Yesterday, I watched two so-called sporting events and I really wish I hadn’t. After being highly critical of the grim death toll of horses in the racing industry – 2602 deaths now in 5879 days – I first found myself tuning in to ITV’s pictures and BBC Radio Five Live’s commentary of the Grand National in Aintree. The BBC’s horse racing commentator, John Hunt, is one of the great radio voices and soon he was describing the sight of “those magnificent animals” in the parade ring. And they were magnificent, too, immaculately turned out, apparently in peak physical health. I can see how easy it must be to be taken in by the spectacle and colour. For a brief moment in time, I was almost awestruck with the sheer beauty of it, but soon I had recovered what remains of my senses.
The Big Race was delayed by the actions of animal rights activists who tried to stop it taking place. An enormous police presence – I suspect Liverpool and the surrounding area was more susceptible to crime as the meeting took place – ensured the race took place after 118 people were arrested for various offences. ITV declined to show any footage of the protests so it was left to Five Live to describe what was going on. Eventually, the horses moved into some form 0f order and John Hunt declared, “And we’re off.”
The horses leapt over the first fence and one of the horses fell heavily. I had no idea which one, but you could immediately tell this wasn’t some minor event. The horse crumpled to the floor and the commentary team said nothing. Perhaps all was well? Surely the commentary team would have acknowledged a serious event such as a death, but no, on we went over these colossal fences, with other horses falling or unseating their riders, some carrying on riderless as the remaining horses carried on.
So far as I can tell, the Grand National covers the entire course twice so I spent much of the first half of the race waiting for the second lap to begin. When it did, the commentators made some comment about the horses having to avoid the first fence second time round, but not really explaining why. But as they were speaking, the answer was clear. In front of the fence was the infamous screen, erected around a horse about to be destroyed or one that had already died. But not a word about that minor business. This was, after all, the greatest horse race in the world. Who could possibly be interested in one of the participants dying when millions had bets riding on the result? I’ll bet those who’d bet on Hill Sixteen were devastated when they realised that the horse had broken its neck when falling and had either died instantly or been destroyed behind the screen.
Having chosen to watch the race, I unexpectedly found myself feeling physically sick. It’s possible I was looking out for such an outcome and saw what I wanted to see, which is a horse dying, as if to prove my point about what an awful sport it is. I can’t be sure, but in that moment I wish I hadn’t bothered. But the cruelty went on.
As the horses tired, some desperately so, out came the whips. Mr Coffey, who had led the race up until the 28th – the 28th! – fence suddenly ran out of gas and slipped back into the field enabling another horse to tear past and claim the prize which to a horse must be not dying. Mr Coffey’s jockey must have worn himself out what with all the furious whip action but the poor horse had nothing left. As the crowd roared at what they clearly saw as a major spectacle, I turned away. A sport, for God’s sake, where the main participants have no idea they are actually racing, and risk serious injury and death before being turned into glue.
What persuaded me to watch something in order to be offended, I cannot say. I didn’t feel guilty as such but I felt slightly dirty because for one brief moment in time I was there, at least in spirit, with those who love horse racing and are able to set aside the gruesome reality of erecting large screens to kill the ones who fall injured. Here, in a nutshell, is why I have never been horse racing and never will.
If that wasn’t enough for one day, I then retired to my man cave to watch the boxing on BT Sport, featuring a heavyweight match for the WBO interim heavyweight title, whatever the hell that is, between Britain’s Joe Joyce and China’s Zhilei Zhang. I had heard of Joyce, who is yet another one of these promising unbeaten British heavyweight boxers destined for world title glory. Until recently, Joyce has been handed a series of eminently winnable fights until recently, presumably to inflate his unbeaten record, but in order to get that title shot his promoters have been upping the ante with the quality of opponents. Last year, Joyce defeated New Zealand’s Joseph Parker, a former champion who is now well into the long decline and Zhang represented the stairway to the stars. 40 next month, Zhang would surely be past it, compared to the youthful Joyce who is a mere 37? From the earliest exchanges it quickly became clear that Joyce would not be putting his opponent away as the Chinese fighter landed at will, rocking Joyce with some biog shots and causing an big swelling around Joyce’s eye which eventually brought about a welcome stoppage.
Let’s be honest, it was a crap fight between two just about better than journeymen fighters. Doubtless they will trouser a few quid from the fight, though nothing life changing. There will probably be a rematch which Joyce will win – maybe – and we will have that big world title shot on Pay Per View, hopefully allowing both participants to put aside a few quid for when they end in in residential care, not knowing what day it is. Because, like it or not, that’s what happens in a sport where the aim is to render one’s opponent unconscious. Getting hit on the head is probably not the best plan for enjoying old age or even knowing you are in it. And I watched it. I’m part of the problem. I don’t pay for the PPV shows – and just in case you’re wondering, officer, I don’t watch them on a dodgy feed, either – but I am occasionally tempted to watch two men, and very occasionally, two women beat the shit out of each other.
Horse Racing is, apparently, the sport of kings and boxing is the sweet science. I mean, really? It’s just little men and little women riding horses and trying to make them run faster than other horses. At least the little men and women know they are trying to win something even if the animals don’t. And killing off someone’s brain cells is a sweet science? How does that work? Rugby, for example, is facing a crisis whereby hundreds, maybe thousands, of players now have dementia, and likely chronic traumatic encephalopathy (CTE) as a direct result of all those head injuries. Your average rugby players is 2.67 times more likely to develop dementia, over 3 times to develop Parkinson’s, and over 15 times more likely to develop MND. And that’s with head injury assessments (HIA). Imagine having an HIA in boxing matches? The doctor would be in the ring virtually all the time. Rugbys League and Union are definitely sports, Horse racing and boxing? Probably, albeit very strange ones.
I’m not calling for horse racing or boxing to be banned. I don’t like banning things just because I am uncomfortable with them but I can see the debates about free will, which horses don’t have, and a sport where the unsaid aim is to injure and even maim the opponent.
The main lesson for me is I shouldn’t be watching horse racing or boxing if it upsets me or pisses me off. The horse racing I can definitely live without, the boxing possibly less so.
