And Another Thing

So that’s Glorious Goodwood over for another year – one festival nearer to the darkness of autumn.

Well, how was it for you? Did you lay Infallible reckoning a three-year-old filly had it to do against colts? Or Henrythenavigator because you felt lucky, Yeats because two miles was a minimum and Lush Lashes because the ground had turned against her? I pose such questions because, with the exception of feeling lucky over ‘Henry’, the other three propositions were all credible reasons for taking a chance. But when it comes down to it, it is what you actually do: whether or not you press that button, pick up the phone or write out the slip that counts. There is a fine line between winning and losing. If you back every horse you fancy, you will lose. If you lay every favourite that you can make half a case against, the same applies.

Somehow, you have to invoke a selective system. And very often it is not a system at all but more an almost random slice of fortune, sprinkled with a sliver of logic or even a sixth sense. What it boils down to is – some transactions are made and others are not. Thereby is the difference between winning and losing. It is as simple as that.

As it turned out, I hit the ground running with Paco Boy and followed up with Gravitation. Two good-priced winners from which only a congenital idiot, a compulsive or someone who had given his Ladbroke details to a sadist could then turn into a losing week.

I mention this, not to crow about my good fortune but to illustrate the point. Without the winning bet on Paco Boy (which followed a losing one on Monte Alto), I may not have gone down the same road with Gravitation. And without such a safety net I may not have backed Visit. There were some losers along the way: Muthabara and Prime Defender on Saturday to name but two, but by then I was comfortably in front, or Comfortably Numb depending on your perception and whether you are a Pink Floyd fan.

So what is the difference between a horse we fancy but let run and the one we actually back? Some bets are obvious but they probably only account for fifteen or twenty bets a season at best. Would we be better just concentrating on those, or are we right to back horses we think might win or are good value?

To be fair, spreading the number of bets we strike does give us a better chance of winning in the long run – or so you would think – but I am coming to the conclusion that there are bets where the odds are stacked in our favour and bets where they are against or only about right at best. This may sound obvious but it is worth dwelling on. Gravitation at 7/1 with only Folk Opera to beat has got to be a better bet than Prime Defender at a shorter price in the Stewards’ Cup. So why play the bookmaker’s game and back Prime Defender at all?

The truth is, however confident we are before the race, afterwards, it is blindingly obvious what we should or should not have done. I have struck some bets in my time on horses that I was convinced would win only to see them blend into the mountainous backdrop that is Ayr or the rolling turf of Newmarket. Then, after it is all over, something has come to mind. Wrong trip – never won left-handed, wins in the summer months – badly drawn (idiot! You need to be drawn low on the round course at Thirsk not Ripon). Come clean – I can’t be the only one that has made stupid mistakes such as these. Can I?

When it all comes together, we are so clever. But this game only teases us into thinking we have cracked its code. No sooner do we think we are on top than we find ourselves right back where we belong!

And Another Thing

What’s gone wrong this year?

IS IT ME or has it taken until the first week of August to get to grips with Flat racing form? Normally we feel our way through the murk of March and April as form lines gradually slot into place, and by the time of the Guineas Meeting have a fair idea where we stand.

Not so this time round. Aided by one or two clues from the winter all-weather fixtures and from the excellent Dubai Carnival, then by the first two Classics, most years one can bumble along backing the odd winner in amongst all the fat losers until mid-summer when, for those who have persevered with the formbook, all the hard work starts to pay dividends.

Bug strikes Lambourn and Newmarket

So what has gone wrong this year? Well a couple of things: firstly, a bug has plagued half of Lambourn and Newmarket. Horses appear fine in their work but those affected return from the races lifeless and listless having failed to run up to form. Very few yards have escaped this malaise yet not one, with the exception of Jeremy Noseda, has admitted to being a victim. Sensibly, he shut up shop and now looks to be on the way back. The rest of those struggling through this particularly unpleasant equine strain seem to be in some sort of denial. Not one trainer seems to be prepared to admit there is a problem. What they tell their owners is their own business but it does not take a detective to work out something is wrong. Just look at the results. Even yards struggling through have patchy form.

It is no coincidence that those yards that have enjoyed the most success this season have all been isolated. Richard Hannon and Andrew Balding are two that spring to mind. Neither yard is housed in a main training centre. The only other horses their strings see are either pulling carts or delivering milk. Then there is of course the current domination of the Aidan O’ Brien stable, another yard with plenty of fresh air between itself and other training establishments. Doubtless those connected would say Ballydoyle’s success has been down to the fact they have consistently produced the best horses on the day – and that may well be true – but surely their path to success has been smoothed somewhat.

The problem may not go away with the disappearance of this bug because the danger is that when the big yards return to normal, the formbook is likely to be about as much use as Gordon Brown at a fashion convention – or indeed any convention at all!

All one can do at present is stick to horses with solid recent form and avoid those from yards whose last winner was ridden by Scobie Breasley!

Panorama lifts the lid

The recent Panorama expose that promised to lift the lid on the seamier side of racing was boring viewing for most of us connected with the sport, as it highlighted nothing new. However, what was interesting was how the media tackled a subject we knew more about than it did. To an extent its coverage told us how reliable its reportage on other subjects, those we have to take their word on, is likely to be. In that respect, we have to conclude that Panorama produced an accurate account of what it had uncovered.

