ONLY MONEY…

So here we go again, racing looks all set to shoot itself in the foot.

Jockey Club Racecourses are looking for a single sponsor for what they perceive as the three big chases of the season: The Betfair Chase, scheduled for Haydock this Saturday, the William Hill King George VI Chase at Kempton on Boxing Day, and the Betfred Cheltenham Gold Cup itself at the Festival in March.

Jockey Club Racecourses seem to have this slightly wonky idea that they can market the two preceding events as part of the route on the ‘road map’ to Cheltenham and chasing’s jewel in the crown. A light bulb seems to have flashed in someone’s head here. Doh! Had a great idea; let’s get a non-racing sponsor for our major jumping events. Let’s kick those bookmakers where it hurts – show them who is boss around here.

Oh dear! Or as Jeremy Paxman would say – yeees!  There are several issues Jockey Club Racecourses seem to have overlooked.

Firstly, racing is not the attractive pursuit to those that operate outside its confines that it is to those earning a living from within. Try applying for a position with a blue chip company and listing horseracing as one of your interests and see what reception you get.

Most people beyond the earshot of a grandstand tannoy, view racing as a somewhat grubby and corrupt pursuit; one where jockeys habitually stop and start horses at will, and a group of people (presumably affiliated to the Cosa Nostra) know most, if not all, the results in advance.

And even if they find racing vaguely interesting or exciting, it involves gambling, and therefore anyone interested in racing is likely to be more attracted to that seamy aspect of the sport rather than the sport itself. And employers don’t wish to employ people that are liable to be placing bets and then monitoring the progress of their wagers on company time.

That aside, racing, particularly jump racing, is a precarious sport for participants and followers alike. No one wants to sponsor a race and then incur the wrath of the teddy bear and sugar-plum brigade, especially if they form part of their potential market.

‘One-time Gold Cup Hero Dies In Horrific Toys ISUZ Chase Fall’ is not exactly good publicity. Okay, that is worse case scenario, but, let’s not kid ourselves, it happens.

Less dramatic, but more likely, is the possibility of a sponsor gearing itself and its advertising machine up to a major jumping event that is called off.

Such a possibility exists this Saturday as the Betfair Chase at Haydock is possibly no better than levels-you-devils to go ahead. That is if foreseen Arctic conditions materialise. And, already, with the thermometer plunging toward the red, that seems very likely. A couple of similar occasions can make a sponsor edgy. All that bubbly put literally on ice is not good business.

So the Jockey Club Racecourses dream of bypassing bookmakers – the one group within the industry that does actually understand the mechanics of the business – whilst beckoning to outsiders in a major and expensive one-off deal – seems to contain more smoke and mirrors than substance.

It is not my business to defend bookmakers. It is my contention that they have had too much say in the way racing is run for too long. The tail has wagged the dog for so long it is impossible to distinguish one from the other.

Bookmakers’ constant meddling with the fixture list, their insistence of racing virtually 24/7 – 363 days a year to the extent we now even face racing on Good Friday – should have been tempered long ago.

As should their assertion that increased turnover equals increased profits to racing. All bookmakers and gamblers know this to be a barefaced lie: decreased turnover (meaning punters have already done in their cash) is what signals increased profit.

What bookmakers have always strived to instigate is extra fixtures and more handicaps to bewilder those that spend their social security payments in their offices.

That is before the bursting of the bubble means their customers take a detour to the pub or off-licence. Theirs is, and always has been, a policy of bamboozling the punter with the sheer weight of racing on a Saturday (under most circumstances the day by which bookmakers’ accounting figures stand or fall) and of never breaking the habit of continual betting: that is to say, from one race to another, one day to another, one week, one month, and so on … The damage they have inflicted on racing was done a long time hence, and is unlikely to ever be reversed without a Tote monopoly.

We know the bookmakers for the crocodiles beneath the murky waters that they are. To be fair to them they are no worse than the energy suppliers or the rail companies – possibly better in some respects as at least we are not compelled to employ their services.

But all big companies have one driving force in common: that is the need to make money. They are never content to take a drop in profit. Increased profit is a given – it is sacrosanct. Forget wars, petulance, a sliding economy; their bellies need the constant replenishment only the green dollar or the crinkly purple twenty can supply. They possess insatiable appetites.

We know this. If we didn’t know it before the turn of the century, we do now.

But Jockey Club Racecourses have picked the wrong time and place for a battle with the old enemy. If there is one thing bookmakers are good for it is sponsorship.

They don’t much care for the semantics of it. A Derby, a Group 1, a Grade 1; hurdles, chases, the Flat, it is all the same to the grey men in the counting houses.

If the public wish to treasure the gold standard these races provide, bookmakers will chuck a few quid at races like the Eclipse, the Supreme Novices’ or the King George and Queen Elizabeth so long as they can trade with impunity on the first at Lucky Meadows and the last at Wolverhampton. Don’t look too deeply at their motives; just be grateful they pump cash into the system.

Jockey Club Racecourses’s comments that they would like a single sponsor for the pot of gold that is the Gold Cup and the two big chases that lead to it (what about the Charlie Hall, the Hennessy or the Aon; don’t they constitute major trails?) and that they would prefer it should this sponsor not be a bookmaker, is tantamount to requesting blood donors only have silver spoons in their mouths.

Racing is an insular industry. Bookmakers and punters are fully familiar with its rules – outsiders less so.

Outsiders will soon tire of what they will quickly perceive as racing’s irrationality.

They will fail to understand why two inspections have to be called before midday to determine racing can go ahead and then find, much to their chagrin when they arrive at the track, that it is sprinkled with a covering of frost straight from a Christmas card, and that their journey has indeed been wasted. Leaves on the line halting the 8.20 to Paddington ain’t nothing!

They will tire of the fact that a race can be delayed because the racecourse doctor is no longer present, or a horse is running loose. They will fail to understand why a stewards’ inquiry takes twenty minutes to ratify a race that has already been run. They will wonder why is should be necessary to fine the winning jockey; also that such an act can and often does attract more publicity than the race itself.

Bookmakers and punters take all the above and more in stride – just another day at the office!

So Jockey Club Racecourses have rubbed bookmakers the wrong way over the wrong issue. Already an offended William Hill is hinting at taking its business elsewhere.

Their public relations representative, Kate Miller, sounding as if she had smoked a hundred cigarettes the night before (she may not smoke, she just has a husky sexy voice that provokes speculation), expounded the company line by warning William Hill may be reviewing its sponsorship commitment. That is jargon for: we have a loaded gun and we are prepared to use it.

At Cheltenham on Sunday, she sounded genuinely aggrieved at the suggestion her firm should stand aside from its Kempton deal with the King George in order to be replaced by a top-tier sponsor.

Whilst conceding it would be beneficial for racing to attract sponsors from outside racing, thus potentially attracting wider audiences, she described the attitude shown toward bookmakers by Jockey Club Racecourses as disappointing.

That’s one way of putting it Kate. Downright bonkers is another! Even if Jockey Club Racecourses strike it lucky and lure a sponsor down the road to Cheltenham, keeping them may prove another matter.

Big firms are courted internationally. Competition is intense. It is fanciful to assume a major global company would wish to spend the kind of money needed to bolster the three events earmarked by Jockey Club Racecourses in order for its clients to shiver in a field in the depths of winter.

When it comes to sponsorship, bookmakers turn into racing’s friend, but even they do not have limitless pockets. The big layers do all have a flagship race. They are not Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt, adopting a principal.

Jockey Club Racecourses’s Road To Cheltenham may be constructed of yellow brick as far as they are concerned; in the real world its compound is somewhat more down-to-earth.

