Trackside guru David Massey looks back on the week that was as Cheltenham staged an eventful three days of the November Meeting.
My Cheltenham weekend kicks off, er, midweek, as I’m on the preview panel for the Cheltenham and Three Counties night on Wednesday, a gig I enjoy doing each year and my wife enjoys because I get a bottle of nice wine for doing it. (I don’t drink wine, it being one of the many things that, as I’ve got older, give me heartburn.) James Stevens, who normally hosts, is at a comedy show (make your own punchline here) and so for the first time not only am I hopefully giving out a few winners but actually MC’ing the gig.
The panel consists of the walking, talking form encyclopedia that is Ash Symonds, Paddy Power’s PR Paul Binfield, and trainer Mat Nicholls. Paul’s job is to remind us (again and again) that he’s big friends with leading owner/Cheltenham committee member Max McNeill, a running joke throughout the evening, and Mat provides some real insight into training methods and horse behaviour, a lot of which I’d never thought about. I love listening to Mat; were it not for the fact he’s a Nottingham Forest fan, he’s the sort I’d happily go drinking with...
Anyway, the evening goes swimmingly enough and I tip up Atomic City as the best bet of the weekend, so I’ll hopefully be getting the invite back (and more wine) next year.
There’s no point going home after, so Thursday is spent in my digs doing some writing. I’m very lucky in that I’ve found a great little place only half a mile from the track that doesn’t cost the earth. My landlady has big news for me; having done volunteer work for her local church for some time (she is actually ordained to do funerals) she’s had enough and, in her words, told them “to stick it” - that’s as near to swearing as she ever gets - as she’s fed up with not being appreciated and fancies spending Christmas Day with her family, for once. Some in the press room, on relaying this story, are blaming my bad influence on her, but on this one occasion this really isn’t my doing.
Friday comes around. The sun is shining, and we’re ready for three days of quality racing. I get there nice and early and there are a few trainers out on the track. I have a word with a couple as they come back in; it would appear there’s not a lot of the good to soft that’s in the official description. We will see.
We kick off with the conditionals and Norman Fletcher gets the layers out of jail with a 12/1 success, doing considerably better than he did at the October meeting when he got no further than the first. Jockeys are spoken to as they come back in, and fast side of good is how the majority describe it. There are faces longer than the shadows being cast in the paddock, and they don’t get any better after Sean Bowen describes it as such on ITV after the second race. The non-runners start to stack up and it’s clear it’s going to be a difficult afternoon.
For all he didn’t win, it’s good to see Bill Joyce put two solid efforts together, his bleeding issues seemingly sorted. I have a word with AJ O'Neill after, and he agrees. “Hopefully he can start to make up into the horse we always hoped he would be”, he says, and whilst no specific targets were given, he strikes me as the sort that could come back for an Ultima or a Kim Muir.
But hang on, here’s Jonbon to put a smile on everyone’s face. Everyone except the bookie I spoke to in the Guinness village on Saturday morning when asking about the day’s business. “I couldn’t lay it, Dave”, he tells me, “so I went machine price, 8/13, hoping someone would come and have a monkey on. Out of nowhere, bloke rocks up and wants 5k on. I don’t knock anyone back, so took the bet. And paid the price for it.” Always today, I remind him, and failing that, Market Rasen next week.
I’m pleased to see Lock Stock make just about all in the Grade 2 hurdle for Stuart Edmunds, not least as it means I’ve found a winner on the day. I’ll point out that's the third and fourth from the Persian War that have now won on their next starts (and the fifth ran to form at Clonmel next time too); the handicapper put winner West Hill Verde up 9lb for that ready win, and I’m going to say that’s not enough.
Saturday sees more sunshine, more trainer headaches, and more withdrawals. Word was already round Friday night Old Park Star wouldn’t be taking his chances, and so it was. “Ffos Las on Wednesday”, says Neil, his driver and right-hand man. Google Maps tells me it’s precisely three hours and forty two minutes to Ffos Las from my house. And there are cheap(ish) hotel rooms in Cardiff afterwards. Could call in at Warwick Thursday on the way back. A plan starts to ferment.
Passing Diamond wins the Arkle Trial, his superb jumping (bar two out) a key asset in his armoury. You can’t help but feel delighted for Ben Haslam and his family, the (very) little one cosy in his harness. Workahead probably needed the run, and that showed late on against a race-fit rival, so don’t be giving up on him yet. A well-known owner, shaking his head almost in disbelief, stops me to have his say. “That’s a 128-rated winner of a Grade 2 Chase” he bemoans. And walks off, chatting on the phone as he does, presumably to his trainer asking why he didn’t have anything better than a 128 chaser they could have run today.
Meetmebythesea and Blueking D’Oreaux fight out the finish to the Paddy Power, new money trumping old. To be fair, there’s only a year between the two, but it doesn’t feel like that. I’m not the only one to think beforehand that Meetmebythesea will come on for the run, so this goes down as a very good effort; the 14/1 for the Ryanair makes some appeal.
The last three races are dominated by the words “unsuitable ground” and in truth, fall to pieces somewhat. It does feel like the day is falling flat. It’s brightened up by Elegantemente winning the bumper, living up to her name in the process, which roughly translates as “stylishly” in Italian. She looks the part, much more forward than most, with some substance to her; we like her a lot.
Carnival Sunday sees the rain falling early, heavy, and welcome. It doesn’t stem the rising tide of non-runners, Nicky Henderson pulling the well-regarded Crystal Island mid-morning. Then, as if the level of pathos couldn’t get deeper, we have an inspection as part of the track has standing water. After the last two days, we just need a meteor shower to complete the ridiculousness of it all.
I’m thinking the competitors in the first are all in need of a run before I realise this is the race for the Shetland ponies. A couple of the names are a bit on the risque side; Pankymoor Rumpy Pumpy (after the Jilly Cooper tribute here on Friday, I wonder whether this might be one of her unpublished novels) and Beeftub Bandit, which as a nickname frankly could apply to any of the golfing photographers in the press room.
The opening maiden sees a decent looking field in the paddock and I’m delighted Get Out Of My Way wins, not least as the pressure is off Trackside having put him up in the paddock for the Life. He’ll keep improving and Fergal has a nice horse on his hands. As have the O’Neills in Lion Rose Sivola, but sadly he slithers to the ground after the last. A race with a bit of depth, and a race it should pay to follow.
Trackside look like making it 2-2 as Spectacularsunrise powers clear from the front but Ken Pitterson, sat next to me, puts the bok on it by saying “the winner’s in front, only has to jump the last” before it fails to do so. Ken is clearly to blame for this accident and I refuse to stand next to him for the rest of the day.
Jonjo’s bemoaning his fortunes before the Greatwood and has a “lucky hug” with my assistant Becky, and blow me down if it doesn't work, Pioneer Pete coming home in front from the giant Tennessee Tango, who is surely going to go over a fence soon. I’m waiting for Jonjo to give Becky the credit, Aidan style, on the ITV interview but instead he says it’s all AJ’s work.
It’s more carnage than Carnival by now, the rain just won’t stop, and it’s time to go home. Not before someone at the Wednesday preview stops me and says thank you for Atomic City. Job well done, I say…
See you at Haydock.
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