There was no sensationalism; on the contrary, it seemed tame, although the stupidity of a few jockeys beggars belief! It did also tell us that there are some very undesirable characters within racing. Not exactly shock horror for most of us. The characters unearthed were hardly the likeable Damon Runyan rogues of his excellent accounts of racing’s lowlife. They were typical of today’s get-rich-quick can’t talk proper culture. The sooner they can all be placed in a home for those deluded into believing they belong in a civilised society the better!

Godolphin wobbling?

Lastly, I like Sheikh Mohammed and all he stands for. But I do think he is in danger of wobbling from the rails. Apparently Dubai has degenerated into a playground for those with ‘loads of money’ and who pay scant regard for Arabian culture. In search of the rouble and the pound, Dubai is no longer quite the desirable destination it once was. Similarly, Godolphin is in danger of being an expensive failure for all who fly its flag. The concept that money can be chucked at, and thus rectify, a problem has long been exposed as false. The main difficulty Godolphin has stems from its purchasing policy.

Unlike Coolmore, they do not have the quality of stallion to breed top class middle-distance horses. In search of elusive Group 1 winners, they pursue a policy of buying American-breds that invariably fail to stay further than ten furlongs at best or of buying from others horses at inflated prices that have won half-decent races.

Sometimes the truth hurts. It is time for Godolphin to take a long look at itself. We all want it to be a success again but, like those trainers in denial over what is happening under their noses at Newmarket and Lambourn at present, they have to wake up and smell the mint tea.

And Another Thing

 Bookmakers are the enemy now!

A FEW YEARS ago I was in a betting shop. At the counter, a customer was engaged in an argument with a member of staff. Apparently, there was some sort of altercation in progress concerning a price that he thought he had taken about a selection in a multiple bet. It appeared that because a member of staff had not initialled the price, company policy dictated they were not bound to pay at such odds. Having exhausted all his lines of argument, the exasperated punter finally threatened the manageress with what he considered the threat to end all threats. ‘I lose at least a £100 a week in here,’ he spluttered, ‘and if you refuse to pay me at 6/1 I shall take my business elsewhere and you will be that amount worse off!’ Some line of argument! Needless to say she paid him.

But what a sad, sad statement for the punter to make. Even allowing for a variation in his arithmetic, he was claiming he lost somewhere in the region of £5,000 a year to a firm of bookmakers and yet he continued to bet undeterred by such knowledge. That sort of sum would allow him to go on holiday three times a year, buy a new car, hire a room in Mayfair twice a year for a weekend and have a young blonde in thigh boots beat his buttocks with the Racing Post – the possibilities are endless. Yet he preferred to give his cash to bookmakers. He might as well have cut out the middle-man and made a standing order to the firm in question, in which case he would not have needed to leave the comfort of his sofa.

I am afraid betting shops are full of such characters. Or at least they used to be; now they are virtually empty. It is little wonder. Apparently, and I am largely relying on information received here as I live in a country village, betting shops depend on anything other than horseracing for the lion’s share of their profit. Friends in London – where there is a betting shop every few hundred yards – tell me such establishments are now little more than arcades. Bells ring, announcers announce, there are constant lottery games, fruit machines pump out coins and flash, whilst on the bank of screens, dogs whizz out of traps and horses, real and otherwise, race.

Tellingly, Ladbrokes have released their half-year profits, revealing they have made only £126.7m as opposed to £154.4m last year. Lots of belt-tightening will be required at Harrow then! No more best claret at the Ladbroke lunches, just Rioja. Actually, I was once treated to lunch by one of the top men at Ladbrokes that consisted of a beef sandwich and a glass of fresh orange in a club off Portman Square. Once I had expressed no interest in drinking the alcohol (never a good idea to imbibe when consorting with the enemy in my view), interest in me waned. That is another story for another day. To return to the Ladbroke report: Chris Bell, their chief executive, stated betting office profits were up by 6.5 per cent. Chris Bell wears expensive suits and looks like he could stand-in for David Cameron. Following the line taken by William Hill earlier in the week, he bemoans the fact that there will be four blank Sundays in 2009 and the cut in evening racing fixtures during the winter. Then he reveals that the principle reason for his company’s enhanced performance in the shops is mainly down to fruit machines.

T              herefore, it has nothing at all to do with horseracing and profits from fruit machines do not constitute an increase in Horseracing Levy. Rather like the man in the earlier scenario, Bell has showed his hand. By declaring fruit machines have mainly generated increased profits, he is in effect issuing a warning to those tempted to play them that they represent the worst value for money within the confines of a betting shop.

That is obvious when you think about it. They are programmed to take out a pre-determined profit. They are rather like the Tote Pool, only worse because they do not declare a dividend. They can insidiously take 30% – even 40% profit without any risk to the proprietor. But only whilst those with coins in their hands keep feeding the ever-hungry mouths of the machines in the belief they will be the exception to the rule. One other slightly more worrying development about the Ladbroke situation is their apparent keenness to move into countries like China and India, which Bell seemed to announce with relish. These are two countries struggling with poverty despite the richness of their showpiece cities. Because they have such large populations that will always be the case, and is not a reflection on the way they are governed. The last thing they need is betting shops, owned by the world’s biggest bookmakers or anyone else.

There was a time when bookmakers were a respected adversary, the sort you would play football against in no man’s land at Christmas. That time has passed. Now they have revealed themselves as the enemy. One last point about them: How is that now, with so much competition from all quarters, including Betfair and squeezed margins, they can afford to match new customers on a free bet for bet basis?