THE END…

So that is the end of another Flat racing season then… This time around there was no Frankel.

The season started with grim news surrounding Godolphin, an organisation that continues to underperform considering the huge amount of money it invests in bloodstock – much of it seemingly unwisely.

Although they ended the season on a brighter note than they started it, Godolphin still has a way to go if it is to achieve the major global targets set.

Observing from afar, it appears Godolphin has accrued too many highly-paid chiefs and not enough Indians. The policy of boycotting British trainers and insisting it is a Dubai-run organisation may be all well and good, but there is no denying such a policy has resulted in a strangulation of prize-money won.

At the other end of the spectrum there were success stories for the Hannons Richard, and for the solid Ballydoyle operation overseen by Aidan O’Brien, who will start next year with an untold spectre of riches.

Declaration Of War, Magician and Kingsbarns represent the older division, and all three look likely to snap up high-profile races next year.

Richard Hughes and Ryan Moore can look back on 2013 with satisfaction, as can Johnny Murtagh, a man apparently possessing a Midas touch in both the riding and training sphere. For once the juvenile crop, spearheaded by Toormore, War Command, Australia and Kingston Hill look exciting.

You can go off some horses. Not all of them are like those charming ponies that canter across young girls’ bedroom walls.

Nor could they fill the hooves of the Herculean character that was Boxer in George Orwell’s Animal Farm. He was the workhorse that tirelessly hoisted the farm on his broad shoulders when it was faced with ruination. This before, exhausted and burnt out, he unwittingly aiding his own demise. In his determination to aid the greater cause, complying with the wishes of the pigs in charge, he willingly presented himself on his final journey to the establishment known as the abattoir.

I am not expecting, or requiring such a drastic one-sided relationship from racehorses that I might temporarily support, but just lately I get the feeling one or two are taking me for something of a fool.

As an example there is the case of Penina, a filly running in the nursery at Doncaster last Saturday from a mark of 66. Constructing a case for her was not that difficult after a recent fourth in a similar race at York.

From a low-profile but normally reasonably successful yard, punters seemed to agree with me as she was an overnight market-mover, touching as low as 4/1 in the morning. Penina finished twelfth of twelve, beaten a total of twenty-eight lengths. For a third-favourite in a six furlong event, that takes a bit of doing.

Most horses (although not necessarily as obliging as Boxer) are willing subjects that by and large will do their best. However, as far as punters are concerned, there is a drawback.

That is, as you have doubtless noticed, horses can’t speak. Therefore we have to second-guess what they will do the whole time. Because they cannot be asked, we have to guess whether the trip/ground is right; whether a left-handed/right-handed track suits; whether they have a headache; in short, if all is well within their world.

In fact, betting on racehorses requires a great leap of faith and a good deal of guesswork. Unable to eliminate guesswork completely, all we as analysts can hope to do is remove as much of it as possible. We accept that, but at times it seems as if, like the husband that doesn’t recognise his wife is cheating on him, we are the last to know.

Look at Favourite Treat on Saturday. I thought he had a good chance – something that was reflected in the betting. He was no good thing; but, with recent form on a soft surface and a progressive profile, he was entitled to run a race of sorts.

All of a sudden, around mid-morning, almost doubling in price, it seemed common knowledge that a telescope would be required to spot what sort of race he would run.

Bookmakers could not give Favourite Treat away. This was explained by halfway as Favourite Treat (hardly living up to his name for his supporters) began to lose ground. He became systematically passed by horse after horse until settling like a stone on an ocean bed for nineteenth place out of a field of twenty – beaten in excess of fifty-two lengths.

Now, I appreciate that in a field of twenty there will be nineteen tales of disappointment and misfortune. However, it strikes me no half-fancied horse should be beaten as far as fifty-plus lengths in a seven furlong handicap without a resoundingly good reason. As far as I know none has been forwarded for Favourite Treat.

Perhaps the horse could enlighten us, perhaps he had a word with his stablemates who then laid him on the carrot exchanges (hence the market drift) telling them he would rather stick his snout in a bucket of treacle than run in the Betfred Fun And Friendly Handicap. Perhaps he had a word in Fred’s ear. Whatever mitigating circumstances may or may not exist, Favourite Treat was neither fun nor friendly on Saturday.

Losers are all part of this business. Backing winners means an acceptance of backing losers. But there are losers and then there are horses that are just ‘no good’. And it is alarming when the market is able to predict a poor run from a fancied contender. Something has to be wrong in the cases when that is what it does.

There was worse to come for favourite backers when Rhombus, the 13/2 market-leader in the November Handicap, was never seen with a chance, trailing in a dismal eighteenth of twenty-three, beaten over fifty lengths.

Ground or no ground that is a staggering distance for a fancied horse to be beaten in a Flat race (Forgotten Hero was five lengths further back in nineteenth – Lahaag was over a hundred lengths behind the winner in twenty-first position).

I know it was late in the season and horses can topple over the edge. But, if that is the case, should trainers not take some responsibility? By definition a trainer is supposed to do just that – the clue is in the title.

FOUR THOUSAND AND ALL THAT…

The cynical might say it is only a number. Four thousand: three thousand, what’s the difference? Frankly for a National Hunt jockey, either figure is phenomenal. Considering he has already smashed six previous riding records, some might say he has little left to prove.

First to go was the record of National Hunt winners for a season (253), followed by the fastest 100-winners (admittedly assisted by an enhanced fixture list). Next to succumb to the McCoy magic was the long-held record established by Sir Gordon Richards in 1947 of the highest number of winners in any one season. McCoy scuttled Richards’ record by a greedy twenty when registering 289 winners in 2002.

Next for the torpedo was Richard Dunwoody’s tally when McCoy became the winning-most jump jockey of all time. Then, not content with beating previous records, he set about singularly busting down the doors leading to his own. He became the first jump jockey to ride 2,500 winners back in 2006 then rode his 3,000th winner in February 2009.

Already in a class of his own as far as targets were concerned, McCoy set about winning everything from selling hurdles to the Grand National, the Gold Cup and Champion Hurdle. Focusing on race-riding to the point of it being an obsession, Tony McCoy, who has now been champion jockey for eighteen consecutive seasons (another record), is a winner-riding machine. If not physically then certainly mentally constructed for the competitiveness of horseracing, there was only ever one purpose in the mind of Tony McCoy.

At thirty-nine years of age, he is getting on for a jump jockey. However, considering his achievements, you could still be forgiven for thinking he is older. Maybe he is; maybe he is on his second or third incarnation. Maybe in an earlier form he learned his trade from a chariot’s platform in Greece’s Hippodrome or in the Roman Circus. With weight not an issue in those former days, his face would not have had that gaunt pinched just-sucked-something sharp look it has now.

Tony McCoy is not everyone’s cup of lemon tea, although most punters love him, except perhaps those that bet against him and then have to witness an in-flight McCoy in a driving finish. True, Ruby is the scalpel to McCoy’s knife; both may be of equal ability, it is just that McCoy gives the impression of going to bed at night with a racecourse commentary running through his brain, whilst adrenalin replaces blood.

Out of the saddle, he can appear sullen, detached and haunted by his own sport and the pressures he heaps upon himself. In the saddle, ruthless in a finish, he can pick a horse up from the floor and lunge late to snatch a prize that rightfully belongs to someone else.

Time and again we have seen it (Synchronised in the 2012 Cheltenham Gold Cup); but McCoy is also a master out in the country, often nursing tentative jumpers over fences whilst they gather confidence, before the galvanised assault down the straight.

