SPORT 103

A GLANCE AT THE Stewards Report for the Betfair Hurdle, Newbury  8^th February and one finds the by-now-normal verdict: “Having reviewed recordings of the  false start the starters were satisfied that no riders should be reported….” It really is embarrassing to read such rubbish emanating from the top brass of a great sport and a great industry.  And what about the seven False Starts at Cheltenham on the first three days, which inspired the same inane response from on high?

Now is not the time, but the subject will be revisited in due course.

Syndication

March 25^th 18.48 hours, on my screen I glance at one of the few bits of news which the RP allows the poor in our society to read without paying an arm and a leg to buy a paper copy of its contents. Dan Abraham syndicate manager is bemoaning the difficulties which face syndicate members and managers if racing doesn’t restart pdq.

Sounds like lunacy to me, perhaps a side effect of Corona. When your horses can’t run, they become extremely cheap to keep. No entries, no travelling, no jockey’s fees.

But no prizemoney, I hear you mutter. The average horse wins nothing. I seem to remember learning that depressing fact in the grim 1970s. In those days prize money was even worse than today and the Black Lubianka (the Jockey Club) restricted syndicate membership to 12 shareholders per horse. One of Mr Abraham’s syndicate horses  won the Grand Sefton at Aintree over the National fences. I don’t think you need worry about any of his owners doing a runner, Mr Abraham. Well done to you all.

My group (way back in the day) won a satisfactory number of races, but it really was such hard work that I threw in the towel.

The Daddy of the syndicate business (Henry Ponsonby) operated in that era and is still at it. I take my hat off to him. His management of “Who Dares Wins” is a fine example of good practice, and I notice that he still tries to provide shares at very economic prices.  May he live for ever.

For two years I rode out on and around the best gallops in the world, surrounded by the most glorious downland (designed by the almighty for the benefit of thoroughbreds and horsemen, according to Munnings), then sat in the Manton office and pretended the date was 1900 and I was Alec Taylor. Through the window I watched George and Susie Peter-Hoblyn breaking and making the yearlings bought for peanuts and about to win 9 races the next year.

Thus was Marlborough Bloodstock Syndication born. George and Susie did everything themselves and were excellent. I remember them spending hours and hours attempting to make soya beans palatable for horses because it was rumoured to make horses run very, very fast – if one could just disguise the vile taste. Did they succeed? Well, those cheap yearlings didn’t do too badly. It was the beginning of “happy ever after” but it didn’t last. However, during that first year my life was made very much easier by the fact that Henry Ponsonby was on the end of a telephone and could sort me out whenever I had a problem in the syndicate jungle. Happy days.

Corona (1)

Thirteen years ago in the springtime I was subjected to a plague of ants, which was only deterred from taking over my territory by heavy duty anti-ant powders lavishly applied by a man with an almost magical ability to squeeze into tiny gaps and mysterious hollows. When he surfaced I noticed something repulsive about his facial arrangements: gaunt and grey with yellow trimmings. The whisper was that this is the fate that inevitably results from extreme intimacy with anti-ant powders in confined spaces.

So I went to the excellent Rainbow establishment in Marlborough, which sells everything that is useful – and I left with an industrial face mask. For the next twelve months I would at regular intervals gaze at myself in the mirror, waiting for the gaunt grey and yellow complexion which would signal the end of life as I knew it.

When pinkness proved enduring, I did a little dance and carefully packed away my life-saver in a shoe box full of emergency items. Thirteen years later, reaching upwards at arm’s length with a bread knife I snagged the bottom of the shoe box and pulled – it fell on my head and among the debris there was my face-mask. Nowadays I am never without it, and so far, so good.

Corona (2)

Have you ever done “walking on the spot?” I am sure that Boris would agree with me when I say that it allows one to do a complete MOT in a very confined space. “Tick tock Tick tock…” go the feet and the proud owner flaps his hands at waist height and starts muttering. “Fingers, thumbs, wrists, elbows, shoulders, neck, neck, neck.” With each mutter and each stationary pace you exercise the joint in question. Then you do the same with the lower limbs, and lo! In a very few minutes every joint in your body is glowing with wellbeing. Don’t forget a few toe-touches (or near misses) – very important, but don’t try too hard.

Piece de resistance: running on the spot. Same advantage, spatially ideal. Plus the lifesaver: as the feet go “one, two, three, four…” etc.,  the weight of the body will levitate a tiny bit off the ground and back down again,  gently gently, and when you get to the number fifty (or earlier) you may feel the need to stop and have what we call “a breather”.

Just making yourself breathe a little bit faster than when you are at rest is enough to remind the heart and lungs that they have a job to do, a much more important job than anything the thumbs are ever asked to perform. Enuff! One final thought: if you don’t use it, you lose it. It’s true, but you don’t need to be rough on yourself. Just go through the motions.

I haven’t come to terms with Corona, but nowadays they are talking about “several months.” Apart from being a major inconvenience I think it may be providing an opportunity for all and sundry, an opportunity to start doing something new and different. A book? A hobby. A learning curve. Buy a  vinaigrette and take it from there. What’s a vinaigrette? A flicker of interest? Off you go! What about the musical instrument you once wanted to master?  So far the Wiltshire Downs have kept me sane and (touch wood) healthy.  But I am aware of long hours which are going to be completely wasted if I don’t do something about filling them. So I will, and I advise you to do likewise.

Literature.

Just now I am reading Captain Mac-Hell, by Richard Onslow, biography of the man who masterminded many of the major betting coups of the Victorian era; also “The Chase, the Turf and the Road” in which Nimrod paints a sporting picture of the 1830s and thereabouts. I didn’t know how dangerous travelling by stage coaches could be. Thank God for the Nissan Micra.

BEST WISHES,

DONEC