Mr Bell and his kind know what they can do with their free orange juice and beef sandwiches!

And Another Thing

How Many Racecourses do we really need?

THERE ARE sixty racecourses in this country. Those that bemoan the standard of racing at some of them may, like me, consider we have at least twenty too many. To have sixty racecourses that are standing idle for the most of the time, requiring ground maintenance and security arrangements, seems like a dubious business proposition. Someone has to finance this idle situation. Some of the money comes from the revenue generated by the courses, some of it from the Levy Board or the BHA. Far better, I would have thought, to have less racecourses staging more racing.

Pound for pound, we derive most value from the all-weather racecourses, of which there are only four. They may not provide the highest standard of racing but they do give punters a fair chance. The ground and the draw is not an issue. We can rely on the ground invariably being standard, whilst the draw bias is an open secret. If anything, we could do with a few more Polytrack-based racecourses and few less turf-based, something so amply demonstrated by the unfortunate non-fixture that was York this week. Polytrack is the future. Its surface can withstand endless pounding. It would be possible to stage two meetings a day at, say Wolverhampton or Great Leighs – any combination of morning, afternoon and evening – and the surface is not subject to a last minute change due to unexpected weather.

Turf racecourses are liable to become quagmires, or airport runways. Because they are watered, the draw bias can alter without rhyme or reason. Some places like Folkestone, Salisbury, Doncaster, York and Newcastle have an advantageous draw one day that can turn into the kiss of death the next. This situation benefits no one – except of course bookmakers.

Reluctantly, we have to accept the isolated world of horseracing is not so isolated when global weather change can effect its continuance in its present form. Our winters are warmer but our summers (at least if the last two are anything to go by) are wetter.  America has tackled this problem by installing dirt racecourses (soon to be replaced by a similar surface to Polytrack) on all their courses so there is a choice of surface. We all saw the disgraceful slop that was Monmore in New Jersey at last year’s Breeders’ Cup; but that is a scene never to be repeated as Santa Anita (this and next year’s host to the Breeders’ Cup) to be followed by all US racecourses, has dug up and shovelled away its dirt.

In this country, it seems a similar overhaul of some of our racecourses is in order. If we are to trim the number of racing venues, such a move has to be fair and without prejudice. So initially we could start by short listing all non dual-coded racecourses as potentially redundant.

Yes, that means Cheltenham, Aintree, York, Wetherby and Newmarket have to be included. It should not take too long and too many brains to decide they are exempt from closure.

But what of Huntingdon, Taunton, Stratford, Salisbury, Brighton (ridiculously popular with Londoners considering its vagaries) Nottingham and Sedgefield? How about Carlisle, Catterick, Folkestone, the cluster of racecourses in Yorkshire, those encroaching the Midlands: Ludlow, Towcester, Warwick, Worcester – are they all essential? Locals to places like those mentioned in addition to Fakenham and Market Rasen will no doubt put up a fight, and I do accept there is a problem with the closure of National Hunt racecourses.

However, where racecourses are close to each other, surely a distribution of racing throughout the surviving racecourses would mean one less in that area would not spell a reduction in actual racing. Is it sensible to continue to prop up sixty racecourses when forty, maybe even thirty-five, would do the same job at a lesser cost and allow more investment in prize-money and a lowering in entrance fees (currently too high) for race-goers?

Once upon a time, they used to race at Hurst Park, Alexandra Park and Manchester. Their fixtures transferred, no one laments the passing of these places now – only those of us old enough or nostalgic enough are even aware of their closure, much less are in mourning.

Time and circumstances change. Racing has to bend with the wind. We need at least three more all-weather racecourses: one in the Midlands to supply an overflow for Wolverhampton: one in the North so that some of the mentioned Yorkshire racecourses, once defunct, would not create a black hole, and another somewhere in the South, possibly the eagle’s eerie that is Bath.

I know such radical thinking will not make me popular with many; but needs must! A cull of racecourses is required. We need to trim the fixture list but consider utilising the all-weather racecourses on a wider scale to accommodate the shortfall, at least in terms of Flat racing. National Hunt racing is a special case. Virtually useless from a betting point of view after April, to an extent they will have to paddle their respective canoes (in some cases literally) during the summer months. Those that can survive during the winter (places like Plumpton and Fontwell must struggle) are welcome to soldier on; those that cannot will have to accept they are not viable concerns and hand their fixtures over to courses that are.

Sixty racecourses are too many when a lesser number could achieve the same job at a smaller cost

And Another Thing

Changes will throw the form book our of the window

IF THE WEATHER men are anywhere near correct we are in for a rough time over the next few days. By all accounts, biblical proportions of rain are due, meaning if your neighbour is a carpenter and you hear banging and hammering noises coming from his garage it could be time to check your insurance.

Weather forecasters have a poor betting history. They are quite good at stating the obvious but less good when it comes to predicting the unexpected. Once the weather turns in one direction or the other they are quick to state that it will be a long hot summer or the wettest in living memory or, at the first sign of a dusting of ground frost in December that we are in for a desperate winter.

Right now, they seem united. The next three days are likely to present us with monsoon conditions: for Sunderland read Singapore, Reading becomes Rangoon and Birmingham Bombay. We are in for a rainy season, which means that for the second year running the summer has been a virtual washout.

So far, at least in the south of the country, the sky looks menacing, purple in places; there is a grumble of thunder but other than a brief downpour or two, rather like the man that predicts the end of the world is nigh, we have not progressed beyond threats. Perhaps it is different with you but taking the weathermen at their word, we are all likely to be awash at some stage over the next few days.