When McCoy is in the saddle anything is possible. That is what punters love – the money is never done-in until the race is complete. Preoccupied by an unquenchable thirst for winners – forget the great Good Friday shall-we-shan’t-we race debate – McCoy would ride for expenses at Hexham on Christmas Day. Some might label him mad – a one-dimensional one-trick pony only capable of functioning in the long shadows of winter beneath an iron sky: a man that needs the challenge presented by eight flights or twelve fences.

What he got at Towcester a little after 3pm on Thursday November 7th was two miles and five furlongs aboard hurdling debutant Mountain Tunes – the horse widely expected to supply a landmark four-thousandth success.

Racing is no respecter of convention or celebration. If it can sabotage the longed-for or the expected, rip up the script or rain on a parade, it will. It tried its hardest here but failed.

McCoy proved bigger than the scythe-carrying horseman. Wearing JP McManus’s waspish silks, McCoy, in front of his mentor and principal owner, his family, and urged on by well-wishers throughout the land, rode one of his most inspired finishes – one worthy of the occasion.

Only fifth turning for home, it seemed as if all the expectation was about to become thwarted. For this was meant to be the golden day – a private one for those within the circle. As with all horse races, the pre-show prices became irrelevant in running. All those with itchy fingers on their waiting machines could see was the lay button.

Pushed along, then clumsy at the second-last, Mountain Tunes was third and apparently labouring. Surely the dream would have to wait – it would be a humble affair at Southwell, or an event when our backs were partially turned. But wait … McCoy at his most determined … a horse in on the act, digging deep into its own box of tricks and conjuring a dash of magic dust. A tired leader; one more push from the last; a near collision with Panama Petrus in mid-air then a second wind; reserves from the depths – enough to pass the spoiler’s last chance, Kris Spin, and what was 3,999 is now 4,000.

Tony McCoy passes another milestone. The face – a mask of stone – cracks ever so slightly as it dawns. McCoy has cheated the gods yet again. The crowd erupts, the jockey responds to the claps on the back, the excitement from the stands. For a moment he is mortal in victory. It is only a brief moment. Already he is explaining that last flight collision with Aidan Coleman, steadying his mount, preparing for the ride back.

We can only watch and admire. Who is mad now? Not the man with the black-and-white sports gloves (I have an identical pair, there the similarity with the great man ends); no, not the man so-often decried for whatever reason – as victims of such elevated positions are – now so irrefutably, so incontrovertibly the master of all he surveys. This was the day all concerned will remember (paradoxically possibly McCoy least of all) long into the autumn of old-age.

Just one more day at the office for Tony McCoy: another record smashed (how many is it now?), another day’s work achieved, all this and Southwell tomorrow…

LOST IN TRANSLATION

It was quite a show on Sunday at Longchamp: Vive la France – or Long live France – literal translation: Up with France – loose translation: Up the British. Not much changes over the years; we remain uneasy allies with our Gaelic cousins across the Channel.

You could spot the French on Sunday: they were the ones in suits, some of whom were ever so slightly annoyed that the racing had interrupted a hearty lunch. Some were even more annoyed when locally-trained Catcall was adjudged to have come too soon in the Abbaye and Lesstalk In Paris was reckoned to have come much too soon in the Marcel Boussac, when attempting to make all. It seems coming too soon is perceived as a misdemeanour that justifies the return of the guillotine in France.

You could spot the British: they were the underdressed ones drinking beer on the lawn.

You could also spot the Japanese: draped in national flags and bringing with them an infectious enthusiasm for Japanese-trained duo Orfevre – French for goldsmith – and Kizuna – Japanese for bond. The Japanese don’t just support their horses; rather, having made a monumental journey of about six thousand miles as Air Nippon flies, they live every stride their compatriots take. They really seem immersed in the game of horseracing. After several near misses, [El Condor Pasa, Deep Impact and Orfevre last year and again this], their turn surely awaits in a race that seems to mean so much to them.

Staging seven Group 1s on one afternoon could only occur in a country whose racing is operated nationally by a pari mutual [mutual betting] system where profits are ploughed directly back into racing.

This in stark contrast to this country where racing is seen as an industry and managed accordingly, churning cream for the fat-cats that are dependent on it to run their Bentleys.

Top of the list are of course the bookmakers who over the past twenty years have gradually gained virtual control of the way the business is run. This should not come as a surprise as bookmakers are business organisations first and foremost, driven by profit as opposed to leanings of the philanthropic variety.

They do generously contribute to racing’s purse by sponsoring the odd prestige event. Ladbrokes finance and promote the St Leger (not without demanding their pound of flesh) and Coral and Betfred do the same for the Eclipse and the Haydock Sprint. William Hill prefer to confine their support to gold-edged National Hunt events such as the King George VI Chase at Kempton and the Supreme Novices’ at Cheltenham – possibly reasoning there is a slight chance bad weather will let them off the hook once in a blue moon.

Of course bookmakers are in their elements when adding their names to events such as the Ayr Gold Cup or, as is the case this Saturday at York, the Coral Handicap and, at Newmarket, the Betfred Cesarewitch. One firm has circumnavigated all this with the This isn’t The [Stan James Champion Hurdle] Handicap at York on Friday over a mile.

Private companies will always put the interests of their own shareholders before those of the consumer.

Energy firms, rather than joining in the general Macaroon mantra of us ‘all being in this together’, prefer to forego reduced profit margins in favour of increasing prices to impoverished householders already paying over the odds for electricity and gas supplies.

Even the chocolate manufacturers are about to join in the scrum, increasing their prices just in time for Christmas on the premise that the price of cocoa has gone up. How seasonal, even though chocolate has been shrinking in quantity for years whilst the prices steadily rise…

Back to Sunday, and the non-private racing show that was Prix De l’arc de Triomphe day at Longchamp.

Actually it was a triumph as well as a Triomphe. And there were horses as well as people. In fact it became something of an equine Ladies’ Day.

Unbeaten three-year-old filly Treve – French for tactic – despite running black with sweat beforehand, was an emphatic Arc winner. Moonlight Cloud – means a cloud diffusing the rays of the moon, or moonlight cloud – set the place alight after her unbelievable last-to-first success in the Prix de la Foret.

Her win put me in mind of two other notable fillies [actually, Moonlight Cloud is mare] in Zarkava, whose Arc win was unforgettable and the equally brilliant American filly Zenyatta. Both had a habit of milking audiences, starting slowly and coming from seemingly impossible positions to win races of the highest calibre with consummate ease.

So this Saturday it is a case of follow that Newmarket! With the Dubai Challenge Stakes, the Cesarewitch, the Rockfel and the Autumn Stakes it promises to be a cracking card. Although some translation – or at least an explanation is required – to justify reasoning behind staging two Group 1 juvenile events separated by only thirty-five minutes and a furlong  [the Middle Park and the Dewhurst] on the same card.

Be Ready should not be underestimated in the Dewhurst – he looks a potential star for Godolphin – but will face the big battalions from Ballydoyle, so good luck with that one!

York offers handicap after handicap for those of that persuasion, and one of the first major National Hunt meetings of the year kicks off in Wales when Chepstow steps from behind  a flat curtain of mediocrity to stage top-class jumping action.

All this as the Pit And The Pendulum that is the weather threatens to sharpen its blade. Cold winds are on the way from Russia – a steppe too far perhaps for those that need new winter attire.

TIME’S ARROW

Heavy ground at Salisbury in October: it’s not right somehow. Salisbury is a summer track. Seeing the cathedral shivering and partly obscured by a mizzle looks like a climate-change warning. But there it is, what else can we expect now the precious last months of summer have slipped beneath the horizon?

