STARTING

At Cheltenham the starting was so much better than in previous years. However the present system has an Achilles Heel, which will betray it sooner or later.

Flat racing in Dubai – at the start an atmosphere of calm and quiet. Flat racing in England – the same thing. All relaxed, with the excellent handlers doing all they can to keep it that way – and the horses go into the stalls because in flat racing a fair start is a priority.

Jump racing in England – with smaller fields perfect tranquility and every attempt to send the runners on their way in good heart and on equal terms.

When the jump race fields are considerably bigger, however, what a difference! Just when large numbers cry out for more calmness and relaxation, an abomination takes over, by courtesy of higher management. The dreaded Rolling Maul is imposed. Round and round the sinister system drives the tightly-bunched runners as the countdown to off-time proceeds. It causes angst for all the horses and limits the field of view for some – it also robs the start of any vestige of fairness. Count the lengths between first and last when the tapes go up – and scratch your head. Such a pity, when the “walking” innovation has brought the process to a level of near-perfection.

It is arguable that the rolling maul is tolerable, if the final walk towards the tape is orchestrated to allow the field to spread out laterally to give more runners a chance to be competitive and to see the first obstacle. However, if one is going to calm things down at that late stage, why on earth did one stir them up in the first place?

Still, half a loaf is better than no bread, and things have improved. We must live in hope that one day the job will be completed.

CALIFORNIA CHROME

So the bandwagon continues to roll. He ran respectably in Dubai, beaten but losing little in defeat. He had a hard race because for much of the journey, unless my eyes deceived me, he was kept four wide by the attentions of a horse in the same ownership as the winner. I understand that CC’s second prize was over a million pounds – not a bad evening’s work.

The prospect of him appearing at Newbury and Ascot is now likely rather than possible. My instinct is to side with his trainer in suspecting he could do with a rest. However, one can understand majority owner Perry Martin’s decision to continue the horse’s world tour. Here’s hoping that he’s all right and that the fun will continue.

SIX NATIONS RUGBY

After several weekends of channel-hopping in the Donec Television Theatre to get away from interminable breakdown, mud-wrestling, collapse of stout scrumagers, and general malaise, suddenly eighty minutes of magic. England versus France was the game of rugby as prescribed by the great Carwyn James. Creative, skilful, bold and wonderful to watch. Both sides excelled. Although England won by about twenty points, the French would have been no more than a short head behind if they hadn’t missed virtually every penalty and conversion.

At last, like a breath of fresh air into a smoke-filled gas chamber, came the realisation (by both sides) that if you are static in your approach you are destined to enjoy nothing but stalemate. Suddenly, the more the sides were stretched by the speed of change, the bolder they got and the more ambitious became their aspirations – and it worked.   Time and time again a crunching collision between several large men running into each other at great speed seemed inevitable. For the last thirty years that would have resulted in mass horizontal mayhem, skulduggery of every description and the inevitable whistle. Not in this case. Time and time again the falling giant in possession offloaded with the grace of a ballerina and the skill of a conjurer and the play zoomed away in a new direction.

Bad things? A couple. Aimless kicking, and terrible passing. In both areas salvation is at hand. A kicking code whereby a kick will not come as a total surprise to the kicker’s teammates shouldn’t be beyond the wit of man. As for passing – in a matter of weeks it should be possible to convince top-class players that the ankle, the knee and the back of the head are not suitable targets when handing over a very valuable commodity to a very close friend.  Just remember: Carwyn took the best players from the northern hemisphere to New Zealand in 1971 and they beat the All Blacks. What did his backs spend most of their time practising? Passing!

In which connection, a word about England’s round-ball team. At Twickenham the other day, when things got tough and stretched and a bit disorganised, the team in possession used the moment to attack by exploiting frailties in the opposition, frailties created by the chaos which both sides were experiencing.

In the same circumstances the soccer players (against Italy, first half) seemed to have only one reaction to chaos: to pass back to the goal-keeper. Manager Hodgson – ten kicks up the backside are called for, before the next game (and this time don’t wait until half-time).

The above paragraph finds me in unfamiliar territory – forgive me if I am talking nonsense.

THE LESSON OF HISTORY

The lesson of history is that Man does not learn the lessons of history. Apparently it’s a great truth.

I was reminded of it the other day, when I read in my Racing Post that Grand National sponsor Crabbie has donated four Grand National fences to the racing world (one each at Lambourne, Malton, The Curragh and somewhere else –  I cannot remember where) so that the runners in the great race could familiarise themselves with the Aintree fences which, though nothing like as fearsome as they were thirty years ago, are still a couple of sizes taller and wider and greener than the standard article as found at most other tracks.

Digest the following: “My schooling fences were at least twelve inches lower than the jumps at the racetrack. The horses were never asked to jump higher than that at home. If you build a Grand National fence at home the risk is that a horse might dig in his toes approaching it and his courage might suffer.”

The writer was Vincent O’Brien, the greatest trainer that ever was or ever will be. He won three successive Grand Nationals with three different horses ridden by three different jockeys, in the nineteen fifties, when the fences were ten times  more formidable than they are nowadays. Note slight exaggeration.

No disrespect to Crabbies, whose job is to promote their business – beverages, which they create and sell all over the world with great success. A Crabbie is one of their many products, an irresistible alcoholic ginger beer. The company has a large site on the Aintree industrial estate, and they have already won a Grand National with Amberleigh House in 2004.

For a moment I panic. Maybe Crabbies know more about schooling steeplechasers than I do. Then I remember that I have M.V. O’Brien on my side, and I resolve to soldier on.

Best wishes,

Donec.