As far as racing is concerned that means we are in for yet another seismic change in terms of form and ground. Such a situation only exacerbates a year when form is already in turmoil. If you are struggling, then if it is any consolation, professionals that I know are at best breaking even on their betting but losing when considering expenses, at worst, they are doing their brains.

It has been that sort of year. Black clouds have been amassing ever since the start of the Flat season and now they are literally threatening to rain on our parade. Therefore, we should expect the remainder of this week’s meetings to appeal to runners with webbed feet.

Tomorrow, Beverley and Hamilton could be quagmires. Chepstow, already (and always it seems) soft, must be in doubt after the predicted deluges, whilst Sandown and Salisbury should survive but look guaranteed to be soft. Only Great Leighs on Thursday can be relied upon to provide decent ground. The weekend is likely to be anyone’s guess and we can only hope York can provide a raceable surface for its Ebor meeting next week.

All very depressing I know. Apart from the fact that racing has failed to lift off from a punting point of view, it has also been a downbeat year in other ways for followers of the sport. So much so, that, under pressure from the other half, I have just booked a late summer holiday in Greece starting on the Tuesday after the Arc de Triomphe. That is a sure sign that all my yards will simultaneously have it off during that period and horses like Moonquake that I have waited for all season, will chose that week to come good. But you cannot continue to sit and hope. Better to spend money on something you are guaranteed to enjoy rather than contribute to the holiday funds of others.

In the meantime, on the assumption our friends from the Met Office are on the right lines, it looks like a case of backing Black Rain in the 8.10 Sandown tomorrow and laying Bright Sun in the 2.10 at Beverley on Thursday.

And Another Thing

OLYMPICS

I REALISE I must be in the minority when I say that I have not watched a single event from China. Nothing personal, it is just that I am not particularly interested in archery, swimming (especially when the events same to be won by the same competitor), sailing or whatever else it is that they are up to at present. My loss no doubt; and to be fair racing takes a large chunk of the day, so for me, watching television as a pastime is rather like Gordon Ramsey having to endure a dinner party in my conservatory.

By all accounts, the Chinese have made a good job of staging the Olympics. Their opening ceremony was spectacular – anything that involves fireworks does give them an advantage – but they appear to have set a standard that will be hard for Great Britain to emulate in 2012 when the quest for athletic excellence shifts to London.

Oh Lord! London. Great city for shopping: Oxford Street for the big chains, Bond Street for designers and Marleybone High Street for women who like the unusual reasonably priced, as found in Shoon.

Shaftesbury Avenue is good for theatres – although not up to Broadway – and there are countless other attractions like the London Eye, the Imax, museums and events like tea at the Ritz.

But London to host the Olympics. Now that is something of a challenge for a city geared up to commerce, shopping, entertainment and turning visitors over. However, we appear to be on the starting blocks already. No sooner do the current Games conclude than, to coincide with the handover on August 24th, London will stage a party with Will Young, James Morrison and Scouting for Girls headlining a host of artists along The Mall. Whether any miming will be involved is not known.

The Olympic Flag will be handed to Boris Johnson, so no danger of him doing much damage there, and to be on the safe side Jade Goody will be in India.

As for the Games themselves – well women’s boxing makes it debut in 2012. This discipline will be moved from its unofficial traditional location of the Robin Hood pub in Nottingham to London’s Royal Victoria Dock, itself no stranger to the sight of blood on a Saturday night.

As a nation, we have four years to prepare the world for what they may encounter after their touchdown at London Airport. Well, there will be the usual shady-looking cab drivers prowling the terminals in the hope of picking up a fare. Strangers to the UK who agree to the cheaper alternative to the traditional black cab, will have the temporary impression that the Vauxhall Cavalier is a cutting edge vehicle here.

Those unfamiliar with our monetary system will also be perplexed when persuaded the larger note that says it is a twenty is worth less than the smaller one that says it is a five. They may also think a game known as Find the Lady is incredibly easy to play until they actually put any money down. As yet this particular event has not been included in the Games, although its addition would surely increase the host nation’s medal chance. The same applies to the MacDonalds Hamburger Eating competition, principally because, as a condition, this discipline should include the downing of a pint of bitter in between burgers. A deal is rumoured to be pending between Fuller’s Cockney Pride, Tetley’s and the surprisingly excellent Chinese beer, Tsingtao. The most suitable location for this would appear to be The Queen Vic, which could also hold fledging events such as darts, dominos and spitting into a pint mug from a distance of ten yards.

Visitors must also learn to distinguish between the venue of Stratford in East London and Stratford-Upon-Avon. The former is to be revitalised in preparation for several events, the latter, whilst suitable for rowing, cream tea shovelling and starting sentences with ‘Methinks’ and ‘Foresooth’, is not as yet a location for the Games.

Those who find themselves here in four years time should be aware that we have some stringent immigration rules. Only if you cannot speak English, or have a billion pounds are you likely to be eligible to apply for British citizenship when the competition concludes. However, if you tick neither of the above boxes, all is not lost as you may still be given a Toyota Cruiser and a large house in Finsbury Park.

As for us residents, before the shindig, travel agents should prepare for a flood of enquiries from residents in the capital looking for holidays between late July and early August. At its completion, there is the promise of a better transport system, new state-of-the-art stadiums, and the rebirth of the east end of London.