Already this week has contained elements of the unexpected for your correspondent, who, to be frank, has little to correspond with you about. Unless you count an excursion to Basingstoke town centre on Monday, the washing machine packing up and the car battery giving out, which I am not sure we should. Why is it we never get a winner when we need it most?

Basingstoke may not be as quintessentially English as Salisbury; however, it has a better shopping centre and an excellent library – being the purpose of visit. It also has a Chinese restaurant that offers an all-you-can-eat lunchtime buffet for £6.90. I have always thought this a dangerous way to conduct business – about as inappropriate as the woman that throws open her dressing gown and dares a suitor to ‘Take me – do what you will with me daarling!’ It can be asking for trouble. As for me, I have to say I am more likely to wreak havoc at the buffet than in the boudoir these days, but unlike some of my fellow diners, I may have heaped two meals on my plate but did consume it all. Strangely, when it comes to wastage, it seems the overweight eaters are the worse culprits.

Suitably refuelled for the rest of the week, I finished the shopping and called into Ladbrokes on the way to the multi-storey. Not having an interest in the day’s racing (in truth I was not even too sure what was running – a brief look at the cards the night before told me all I needed to know), I don’t quite know why I even bothered – habit I suppose, something bookmakers rely on to keep the wheels of their businesses turning. I arrived at one of racing’s coalfaces in time to see some cardboard horses running at a virtual track. Some of those horses need looking at – they have terrible actions – I feel they run too often. Four horses went over the line together although none were particularly vigorously ridden, making me assume there was more than one non-trier involved in the finish.

There was also a race at Bath taking place. Richard Hughes was on the favourite and seemed a long way back when they turned for home. He conjured a run out of the horse and loomed large on the outside a furlong out, looking sure to win only to be run out of it close home. There was some muttering from the handful of punters in the shop. One took revenge on his ticket, ripping it to shreds, which was probably an expensive piece of vandalism. He then started to swear at the screen, directing his comments at Hughsie. I say started to swear because the word of choice started with an f…, but he retracted it as if suddenly reminded he was inside a monastery. It strikes me a suppressed swear word, indicating it is not part of the speaker’s normal vocabulary, carries more weight than the one that is spoken habitually. The man had clearly backed the Hughes-ridden favourite and felt aggrieved – but not so aggrieved that it stopped him scribbling a replacement selection on another slip.

My comrades-at-arms were not the sort you would invite to a dinner-party. There was what I took to be a lady (I can’t be sure though) sitting on a stool clutching a betting slip as if it were a doctor’s prescription. Her mobile went off and she jabbering into it without taking her eyes off the bank of screens. There was the obligatory machine-player, someone that had adopted the thing judging by his desperate desire to feed it. He was pressing buttons and holding symbols at lightning speed, seemingly knowing what he was doing, making me wonder whether he should put this knowledge to better use and pursue a career in IT.

There was someone fighting sleep in a corner as two would-be punters finalised selections for the next race from somewhere other than Bath.

There was what I took to be the manageress overseeing everything from her perch by what used to be a bandit screen. In my day, a betting office manager had to settle bets and spent most of his time doing just that – facing a mountain of slips with an ever-growing headache. These days I presume some machine made in China completes the task by day and sorts out the employee roster and wages by night.

If the sparse and motley collection of customers in Basingstoke is anything to go by, I doubt the volume of bets in betting offices comes close to what they once were. In many ways this is strange. Cluttered with technology, punters in today’s clinical shops – fitted-out like Vodafone units – expect to watch the action and can back and see events from all over the world; whereas, back in the day, they listened to commentaries from a crackly loudspeaker the size of an old Bush radio. Yet the betting offices of today seem to harbour customers that look as if they have mistaken the place for a soup kitchen. Surely this means something is wrong somewhere.

It would appear John McCririck is a man attempting to wind back the clock. Embittered by his dismissal from Channel 4 Racing, his court case against his former employers is in progress. John is unwisely taking on the big battalions in the hope of exposing ageism. Sorry if this is news John, but employers are not forming an orderly queue to take on seventy-three-year-old writers/presenters – or people of that age to do anything. In an attempt to make ends meet, I know of a reliable and fit sixty-year-old that could not get a job with a newsagent delivering the morning papers in our village. To quote Bruce Hornsby, that’s The Way It Is. Racing has served John well and vice versa, but sometimes you have to move on in life rather than remain in a time warp.

That said, Channel 4 has rather missed a trick with its racing coverage. I suppose it has updated its approach to the sport somewhat, but it still squanders a great deal of valuable air time, particularly when subjecting us to its presenters’ tips on the Morning Line – a program that seems to contain more guffaws and in-jokes than a gentleman’s club for displaced Tories.

Fifty minutes of scheduling on a Saturday morning could surely contain better content than a bunch of presenters looking as if they are still recovering from their previous evening’s exertions at the bar. A magazine-styled program aimed at racing fans that informs rather than second-guesses should replace endless selections from a team that belie their own tipping abilities.

With two exceptions they are presenters not tipsters. Shifting emphasis away from tipping would be preferable to confusing viewers with a raft of unlikely selections for the hardest handicaps of the day. The newspapers are full of those after all!

Channel Four get a chance to present some quality television this weekend as they cover the Prix de l’Arc de Triomphe.

Latest news from France means Leading Light will join what looks like a top class line-up on Sunday for the big event. There was rain in Paris on Monday and more is forecast on Friday, meaning Good to Soft ground is almost certainly the likely surface. Is France the wettest place on Earth?

Rain or no rain, France does stage horse racing rather well and at an affordable rate. The weekend cards at Longchamp are testament to that.

Of course, we know a thing or two about the sport – Royal Ascot being our showpiece meeting for the year. But then, as with Channel Four’s racing coverage, generally we dumb down rather than concentrate on the quality Group racing provides. Cue the old argument about there being too much racing and it being staged for the benefit of bookmakers.

Maybe it is time someone this side of the Channel realised the perceived stereotype of racing fans is not wholly correct.

 EXCUSES – EXCUSES …

The Trainers Book of Excuses

This is not a great time of year. Seemingly, without warning everything has changed – principally that applies to the weather, which has a knock-on effect on our metabolisms. Whereas a month ago I leapt out of bed with the first shafts of morning light, ready and eager to work from about 7.00am onwards, now I am struggling to surface before lunchtime.

Is it me? The answer to that is probably. But it is my experience that this seasonal change results in an unwelcome dose of sluggishness.

After all, in the true spirit invoked by all gamblers (dress it up how you like, but that is what those us that follow this game are at heart) this was supposed to be a life-changing year. Of course it ended up like all the others and now the dream is running down in true Tom Petty-style. It is a shame but a reminder that nothing changes.

Racing rumbles on relentlessly. Day in, day out, up to and in excess of one hundred horses journey to each racetrack in order to supply a minimum of seven winners on each card. (Whatever happened to the six-race card by the way? Anyone know?)

Mathematically that means we should get the old fraction of 100/7 about picking one of these winners. But of course it does not work that way. The men that fix the odds decide that some horses have a greater chance than others do, tweaking the true odds of any one horse running across a field and reaching the finishing point ahead of the rest. Evidently, we have form to go on and that changes everything. At least it does before the races start. However, it often appears irrelevant. The one that Aunty Dot picked out because she liked the name seems to win just as often as the most carefully analysed selection.

Sometimes the task of backing winners seems too great. Seismic changes in the ground create a new and unforeseen draw-emphasis. Then there is a late jockey substitution (the stable jockey stuck on the motorway doing a mile every ten minutes in his Audi that is capable of doing 175 MPH), the horse all but doing a backward flip in its horsebox or in the paddock – the list of excuses for failure seems endless.

