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The trouble with Cheltenham is that I have too many bets. Something comes along to distract me from those I have backed ante-post. Then I will bump into Festival acquaintances who insist that the stable dogs have been barking one all over Co. Carlow or trainer friends who will insist, ‘We really do fancy this one a bit.’ So they get a saver, too.
There are the sentimental bets. ‘Oh, Pleased As Punch did me nicely, winning at 8–1 at Sandown last September, I’d better not leave him out.’ And then there are the ‘story bets’. Unlucky Sam Thomas was nearly killed on Paul Nicholls’s gallops the other morning and put out of the Festival by the falling Woolcombe Folly. Wouldn’t you just bet that the horse will add insult to injury by winning the Irish Independent Arkle Chase in the hands of another jockey?
A sensible punter holds his fire and does not bet in every race, does not chase losses and does not allow himself to be put off because a horse he expects to win is quoted at a mean price. At Cheltenham I make all those mistakes. But I am, I know, in good company. The best thing that happened to me last week was to get back on his impeccable Lambourn gallops with Barry Hills, who was nearly killed by a fearful illness last year. To hear him fretting, as he has so often done, about the weather holding back the horses and to hear his language as colourfully robust as ever when he leaned out of the car window to give instructions made you feel that God was in his heaven after all. But even Barry, one of the most successful trainer-punters, confesses that at Cheltenham he can find himself betting in every race. And at the Festival even the real pros find themselves swept up in the excitement of the occasion, forgetting that there above everywhere else, as Dave Nevison puts it, ‘Misfortune is the gambler’s faithful companion.’
Seeking to boost my Cheltenham punting pot at Sandown’s Imperial Cup meeting, I could have done worse. A bunch of likely lads who were a pint or two ahead of me approached me before the first for my fancies. ‘Don’t miss Paul Nicholls’s Red Harbour in the first,’ I said. ‘He’s been touting it for weeks. And note that Tony McCoy has tortured himself to get down to a rare 10st 3lb to ride Qaspal in the big race.’
‘Oh, thanks,’ they said. ‘By way of fair trade, friends tell us that Edinburgh Knight will do the business in the 2.50 at Wolverhampton.’ Edinburgh Knight won with the ease of an houri reclining on harem cushions. He didn’t break sweat. But my fiver hardly won me a fortune. He started at 8–13 on. Meanwhile Red Harbour, who had opened at 6–1, won at 4–1 and Qaspal, backed in from 4–1 to 11–4, also came home a winner. Fair trade? They must have been bankers.
Qaspal, owned by J.P. McManus and trained by Philip Hobbs, will clearly win again. Tony McCoy said the fast pace had suited him. ‘He was flat out all the way but I always knew he was going to finish his race.’ Talking at Esher station, an investment banker who specialises in eastern Europe was querying why the incredibly talented and determined McCoy is not winning more big races. The answer to that, I fear, is that McCoy’s handsome retainer ties him to the horses owned by J.P. McManus, many of them trained by Jonjo O’Neill at Jackdaw’s Castle, and that the current batch simply aren’t good enough to win in the best company.
I once asked JP at Cheltenham how many horses he had and the answer he gave was, ‘I can’t tell you. All I know is that I’ve got too many slow ones.’ Let’s hope that the likeable Jonjo has found some faster ones for Cheltenham.
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