Today, on ground that should have made us all think twice, there were some disappointing runs from some very well-fancied favourites. The word disappointing is overused in racing. Trainers often shove it under our noses when discussing the chances of horses that appear to only have to go down and come back. ‘I shall be very disappointed if he-or she doesn’t win’ is an often-heard claim. It makes me wonder how we should cope with so much disappointment swimming around after the races.

I have seen some of the trainers in question after this unforeseen disappointment has manifested itself. They look surprisingly unruffled, in contrast to those that have backed the horses concerned. Amongst those presumably suffering from a bout of depression and disappointment tonight are connections of  odds-on failures William Blake and Miss Rochester. Included must be I Am The Best  having demonstrated whomsoever named him was somewhat optimistic.

And Another Thing

French Horseracing Invasion …

THE FRENCH ARE at it again. Not content with invading Ascot and stealing the show a la Gerald Mosse, they stage the day’s major race-meeting on Sunday at Deauville. Two races are shown from there on the racing channels and the prize-money totals the equivalent of three days domestic racing in this country. The Group 2 for fillies and mares was worth £54,000, the Group 1 Prix Maurice de Gheest over £100,000. Not bad for a wet Sunday in August and certainly better than anything we will manage this week! Oh sure, we have York round the corner but, like so many things associated with our nearest neighbours across the channel, you cannot help but think they have a better formula than we have..

French racing is very different to our equivalent. They have nowhere near the amount of racing but when they do stage a meeting, it is with typical Gallic panache. Horses have a chance to graduate from the provinces [where claiming races can be worth up to £10,000] and race for proper prize-money. The major tracks of Longchamp, Deauville, Maisons-Laffitte, Chantilly and Saint-Cloud all regularly host meetings where fat purses are offered to winning connections. Entrance fees are low and an experience at a French racecourse is a much more refined affair than it is in Britain. No chanting from hordes of race goers just off the coach who have polished off crates of Carling and John Smiths and are now starting on the racecourse draught. No heaving betting ring full of men in football shirts swilling beer from plastic containers and gurning at the television cameras behind John McCririck. It is more a case of Yves St Lauren, Hermes ties and the equivalent of what used to be the British stiff upper-lip.

Of course the French only have customers to please and no bookmakers, so which is preferable? Betting in France is strictly regulated and controlled by the PMU, with all profits returned to racing. Betting in this country is still regulated but is an industry in freefall. Of course, this means punters have far greater choice here and are not saddled with swingeing SPs or their equivalent. And there is none of this coupling nonsense to put up with. The French definitely have that one wrong. Their system, which is a dubious concept to start with, means coupling horses in the same ownership, rather than the logical step of lumping together horses that represent the same trainer. A case can be made for the latter system but horses in the same, or in part-ownership being coupled means that very often, with something like the Ballydoyle consortium, or on occasions when Prince Khalid Abdullah has more than one runner in a race, prices are compressed to a ghastly level.

The French do not have everything right but they are a good way toward making racing a pastime enjoyed by the public, rather than an industry catering for people with little interest in the sport.

Visitors to our racecourses do gracefully declare that English racing is wonderful. It can be; but those voicing such opinions are invariably speaking from an experience in a private box or Members’ terraces at the very least, as opposed to having to spend an afternoon next to Billy six-bellies in Tatts with beer drizzling on their shoes.

It would be nice if we could combine the best of both worlds to these shores but such a move would require a major cultural rethink that shifts way beyond our little equine world.

As a nation, we would have to revise our behaviour in all sorts of areas. Our attitude to alcohol and the way we spend our leisure time for a start.

For the time being, although it grieves me to admit it, rather like their food and their way of life, the Europeans, although far from perfect, do seem to have the edge over us in the culture stakes. Which is rather a shame as there was a time when Britain led the way in that particular field. Alas, along with so much more of our national heritage, those days are gone. Many will state about time too! They may have a point. Those that administrated this country for so long eventually fell on their own swords, leaving the way open for a dilution of power, away from authority and to its people.

Perhaps they only have themselves to blame for the kind of society we now find ourselves living in. Had they made a better and more convincing job of that rule, perhaps the yob, knife and drink culture, for which we are increasing becoming synonymous, would never had reared its grotesque head.

And Another Thing

Is French Horseracing better than UK racing: The French Horseracing Invasion …

THE FRENCH ARE at it again. Not content with invading Ascot and stealing the show a la Gerald Mosse, they stage the day’s major race-meeting on Sunday at Deauville. Two races are shown from there on the racing channels and the prize-money totals the equivalent of three days domestic racing in this country. The Group 2 for fillies and mares was worth £54,000, the Group 1 Prix Maurice de Gheest over £100,000. Not bad for a wet Sunday in August and certainly better than anything we will manage this week! Oh sure, we have York round the corner but, like so many things associated with our nearest neighbours across the channel, you cannot help but think they have a better formula than we have..

French racing is very different to our equivalent. They have nowhere near the amount of racing but when they do stage a meeting, it is with typical Gallic panache. Horses have a chance to graduate from the provinces [where claiming races can be worth up to £10,000] and race for proper prize-money. The major tracks of Longchamp, Deauville, Maisons-Laffitte, Chantilly and Saint-Cloud all regularly host meetings where fat purses are offered to winning connections. Entrance fees are low and an experience at a French racecourse is a much more refined affair than it is in Britain. No chanting from hordes of race goers just off the coach who have polished off crates of Carling and John Smiths and are now starting on the racecourse draught. No heaving betting ring full of men in football shirts swilling beer from plastic containers and gurning at the television cameras behind John McCririck. It is more a case of Yves St Lauren, Hermes ties and the equivalent of what used to be the British stiff upper-lip.