I often suspect, once they embark on their chosen career, in addition to the usual essential accoutrements, trainers are issued with a manual in which there is a section containing feasible reasons why the 6/4 chance that represented them has been beaten out of sight.

Listed alphabetically to avoid repetition, these excuses (forget left-handed/right-handed preferences, lost a racing shoe – this elevates mitigation to a different level) are to be used in rotation. A brief cross-section – taken at random – is included below:

Under ‘A’ we have agoraphobia – the fear of open spaces – handy for those hundred-yard defeats at Newmarket. Phobias are good because nobody can dispute their impact on a so-called sufferer, particularly in the case of horses who, you may have noticed, have not yet mastered the art of speech. At least if they have they are keeping it quiet. So arachnophobia – fear of spiders – is sure to be included. After all, if horses can be ‘gay’, why can’t they be afraid of little eight-legged insects crawling across their beds of straw, sending them into fits of anxiety that last the duration of a journey to the races and the race itself.

‘B’: Black Bess-factor: Believed to be a relative of Dick Turpin’s famous mare, so assuming she may have another 199 miles to cover, filly was merely pacing herself in race at York. Bird: One flew too close to horse, distracting it – relevant for Ayr with all those seagulls skittering across the course.

‘C’: Curse: This smacks of desperation, but if cornered and unable to locate said manual, this is such an outlandish never-to-be-forgotten excuse that it can be used just the once as a standby to dig trainer out of the deepest hole. A soothsayer foretold the horse would never win a race on a Tuesday/Friday or in Wales, Scotland or within sight of Wembley stadium (any or all conveniently rule out Chepstow, Ffos Las, all the Scottish courses and, in the shape of the last feeble excuse, Epsom and Sandown – not to mention any given day of the week). Only to be used in the direst of circumstances!

‘D’: Dusk: Runs all his best races at night. Note to trainer: make sure you can back this up with a record that shows he has performed creditably at Wolverhampton and Kempton.

‘E’: Earplugs: Forgot to put them in/take them out. Got stirred-up by noise of fairground (good one for Epsom or Yarmouth); lacklustre performance explained as horse thought it had died when mistakenly inserted.

‘F’: Floodlights: Their dazzle proved off-putting for horse (might sound obvious – but only applicable during all-weather night meetings). Flyover: Distracted by traffic travelling across flyover – ideal for Pontefract.

‘G’: Gum: Swallowed a piece of chewing-gum that appears to have lodged in throat, affecting breathing. Grand Theft Auto: Horse unnerved by the computer game played in the horsebox by stable staff on the way to the races.

‘J’: Jekyll and Hyde: As in has two personalities. Those assuming they were backing ‘Jekyll’ to run to his best form, discovering they had in fact backed the reluctant and bad-tempered ‘Hyde’.

‘K’: Knacker Yard: In a reversal of most excuses, used to explain vastly improved form, in that horse overheard an ominous conversation between trainer and owner of said beast, stating this would be his next destination if he failed to show a semblance of ability at Catterick.

‘L’: Lunatic: Influenced by the movements of the moon – a new moon therefore responsible for poor/improved showing. Useful for those winter evening meetings when trainer has supplied a big-priced winner inexplicably backed from 20’s to 10’s in the last few minutes before the ‘off’.

‘P’: Pacemaker: Has been used as one on a regular basis and assumed his role in racing was to make the running for a mile then drop away and finish tailed-off.

‘R’: Rumpy-Pumpy: Distracted by pretty secretary, trainer entered horse wrongly in error. The decorative culprit, on secondment from university where she studied ancient cultures, later decided to make her placement permanent, deciding she wanted to work for a horserace trainer – meaning her academia was not entirely wasted.

‘S’: Shakespeare influence. Horse overhead the call, “My Kingdom For A Horse,” and was hesitant at obstacles, awaiting a better offer than jumping eight flights at Stratford.

‘W’: The horse lost all concentration, apparently consumed by an impulse to throw itself into the nearest river. Effective at Windsor.

That’s enough already. I must conclude this. Why, I do believe a spaceship is about to land in my back garden.

Australia. The Best Racehorse

Aiden O’Brien has ever trained?

WHAT’S IN A NAME?

According to Yorkshire folklore, the last horse home in the St Leger has snow on its tail. In view of the subsequent disqualification of last year’s disgraced winner on doping grounds – given the obvious double meaning of the word ‘snow’, I cannot help but feel there is a cheap joke concealed there.

However, I will let that be; to almost quote Bernard Cribbens: You never get nowhere by being too hasty (substitute cheap in this instance); besides, this whole premise is becoming too convoluted (you never get nowhere by being too convoluted).

Undeniably the weather is turning. By the end of Saturday we will be drifting away from summer, in racing terms that leaves us with the Autumn Double, the Prix de L’arc De Triomphe, The Racing Post and the Breeders’ Cup. Then it is Cheltenham, the Charlie Hall, the Tingle Creek and the slide to Christmas.

Forget those terminal places in Switzerland, following racing is one way of getting through your life quickly.

Why, it seems only a few months ago we were here last year attempting to crack the autumn nuggets, and only a month or two since we embarked on the Classic merry-go-round back in the spring.

Strangely, time plays a similar trick during holidays, when a fortnight in new surroundings invariably seems to last longer than the same period spent undertaking the old tired routine at home.

Whether we accept it or not, this is where we are right now: on the verge of the last two months of the 2013 Flat Racing Season. Naturally, in between the big grandstand events, we have the odd wisp of promise alluding to next year’s Classics and beyond.

One such moment came last Saturday evening when no doubt quite a few of us were getting them in at the local. All right, at a few minutes after 5.15pm, it was a little early; but I am aware that for some – with family obligations, or just a wife that must be obeyed stalking the kitchen at home with a timer in her hand – a pint has to be squeezed in when possible. No such worries this end, he said with one eye on the other room!

So, to rewind to last Saturday and to Leopardstown and the Icon Breeders’ Cup Juvenile Trial Stakes (Group 3), where we saw the reappearance of the 2014 Derby favourite, Free Eagle. This was a strange event in many ways.

Only four runners turned out and after his impressive debut in a race that worked out and a reputation that preceded him, including an endorsement from his legendary trainer, Dermot Weld – stating Free Eagle was the best he had trained – the son of High Chaparral was sent off at 2/5. Looking all set to pounce on hapless opponents, he strode to the lead early in the straight only to be burned-off in the exhaust of new kid in town, Australia.

Kingfisher (beaten eight lengths by Free Eagle on debut) was only beaten three-and-half this time. Either he has improved by at least four lengths or Free Eagle has regressed by that amount.

Australia is almost certainly the better horse, but Free Eagle deserves another opportunity to justify the hype.

Aidan O’Brien was quick to dub Australia as possibly the best horse he has trained. Therefore his star ascends beyond that of his predecessors of this homage: George Washington, Kingsbarns and Camelot. The king is dead – long live the king!

Australia looks the part. Athletic and a good mover, it appears he won on merit on Saturday without being rousted so to do.

That said there are just the three niggles to address – one (the Kingfisher form line) I have touched on; the other two are worth mentioning, even though one of them is fragile at best.

If Australia is the racing machine we are led to believe, why then was Free Eagle allowed to start at such a short price and he to win at such a comparatively big one? It is not as if they conduct work at Ballydoyle under the cover of darkness. Time will tell on that score. For now, like the continent, Australia is a partly submerged huge chunk of reality. Clearly, it is not worth trying to find one to beat him in the Group 1 Racing Post at Doncaster.

My other reservation is probably peculiar to me alone. Sue Magnier is responsible for naming most of the inmates from Ballydoyle and I presume she decided here.

