When I am watching sport, I always like to think that the various contestants know not only that they are winning, but that they are competing at all. This explains, in part, why I do not quite get horse racing. Actually, that’s not true: I don’t get it at all.
My local train station was rammed this morning with people in tweed, travelling to Cheltenham for the annual festival. I could only but admire their dedication as they shuffled up the incline, allowing a mere five hours to get from Bristol Parkway to Cheltenham. I knew the train services are bad in this country, but not that bad.
What I don’t know about horse racing is just about everything about horse racing. I know that many races are legitimately ‘fixed’ in the sense that some horses have to carry extra weight in their saddles in order to ensure that every horse passes the finishing post at the same time. Imagine doing this in, say the Olympic Games? We could make Usain Bolt run in flippers to give everyone else a chance. Actually, something like this happens in low levels of golf where crap players – like me – are given extra shots in a round so we can ‘beat’ players who are much better than us.
I could not get away from today’s coverage, first on Radio Five Live, then later in BBC Points West where one of the presenters was despatched to cover the event and ands it was all very jolly. Lots of smiles, gurning drunks staggering by, cheerful owners counting their winnings – it was all rather lovely. Just before “And now the weather forecast”, the presenter whispered that whilst the first day had been a resounding success, it hadn’t ended too well for three of the horses which were destroyed following unlucky falls.
Clearly the sport itself cannot be blamed for the fatalities since the horses knew the risks they were running. If you really believe that piece of made up nonsense, you will presumably believe they’ve won (or lost) a race, too.
Luckily, once the three deaths were out of the way, the BBC could return to what it was good at, showing footage of women in posh frocks and the entire population of Ireland trying to find a boozer in the city centre.
I’m a little uncomfortable with the death toll in jump racing and I always was. A friend of mine used to run a sweepstake on the first horse to be put down in a Grand National. One year, two horses were killed and he had to ring the jockey club to find out which one had died first in order to pay out to the lucky winner. Bad taste? You bet it is, but only marginally worse than what happens to many horses during and after horse races and what happens to your average horse once their racing careers are over. More dog food, anyone?
I am sure I would enjoy the craic at Cheltenham, or any other racing event and I’d probably enjoy the beer even more. The racing itself? Well, that leaves me baffled. And anyway, anything John Inverdale likes that much can’t be all good, can it?