Of course the French only have customers to please and no bookmakers, so which is preferable? Betting in France is strictly regulated and controlled by the PMU, with all profits returned to racing. Betting in this country is still regulated but is an industry in freefall. Of course, this means punters have far greater choice here and are not saddled with swingeing SPs or their equivalent. And there is none of this coupling nonsense to put up with. The French definitely have that one wrong. Their system, which is a dubious concept to start with, means coupling horses in the same ownership, rather than the logical step of lumping together horses that represent the same trainer. A case can be made for the latter system but horses in the same, or in part-ownership being coupled means that very often, with something like the Ballydoyle consortium, or on occasions when Prince Khalid Abdullah has more than one runner in a race, prices are compressed to a ghastly level.

The French do not have everything right but they are a good way toward making racing a pastime enjoyed by the public, rather than an industry catering for people with little interest in the sport.

Visitors to our racecourses do gracefully declare that English racing is wonderful. It can be; but those voicing such opinions are invariably speaking from an experience in a private box or Members’ terraces at the very least, as opposed to having to spend an afternoon next to Billy six-bellies in Tatts with beer drizzling on their shoes.

It would be nice if we could combine the best of both worlds to these shores but such a move would require a major cultural rethink that shifts way beyond our little equine world.

As a nation, we would have to revise our behaviour in all sorts of areas. Our attitude to alcohol and the way we spend our leisure time for a start.

For the time being, although it grieves me to admit it, rather like their food and their way of life, the Europeans, although far from perfect, do seem to have the edge over us in the culture stakes. Which is rather a shame as there was a time when Britain led the way in that particular field. Alas, along with so much more of our national heritage, those days are gone. Many will state about time too! They may have a point. Those that administrated this country for so long eventually fell on their own swords, leaving the way open for a dilution of power, away from authority and to its people.

Perhaps they only have themselves to blame for the kind of society we now find ourselves living in. Had they made a better and more convincing job of that rule, perhaps the yob, knife and drink culture, for which we are increasing becoming synonymous, would never had reared its grotesque head.

And Another Thing

Beat the bookies! What  a Day!

THEY SAY HUMBLE PIE, a bit like quiche, is best eaten cold. Saturday was supposed to be a day for curmudgeons, a day when all racing’s ills manifested themselves in one awful day that could be bemoaned for months to come. It started in typical curmudgeonly style. It rained. It rained very hard at Haydock, making the ground akin to Towcester in December. It also rained pretty hard at Newmarket and steadily at Ascot – where they held the Shergar Cup.

Oh so much to complain about! The form would be out the window, the Shergar Cup would provide the bookmakers with the sort of benefit they could not have staged better if they had been in control. The races were all handicaps; we were largely unfamiliar with half the jockeys riding, and the captain of the British team was a girl. And we all know that girls cannot ride because they are not strong enough or wily enough and the proper jockeys, that is to say the men, shuffle and buffet them around during races.

So there was not point in having a bet at all. At Haydock, where it had rained very hard, in the opener, Zero Tolerance was punted into the ground and bolted up. Then, in the Coral Handicap, especially designed to fox the punter, the obvious and topical horse in view of events in China, Valery Borzov, sprinted away to land another gamble. The good thing, Multidimensional, obliged in the Group 3 at generous odds of 2/1 and then Pricewise dealt another blow to the layers when Perks won the Class 2 Handicap. Not a bad start to a card that looked about as logical as Portman Park beforehand.

Newmarket trundled along reasonably well. Despite being his Bismarck, a very well-backed Rainbow View upset only Barry Dennis when winning the Group 3 Sweet Solera in the style of a useful filly. Kalahari Gold wrapped up Channel Four’s coverage when winning his third race after only four starts and Rainbow View’s form was further upheld in the maiden, when another market-mover in Snoqualmie Girl landed the money.

At the grumpy old man’s last stand, Ascot, Strike Up the Band won the first for the excellent Yutaka Take and was backed to do so. Jamie Spencer had the sort of day we all had coming. He failed to persuade Bentong to exit the stalls in this and later, his mount, Vanderlin, burst from the stalls prematurely in the last and had to be withdrawn. Now that’s more like it!

The Japanese rider followed up in he second when Nans Joy, who could not win, did. Then they smashed into Shifting Star and he obliged. Then, horror of horrors, the girl jockey, Hayley Turner, rode a peach in anyone’s language to pounce late and grab the staying race. What makes it worse, this is not the first time she has done this sort of thing. The little strumpet can ride and she looks cute, particularly with mud splattered across her pretty face and her earrings twinkling in the rain. If she is going to be a proper jockey, at least she could look like one of the dwarfs out of Snow White. But no, not content with captaining her team and having the gall to be the only British jockey to ride a winner, she makes you want to ask her out for a drink! Lord, it was turning into the sort of day that could raise a smile on the most cantankerous old sod’s face.