Given her track record with titles as rich as Ernest Hemingway, Stravinsky, Yeats and Soldier Of Fortune to name but four, how on earth did she come up with Australia for a colt that is by Galileo and out of Ouija Board? The trick when naming horses is to try and incorporate the sire and dam into a name that is both witty and pertinent.

Australia fails on both counts. Any number of permutations exists with such parentage as Galileo and Ouija Board. Australia would not appear to be the most obvious.

Mrs Magnier could have gone the See The Future, Distant Planet or Navigate The Stars route – to sound more learned she could have tried Telescopium or Piscis Austrinus. But Australia?

This epithet may prove a millstone round the collar of this son of Galileo. In a piece littered with ye olde sayings: That way madness lies…

Friday 6th Sept

STILL STANDING…

I have been ruminating this week. I doubt this will send me blind. The things is, having strayed from home for a few days, I developed a  nasty cold and have been lurching round the house with a ringing head, feeling as if I were in a giant hollow hall.

Comments rattle around in your empty skull like ball bearings in a tunnel. No doubt you will be familiar with the sensation – if not, with the onset of winter, you soon will be. Having a cold is hardly akin to contracting black water fever, but it does turn you into a zombie for a while and make you so awfully irritable. When you are ill, normally tolerated minor annoyances become major issues.

The drone of RUK in the background has presented a challenge. There really is too much racing. When firing on all cylinders you notice this with a resigned acceptance. When under the weather you capitulate under a deluge of superlative.

On busy days, RUK have the habit of informing you (in the style of the Two Ronnies) they and you face a packed program. Racing will come up thick and fast – mostly thick, but certainly fast -so fast you barely have a chance to check where it is coming from.

Occasionally, with a suitably sombre expression, the presenter will announce the cancellation of a meeting. Again, this is something we will have to become accustomed to in the coming months – the recent ‘sad’ cancellation of Redcar’s program being a dress rehearsal. The news Redcar is abandoned is many things – as a racing fan, I would not claim ‘sad’ to be one of them.

This week has not been especially ‘packed’ – perhaps it just felt like it. I noticed Broxbourne got beat and saw a few maidens that looked impressive; but, to be honest, it all eventually became a background wash on a painter’s canvas.

Poor old James Willoughby continues to re-invent the jet engine. He will come in handy if the Russians decide to invade. He is too clever for comfort and should be on Mastermind.

With the sort of bosom that sculptors used to carve on the prow of ships, Lydia Hislop is beautifully distracting in a matronly sort of way. Crackly sharp and intelligent with an infectious enthusiasm for racing, she is a serious all-rounder.

On Thursday, she and Steve Mellish tackled two current issues.

First up was the decision by Prince Khalid Abdullah to employ James Doyle as his contracted jockey.

I know James Doyle sounds less like a jockey and more like a character out of Brighton Rock – or more recently, I suppose Eastenders – but he is in fact quite a good rider. Scaling the ranks, he is not far behind the likes of much-improved Tom Queally, the stylish William Buick and the immovable object that is Ryan Moore. Err … now – hang on a minute … Conversation shifted to news that in 2014, racing will take place on Good Friday. So 362 days of racing becomes 363, leaving Christmas Eve and Christmas Day currently blank – for how long one wonders. To quote First World War terminology: it becomes less a situation of Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition – more Praise the Lord and pass the betting slip.

As Steve Mellish warned, cards on Good Friday ought not to be littered with sellers and claimers, but you can bet mediocrity will creep in.

If you grant Hamilton, Musselburgh, Catterick or Sedgefield the rights to race then what else would you expect – a Derby trial?

Right now, we are between York and the St Leger Doncaster meeting – often an uninteresting little period for all except the accountants of the big betting firms.

Rather like well fed eagles observing their kingdoms for the sanctuary of distant eyries, most punters are only opening one wary eye – more to check on results than to actually bet.

No one in their right mind is going to be tempted by the vagaries of the ante post market at present – though talking of such, and the reference to eagles – it does seem that is a name worth bearing in mind.

Great White Eagle and Free Eagle (both trained in Ireland) have so far impressed in their respective juvenile events, outshining anything seen on this side of the water.

Tomorrow we have Ascot and Kempton, and at Haydock, the Betfred Sprint – thank Fred – although the line-up for that looks tired. To be fair the cards should be interesting. Who knows, we might even find a winner…[/vc_column_text][/vc_column][/vc_row]

Regular postings from ‘Spy’…

Spy is Horse Racing Pro’s Resident Racing Journalist. He’s an ex odds compiler with over 20 years experience working or one of the big firms and has a wealth of racing knowledge which he loves to share in a weekly, often mildly provocative chat! …

How Was It For You?

Hindsight is something we can either learn from or deny. Sometimes denial is the easier option. After all, life is a constant learning process – it becomes tiresome; there is a limit to how much we wish to learn.

However, if wishing to progress as individuals it is necessary to scrutinise our actions, if only to see how we can avoid making the same mistakes next time.

The thing with life is that we don’t always accord the appropriate timescale to deliberate over important decisions. Sometimes we just grab an idea out of thin air and run with it. That way it sometimes works, just as often it will blow up like a bag of wind.

Betting on horses means playing the percentages

As with life, racing/betting is a percentage game. The percentages are important because they are stacked against us before we start. By design we are expected to lose. The only way we can reverse that is to tilt the percentages in our favour, and we only do that with careful and precise thought. The trouble is, betting is a complex business. Unlike a conventional test of one’s ability, it requires the backer to invest in his judgement. Unless we literally put our money where our mouths are, there are no prizes for being right. Working through a race and solving it in theory is only part of the process. Once achieved, to whatever level, the next decision is how to react, and that can be the hardest decision of all. To bet or not to bet – that is the question …

I guess we have all experienced this. Sometimes we reach a perfectly sound solution to a problem on paper, only to discover the problem is bigger than the solution.

In life some problems have to be tackled – a reaction is needed: The daughter brings home a goon of a boyfriend, the wife’s infidelity, to move house or not to move house – as participants in the game of life, we cannot always be inactive.

Aspire to a Professional Gambling Mindset

When gambling, although it is not a good idea to cultivate a ‘no-play’ mindset, we do have to ask some questions of our logic before pressing the betting button.

When striking a losing bet, the unanimous reaction from most gamblers is to apportion blame. This means in their eyes it is often the fault of the jockey, trainer, the watering system, the vagaries of the draw, or the bloody horse itself! It is rarely the fault of the person placing the bet. That’s okay, if you want to live in cloud cuckoo land, but if you want to improve your chances of getting it right next time, on occasion it is advisable to look inward.

So how did I do last week (a week well documented on this website) and what can I, and possibly readers, learn from our suggested bets.

Let’s go back in time to last Tuesday – Day One of the York Ebor meeting and take as unbiased and critical look as possible.

Not all races were reviewed in advance, only those I thought presented betting possibilities.

I correctly swerved the Acomb; however, my rationale soon hit the buffers. I thought out of the six that went to post there were four serious runners. This assessment did not include the winner. After a promising winning appearance at Newbury, First Flight was a Notebook horse. I admit to being in two minds before making him such as I thought the race he won after a slow start was (as has been proved) a poor one. Even so, I included what was a borderline prospect and paid the penalty when witnessing him run no race at all. The only thing I got right here was to leave the Acomb alone. I suspect the best horse [The Grey Gatsby] finished second.

Strong Bet Telescope wins

I was vindicated in correctly identifying Telescope as a strong bet in the Voltigeur, despite many sceptics wishing to lay the horse.

