood, and far too much of my adulthood, completely obsessed with racing in general, but The Grand National in particular.
Recently watched that Spartan Missile race on YouTube – absolute mayhem!
Incidentally, started showing interest around the late 70’s and have a vague memory of Ben Nevis’ National (only 4 out of 30 completed). But I think my interest was a result of the telly keeping me quiet on a Saturday afternoon while Mum was doing housework and such.
Before you ask why wasn’t I playing outside, I was in a council flat a few floors up until I was about 4 (I’ll just say I’m early fourties). By the time we had a garden I was hooked!
Bizarrely, betting has never been a huge thing for me. Have the occasional flutter but that’s about it.
Cheers
SeanI thought what a cracking question and an easy one to answer, but actually I have struggled to pin it down to one moment or performance, though I was at Sandown in 1981 to see Shergar win the Guardian Classic Trial and Diamond Edge the Whitbread. Finally settled on Derring Rose’s Stayers Hurdle win. It’s still the race I turn to on Youtube, staggering performance.
Arkle in black and white on TV.
Me too.
Red Rum winning his 3 nationals. Mum worked for a trainer in Reigate – Surrey called Jack O’Donoghue who trained Nickel Coin, she loved racing and we used to walk in the park by the stables as children. We always watched the Grand National, Red Rum was paraded at the South of England county show where I was given one of his plaiting bands by his lad. I was about 8 then and always remember that day. I used to go to the yard in Reigate which was thatched and had a traditional upper and lower yard. Jack also kept donkeys.
I liked the horses in cowboy movies and a friend took me for a riding lesson one Christmas when I was 12. That got me hooked on horses. I then became a frequent truant so I could hang around my local racing yard – there was one in my small village and it didn’t strike me then how incongruous it was. Our life was pits and steelworks and comparative poverty and a racing yard was a place for me to dream.
It appealed greatly to me that everyone else in the yard was a dreamer too (Len Lungo who rode M Pipe’s first winner was a stable lad at our wee yard). I think, looking back, the dreams and the hope were what attracted me. No matter the number of losers, or the injuries, everyone believed a Gold Cup winner was out there waiting to make its way to the yard. The sport survives on hopes and dreams that for the most part are delusional. We choose to kid ourselves that we are inspired rather than deluded and like the legendary 300 Spartans we are a tribe who’ll keep trying no matter the odds.
I’ve been hooked on jump racing for as long as I can remember. One of my earliest memories is going to the old bookies in St Andrews with my dad. It was hidden away behind a wall and down steps and I remember the extel blowers on the wall. It’s now a house called the hurdles.
My earliest race memories are watching those great hurdlers at Cheltenham in the late seventies. I also have vague memories of Ben Nevis’s national Katie and National day soon came to rival Christmas day as my favourite day of the year.
So in answer to your question Bachelors there was no moment for me, just a lifelong passion.
Ps, did anyone else create racecourses with their toys or make up fake commentaries using the racecards in newspapers? Oh, just me then
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