But there was still hope! The day’s one bet on the card, Perfect Star, was sure to lose the last. Okay, she liked a bit of give, but the rain had really got in by this time, she pulled to the start and her rider, Gerald Mosse, had already booted two winners home so had used up all his good fortune. What was worse, those of us on the filly had taken on the might of Ladbrokes, knocking off her best odds of 13/2 with them in the morning, so were guaranteed to have plenty to complain about as we all know Ladbrokes always get it right. It was a recipe for disaster. Time to open the red wine. Something French seemed appropriate, as Mosse was sure to make a mess of things. Worse, he had probably phoned Ladbrokes in the morning and told them they could lay the filly for all they were worth!

Off a slow pace, he rode a shocker, lying too far out of his ground and giving the filly far too much to do. After a glass of claret, it was obvious Perfect Star was not going to win. But the rain slowed those in front, who stopped quickly and Mosse was able to extricate the filly and produce her with the perfect run to get up close home. See, I told you he was a good jockey!

And rumour has it that the Ascot crowd were entertained after racing by Paul Young, Bananarama and other popular musicians and that people, most of them improperly dressed by Ascot standards, were reported having had a good time. Damn it! What is happening with this racing game? It’s not supposed to be enjoyable!

So now it’s Saturday night and there is nothing to complain about except that there is nothing on the television.

Bloody Saturdays – Bloody Shergar Cup!

And Another Thing

Punters’ Russian Roulette

WE ALL KNOW that English racing is the best in the world. We have the best jockeys, the best horses, the most diverse courses: Ascot, Cheltenham, Newmarket and York to name a few. Oh, and we have the biggest number of racecourses of any country considering our size. That is a great recipe is it not.

So how come I have not watched a single horserace the last two days and possibly will not bother again today. Put bluntly, racing has been abysmal, dire, shocking, boring in the extreme. Writing this on Tuesday night, if somebody offered me that dream scenario of being able to have a bet today with the results already known, I would be unable to cash in. That is to say, I am unaware of a single result from this afternoon’s fixtures. I am no wiser than I was this morning.

I have Racing UK, I have ATR – a horserace is only a flick of the remote control away. Yet I have not been in the slightest bit interested. I have spent this afternoon listening to Steve Wright on Radio 2 whilst catching up on some work. For that to happen something is wrong. You bet – or in my case you don’t!

I do not expect Goodwood every week. I know poor horses need a chance to compete. But do they have to do it in my office for race after race, day after day? No, they do not. Not if I chose for them not to, and for the past two days I have chosen them to run round the likes of Catterick, Windsor, Carlisle and Chepstow without me. That is my choice – it is yours too. If, as the bookmakers would have us believe, racing revolves around the turnover they generate, allowing them to put money into the sport, how is it that the level of prize-money today was so paltry?

At Catterick, there were seven races where the total prize-money on offer was around £20,000. At Chepstow, it was even worse. They staged eight races where the amount on offer was less, around £19,000. Contrast that with Rosscommon tonight with a total in Sterling of £35,000 for just six races, or Gowran Park where they staged seven events and stumped up a total of £40,000.

Something is radically wrong somewhere. This is not an isolated incident, this is happening every day of the week. And when the prize-money on offer is less than the amount that can be won by laying or backing a horse for even a modest sum, then it does not take an egghead to work out our priorities are askew. All it takes is a bit of common sense and the will to improve the situation. Put on a £10,000 race at Chepstow today and a £7,000 event at Catterick. If trainers fail to support such an initiative and it does not give punters at least something of interest on the day, close the tracks, stop the funding, tell the courses in question they have to make their own way without the help of the Levy Board.

Bookmakers would soon start screaming if blank days appeared, or on certain days, only one meeting was staged. If they are the benevolent saviours that they claim, let them step in and plug the gap in the fixture list, which at present infers only those without any appreciation of the noble sport are dim-witted enough to watch what is served up regardless of quality. If, as they assert, racing is not the focal point of their business, let us put it to the test and see how long their betting shops, their off-shore credit offices and their mansions of commerce in London, Manchester and Leeds, last without the staple diet they have taken for granted for so long.

As punters – never forget you have a choice. You can turn off the remote; you can go to the cinema or the gym instead of the betting office. You can check out the latest holiday details on your computer instead of gawping at Betfair.

Racing is great when it is good. But it is dross when it is bad. Let us vote with our biros, our fingers on the remote and our telephones. Let us see what the authorities do then!

Last week I wrote about the fine line between winning and losing. The invisible decision-making process that defines when a horse is a bet and when it is not. Sometimes, such uncertain decisions are based on luck, the mood we find ourselves in or on a sixth sense.

Consider this for a set of decisions: Let me set the scene. You are in a private carriage of a train crashing through the night somewhere in Europe. It is dark outside; your fellow passengers are reflected in the black window. There are six of you all from different walks of life. There is a soldier, a priest, a widow, a card sharp, a failed gambler and an ordinary-looking citizen. You may look unique but you are the same. You all have a chequered history and are not what you seem. You are one of this set of people. Outside, little lighted villages flash by. You are hurtling through the night to an appointment that means nothing to you. Should you fail to arrive it will not matter. You have reached a point in your life when the speeding train has more purpose than you do.

Now, in the midst of such inner turmoil, comes an invitation from an eccentric billionaire to take part in a game of Russian roulette for a million pounds. This is not the ordinary game but one concerning six players, meaning five will survive and one will not.

There is one revolver and one bullet. This bullet is inserted in the chamber, which is then spun and the gun placed in the middle of a table. Players have to then pick up the gun in turn, place it to their temple and squeeze the trigger. Obviously, if the bullet is in the chamber when they do so, he or she will be sitting at the table minus a vital part of their anatomy.