Glory was short-lived as I made the decision to be with Toronado in the Juddmonte International from the heart rather than the head. Dick Hern – a man that always consulted brain before engaging mouth – once said great horses have great constitutions. That is a piece of wisdom worth remembering. The International was dominated by tough, battle-hardened horses in the shape of Declaration Of War, Trading Leather and Al Kazeem. They don’t give Group 1s away and, sadly, on evidence to hand, Toronado is developing into an excuse horse – at least as far as punters are concerned. For those prepared to read it, the signpost was in place.

Broxbourne a 6/1 Beauty!

Broxbourne proved a good decision on several fronts when winning the two-mile handicap from what looked like an impossible position. She was a fair spot for the Notebook. It wasn’t difficult to pinpoint her as unlucky at Ascot, but that is not always what nominating Notebook horses is about. We are not simply looking for unlucky horses (the formbook is full of them), more to the point, we are in search of a horse that is likely to overturn this bad luck next time it runs. To that end, it helps if there is another component they can draw upon. In this case, Broxbourne is a lazy type that will pull out all the stops when she has to and then throttle back, making it difficult for the handicapper to assess her correctly. She also is a genuine long-distance racehorse, which stands her in good stead in these sorts of events. Even mentioning Suraj in the context of this race was a bad idea. He is temperamental, moody and unwilling. Horses such as he are a waste of time from a betting perspective.

Day One showed a profit with only a chink or two revealed in the reasoning. Although, note to myself: learn the Toronado lesson! Had there been no Telescope (as it turned out a wasted winner), I would have had a bad day.

I allowed Day Two to become clouded as I felt the card, littered as it was by four races confined to fillies, was ultra-tricky. Consequently, determined not to fall into any traps, I overlooked the obvious.

In the Lowther, I was probably a bit too quick to dismiss Lucky Kristale on account of her penalty. But I decided not to bet in the event – would not have backed her even if she had whispered in my ear – so there was no harm done.

Wentworth was a selection rather than a bet in the Class 2 Handicap full of exposed horses – the trend at this time of year. Of course he didn’t run, but what was I doing even mentioning a ghost horse like Validus in my summing up?

The Yorkshire Oaks revealed a couple of my weaknesses. Stubbornness meant I missed a trick with The Fugue. The ground swung in her favour and the stable were very confident. Even so, I could not bring myself to waver from one of my original objections to her: namely, that she had failed to win over the trip after three attempts. This was a weak Group 1 and she fully justified stable confidence at a backable price – presumably, because, like me, there were those that questioned her effectiveness at the trip. I knew I was wrong in sitting the race out before it started, but by this time I was concerned that if I backed against my original judgement, I would be spitting blood if she lost. That is a poor reason to decline a perfectly feasible bet!

It was fair enough to nominate Star Lahib in the Galtres as her claims were there for all to see. Uncomplicated and a real trier, she was guaranteed to run her race, but the suspicion was she was not quite good enough. So it proved, but sometimes horses like her are preferable to those that look good in their maidens but have it to prove. I was against Say on grounds of stamina. I got away with it but maybe for the wrong reasons.

I survived Day Two intact, but no prizes for missing an obvious winner in The Fugue.

Day Three: Having correctly assessed the Lonsdale Cup as resting between Ahzeemah and Simenon, I should have come out of the race on the right side. Once again, I hung back mainly because I could see Caucus puncturing my reasoning. No race is absolutely cut and dried. I had it narrowed down sufficiently well and should have taken the chance and backed one of the two preferred small, whilst covering on the other.

Pavlosk was a lazy tip in the Strensall Stakes. She was an eye-catcher at Goodwood. The trip and ground were now in her favour but this represented a step up in grade. With everyone and his dog clamouring to back her, common sense should have kicked in. She is probably worth another chance as she pulled much too hard early and was a spent force early in the straight.

Shea Shea may have been beaten in the Nunthorpe, but represented value and should have been backed. I narrowed the event down to a three-horse affair and allowed the vagaries of the draw and the ground to stand in my way. My betting record shows I was right not to play, but I contend I was wrong.

I did not back Notebook horse Golden Town in the Convivial because of prejudice against Godolphin – who appear to have lost the plot. Throwing money at this or any other enterprise won’t allow you to crack it, even if your funds are unlimited. To me, that is Godolphin’s present stance. After the appalling run of First Flight (a horse they admitted should not have run) I was not prepared to see another high-profile horse of theirs sink into the Knavesmire. It was a warm maiden, and to a degree, if you are not comfortable with a bet, you should leave it so I feel justified.

Day Three was a loss

Day Three was a losing one. I backed Pavlosk and left the trading floor with dust in my throat.

Day Four: I identified three bets at York and did back them all to varying degrees. Hawk High was, to my mind, a perfectly reasonable form selection in the handicap. As an exposed horse, the handicapper had presented him with a chance, but as an exposed contender against potentially better opposition, although a value alternative, it was always a tall order. Nevertheless, at 16/1, I felt a small bet was justified and he did not run badly.

I suppose Parbold was a fair enough selection in the Gimcrack. He ran about as well as could be expected. With a bit of luck (ie if Astaire and Wilshire Boulevard hadn’t turned up) he would have won. It was always going to be difficult but I felt he had a real chance of winning, particularly after his run at Goodwood, which suggested he would do better on a more conventional track.

But, to an extent I erred here. I felt I had identified a real betting prospect in Tiger Cliff in the Ebor. Greed, or an attempt to reduce stakes, meant I was looking for a couple of juicy-priced horses to accompany him in a miracle multiple. What I should have done was to concentrate on just backing my best bet of the day and having throwaway bets on the other two. As it was, I staked too much on the supporting act.

Best Bet Tiger Cliff wins 7/1 to 5/1!

Tiger Cliff of course justified my comments and was a big result for me. He was backed at all rates down from 7/1 to 5/1; however, that is slightly misleading as there were non-runners to take into account.

Looking back on the week in hard print, it seems a lot better now than it did at the time. But committing my record to print means I can identify a couple of serious lessons that should be learned. This is not an attempt to beat myself up – none of us is perfect. It does pay though to be aware of our shortcomings.

In my case, I often gravitate to the flashy and sexy horses (Toronado) at the expense of the solid alternatives (The Fugue). At times, I am also an immovable object.

If I could guarantee every week would yield the same results as York, I could readily overlook my faults. As I can’t make that guarantee, I would do well to learn from this exercise. Without such naked exposure, my flaws may have been overlooked, leaving them free to rear their ugly heads next time!

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Regular postings from ‘Spy’…

Spy is Horse Racing Pro’s Resident Racing Journalist. He’s an ex odds compiler with over 20 years experience working or one of the big firms and has a wealth of racing knowledge which he loves to share in a weekly, often mildly provocative chat! …

FIXING THE ODDS

Money talks; market forces prevail; in a free market prices find their own level… They are some of the remarks attributed to the way our capitalist society operates.

All correct in their own way but in any market the price-fixers are kings. They are the guys that determine the base line from which all transactions proceed. After their input, market forces take over, but only within the perimeter already set.

That is to say the consumer often has to make do with a deal that is not exactly the one he wishes, but is as close as he is going to get to the one he desires.

Shop in the high street, and by and large the stores lay down the terms. You want a Boss suit in the sale. You would like to pay £200 but the best you can secure it for is at £300 – or half its original price. As opposed to being your preferred plain blue, it has a faint stripe. The lapels are a bit wide. To make a purchase, a compromise is required. The bottom line is the most desirable Boss suit is £650. The retailers know the score – they set the deal.

Buy a car in a reputable garage and you will be forced to pay their price. Within a few quid, you will pay the going rate – the so-called book price. For that you will also get a warranty, possibly six months tax, a twelve month MOT and a set of car mats. You could well secure the same car on eBay or through a similar auction for anything up to two grand less. However, there is no warranty, it almost certainly will need a valet; maybe there is a scratch on the offside door and a chip on the wing mirror and the MOT runs out in four months time. If you are handy or know someone, you can easily rectify these shortcomings and end up with a bargain car. As consumer – the choice is yours.

It is the same in our business. Bookmakers work day and night to tempt you to bet. They want your business. It is their lifeblood. The problem is, as with the purveyors of high quality suits and second-hand car dealers, they set the prices. Well, someone has to, and, let’s face it, no business can afford to allow the consumer to put his own price-tag on the goods. Somewhere between the marked-up price and the one you want there is a reasonable compromise.

The Group 3 Hungerford Stakes at Newbury was a very interesting example of market forces in action. There was a jittery exchange between punters and bookmakers.

Clearly there were those that felt Soft Falling Rain was opposable. The favourite drifted, hitting 11/4 in places before hardening slightly as his supporters swooped, unable to resist the odds on offer. In the face of this see-sawing of Soft Falling Rain’s odds, there was a contraction and lengthening of those of his rivals.

First the market seemed convinced Caspar Netscher was the solid alternative. Late in the day, his odds drifted as support came for Tawhid and eventual winner Gregorian.

Through all this, you got the impression no one was sure of the outcome. Even opponents of the favourite wavered when asked what they thought would win. Not for the first time, prices became a genuine reflection of the outcome as post time loomed.

Caspar Netscher’s last minute drift proved accurate. The body language of his jockey, Shane Kelly, allied to his cautionary remarks that he hoped the run would not come too soon after Goodwood, proving more than a pessimistic statement. It was a difficult race to be emphatic about and the result reflected that.

Because they do a performance-rated job, odds-compilers put their money where their mouths are. Their employers require them to be right more often than they are wrong.

Whether the judges that make the odds bet or not is up to them. Most that I have known tend to bet to small stakes and, possibly most surprising of all, lose money. I say surprising because you would think they were odds-on to make the game pay.

The problem for them is that being so wrapped-up in the business side of what they do, they find this affects how they bet. So intent are they on looking for the perfect wager, they hardly ever play, and when they do are only picking off overpriced odds about horses unlikely to win.

To return to our earlier high street analogy, they walk the streets in their underpants waiting to snap up that Boss suit, and ride a bicycle to work whilst awaiting the purchase of that two-grand under-the-odds car.

A lot is said about value in betting. To a degree you have to be flexible. That is to say: know what odds you would like and what odds you are prepared to accept. Often this requires a balancing act. You are unlikely to get the odds you desire, but sometimes a compromise means you still get reasonable value for your money.

To that end, if you spend a little time looking at races that interest you, shuffling the odds around, you can pinpoint those occasions when you should act.

And remember, these days, it may be less exciting, but there are alternative ways to make betting and speculating on the markets pay. You don’t always have to back the winner.

If you have an accurate grasp of the true market, you will be surprised how often odds will swing in your favour and allow you to make a small profit by buying and selling. An ability to second-guess the way a market will move puts you in a strong position.

Therefore, it is York this week. Let us look at a couple of races and see if we can make any sense of them. I thought it might be beneficial if we analysed two races from two viewpoints – from the perspective of punters and bookmakers. That way we can pinpoint possible value.

The races I have chosen are the International Stakes and the Yorkshire Oaks. At least we have a good idea what is likely to run and, being Stakes events, they are easier to price than knotty handicaps with a host of non-runners included in the current lists.

Taking the International Stakes first. On the left, the prices I would offer to a bookmaker, including a built-in percentage profit, and on the right, prices for our benefit that operate to a 100% book only; therefore hold no percentage profit whatsoever.

Let’s see if this method will highlight a prospective bet or interesting angle to either event. In order to make this work, I have to take a view about what will run. I have assumed the Aidan O’ Brien runner will be Declaration Of War and that both Camelot and Kingsbarns will defect. You never quite know with the whispering genius from Ballydoyle, but essentially, even if this assessment is incorrect, my view is constant.

INTERNATIONAL STAKES

5/4         AL KAZEEM                         6/4

2/1         TORONADO                         6/4

7/1         TRADING LEATHER             12

9/1         HILLSTAR                           16

14          DECLARATION OF WAR      16

500        REWARDED                      1000

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So, with six runners, my commercial percentage is 106, or one percent a runner, which is about right for an event of this type.

At 5/4, Al Kazeem is competitively and fairly priced. If anything, I would expect that price to be taken.

You might find it confusing that my ‘true price’ for Toronado is lower than the price tendered when operating with a greater percentage in my favour. This is where opinion and market forces collide.

Firstly, it is my view that Toronado will win. A line through Declaration of War suggests that he can beat Al Kazeem if he gets the trip. I reckon he will stay but there has to be a doubt.

Of the two, Al Kazeem is the safer wager. We know he stays, we know this race has been his target for some time and we know he is a thoroughly tough and consistent racehorse. Of the two, he will be the more popular in the market.

However, I am prepared to back my opinion privately, whilst, to a degree hedging my bets publicly. Hopefully, I am still under Toranado in the book and ‘my firm’ will lay Al Kazeem, making him their loser.

As for the rest of the runners – I can see no reason for any of them to beat Al Kazeem. There is little between Trading Leather and Hillstar on Ascot running and Declaration Of War, whilst a justified runner, needs Al Kazeem to underperform to beat him. Obviously, Rewarded has no chance.

Now these are my thoughts. You may not agree and wish to tinker with these prices to suit your purposes and opinion. Please, help yourself…

YORKSHIRE OAKS

10/3              WILD COCO                   3/1

4/1                THE FUGUE                    9/2

5/1                VENUS DE MILO             5/1

8/1               AMBIVALENT                   8/1

10/1              EMIRATES QUEEN          16/1

14/1              RIPOSTE                         20/1

14/1              SECRET GESTURE          20/1

14/1              TALENT                           25/1

20/1              SCINTILLULA                  33/1

20/1              SHIROCCO STAR            25/1

25/1              MOMENT IN TIME           40/1

150               JATHABAH                      200

150               SOHO DANCER               200

Here, I have taken out Songbird on the basis that with the Cecil camp represented by Wild Coco and Riposte, it must be a doubtful runner.

I don’t have an especially strong view, but The Fugue was beaten in this last year and is not in current form. She is also dependent on fast ground. Perm any one of three possible negatives and I have to take her on.

Wild Coco makes most appeal and is the filly I wish to keep on side. I respect the improving Venus De Milo and Ambivalent but give little else a serious chance. We are dealing with fillies here and a turn-up is always possible. It could come with something like Emirates Queen, but if they all stand their ground, she shouldn’t win.

On my tissue, there are several potential ‘mistakes’.

The price boys will pinpoint Shirocco Star on ratings (doesn’t win though), Oaks winner Talent (won at Epsom because she outstayed moderate rivals) and Riposte.

But, with the exception of the unexposed Venus De Milo, I am prepared to overlook the three-year-olds. That said, chucking up those prices for general consumption would result in me being fired by any company I represented. As stated, the prices on the right-hand side are for our benefit only. It does not matter how they match up to industry prices – in fact to justify the work involved – the more variance the better.

Now I have created the framework, you might like to see whether your view coincides with mine – it is not obligatory! If not, that is what this game is all about. But hopefully you can see how, in compiling your own tissue, you can truly penetrate the cartel created by bookmakers.

This allows you to sniff out value and work and trade on an independent basis should you seriously wish to be involved in the market side of the business.