So two questions for you regarding probability and odds: Firstly, would you take part in this game for the money on offer? We all know the odds are 5/1 in your favour and possibly a million pounds could change your life. Then again, so could blowing your brains out. Secondly, as the chamber is only spun once before the game commences, it is certain that after a maximum of six shots one of the party will be dead. Therefore, if you had the choice, at which point in the process would you care to fire. Would you prefer to fire first – the only time when the odds are an irrefutable 5/1, or last – in which case you may not have to fire at all but if you do then you face certain death? Alternatively, perhaps you would opt for somewhere in-between. The choice is yours.

Mathematicians will tell you it makes no difference and that all have the same 5/1 chance irrespective of the firing order. However, mathematicians are unlikely to take part in such a desperate drama. Those who would may invoke the theory of probability, which is an entirely different proposition altogether. They will claim that to fire first [5/1 absolute odds] or last (unlikely to get that far) is preferable.

This is an intriguing theme for one such as myself and one I shall return to. In the meantime, any comments would be welcome.

AND ANOTHER THING

Zarkava will win the Arc

3 AM AND I AM AWAKE – not a good start to the week. This has been happening a lot lately; I have been waking at strange hours like some git with a guilty conscience. It normally happens when I am in the middle of a long losing run but I actually won a few bob last week so now I am waking up to worry about winning as well as losing!

Perhaps I am awake because of my wife – or to be more exact my partner. I hate referring to her as my partner because the word suggests that I don’t wish to reveal with whom I share my life. I could be living with a Yeti, or worse, someone of the same sex. No, it is a woman. I know that because she was away for a few days the week before last and I slept perfectly well and thought I had gone deaf. Anyway, she would insist on inflicting me with this late night television programme on Sunday about members of the Women’s Institute investigating the possibility of legalising brothels. Therefore, the last thing I see before going to bed is one middle-aged woman and one rather older one visiting Amsterdam, Nevada and New Zealand in search of the perfect brothel. I mean, why can’t I ever get a commission like that? And what is the point of legalising brothels when they will still do it in the back of cars, in old metal containers that used to transport bananas and in King’s Cross, and the so-called sex industry will still be run by crime in one form or another? If you ask me, the presenter of this little gem on Channel 4 seemed to be enjoying her role – which included posing in leather boots and not much else in a window in Winchester of all places, and helping a man relieve himself over the telephone whilst she read from a script all for 70pence – a little bit too much!

I have backed a loser before the week has even started, as I am due at the dentist at 9.30, providing I can keep awake after such a sleepless night. It is ostensibly a check-up but I have no doubt they will find something that will mean I will have to back a winner to pay them. But you cannot upset your dentist anymore. If you do, they will strike you off their list and unless you take a holiday in South Africa, your gums will eventually rot and your teeth fall out. So I shall go and get prodded, cleaned, try to speak with a thingy stuck in my mouth, spit and pay whatever they ask.

It strikes me that there is enough going on right now to keep anyone awake. I am thinking of all the injustices being perpetrated. For a start, what is the point of a legal system that keeps contradicting itself? One set of jurors finds Barry George guilty of murder, another sets him free. His defence? He could not have killed Jill Dando because he was stalking another woman – unnamed and presumably in grave danger if his stalking skills ever lead him to her. Well that’s all right then isn’t it!

And I know I am going back in time, but why did the prosecution in the Fallon case have to bring over a race reader from Australia to analyse all those bloopers Fallon was supposed to have made on purpose but, unless there is a retrial of course, didn’t? Was Timeform’s Jim McGrath otherwise engaged?

Then there is Gordon Brown! A prime minister no one voted for who bites his nails, cannot match his tie and shirt and has a glass eye. He keeps telling us he is the right man for the job, although it is plain to everyone without a glass eye that he is not – unless he is referring to a different job – maybe the president of Haiti. He has had his year in Number 10 – can we have Tony back now?

Next, they tell us power suppliers have made record profits and are putting up energy prices by something like 70%. They also say that inflation is running at 4% when even my paperboy knows it is running in double figures. And his knowledge of world economics is based on the price of Red Bull, Mars bars and Dizzie Rascal’s latest CD. His only ambition in life seems to be to wear away that little strip of lawn between my path and the pavement that he will insist on cutting across to shove the Racing Post through my letterbox. There was a time when I used to run down to the shop to pick up the paper, when coincidentally I weighed half a stone less than I do now, but after falling over a hedgehog and cutting my chin one pitch black morning I decided to give that up.

This weekend, two fillies that have been comprehensively beaten by Zarkava win Group 1 races, which seems to suggest Zarkava will win the Arc – only she has not done the trip and is not sure to get it. Duke Of Marmalade had not done the King George trip, nor had Halfway To Heaven gone ten furlongs before the Nassau. Neither was bred to stay but of course they did and they won.

Today we hit the ground with a bump with racing from Windsor, Ripon and Carlisle. There is something happening at Newton Abbot but no sane person can take that seriously in August! Someone has told me he has a good thing lined up for Tuesday. Of course, I don’t know what it is and will probably only get to find out when its price has been halved in the morning betting. And I shall have twice as much on it than I should to compensate and it will be ridden by Jamie Spencer and get baulked in its run. Maybe it will not be that bad. Maybe I will not make it to Tuesday.

Other than that, I cannot imagine why I am having difficulty in sleeping.