Racing
Just the one
Jeffrey Bernard
Of all people who take themselves too seriously the racing classes ought to plead guilty and I mean more guilty than even those in the entertainment business. Offer some criticism to a jockey, poke some fun at a trainer and the heavens open up. I've been thinking about this aspect of racing people for the past few days ever since I was told that I'm responsible for one trainer's recent heart attack. I simply remarked, somewhat facetiously, that he covered the distance of ground between his yard and his local pub at a speed reminiscent of The Tetrach. (He should be so well bred!) The man exploded and apparently made some remark to the effect that trainers of racehorses were due respect because they trained racehorses. Well, well. What a funny lot some of them are. The trouble is that most of the genuinely funny ones are across the sea in Ireland.
Like Mick O'Toole. I spent two days with him once at the Curragh and they're two days I shall never forget, although I can't remember them. Looking around his yard ,on the Sunday morning I arrived, 1 remarked that one horse he led out of its box looked as though it would stay a fairish distance. I was, in fact, talking through the top of my head since I was looking at a six furlong animal and O'Toole put my in my place with his typical Irish charm. last's, you're an eedjut,' he said. 'He couldn't stay a mile in a f g horse box.'
Admonished I crept off to a pub in town with him for 'just the one'. We were only going to have one because Mick's wife had got the lunch on and anyway the pubs don't stay open for long on a Sunday in Ireland. We sat down with a drink and started to chat to Pat Eddery's father who was once placed second or third, I can't remember which, in an Epsom Derby and we were still talking and drinking with him at the same table seven hours later. O'Toole's idea of 'just the one'.
The next day — it must have been about ten minutes away — he took me to the dogs in Dublin at Selhurst Park. Now since O'Toole was at one time in his early days a dog trainer I was more than eager that he should mark my card. He duly obliged and we then proceeded to back, eight consecutive losers. He was tremendously amused by our going skine.but I found it tremendously hard to raise a smile since have a genuine loathing for running out of money when I'm abroad. Actually, I'm not all that fond of running out of money at Harringay, Ascot or in my betting shop, but giving handouts to the bookies in Ireland or the tierce in Paris is ghastly. Anyway, O'Toole whistled all the way to the Shelbourne Hotel with me whining beside him and I've never seen a man raise the float quickly as he did. Within three minutes his pockets were running over and he 'saw me alright'. He has a lot of friends does Mr O'Toole, he puts his money where his mouth is when he has a bet and I've never known the man complain when his horses do get stuffed.
'd very much like to take a few of the humourless and pompous English trainers over to the Curragh and around his yard to show them that you don't have to imitate Colonel Blimp to train horses. Con Collins who trains over there is another case and he has the most extraordinary ideas of what hospitality consists of. When I called in at his establishment once I was shown into a sitting room and then a maid came in carrying a tray on which were poised one glass, a bottle of Scotch whisky, a bottle of Irish, a bottle of gin, a bottle of brandy and a bottle of vodka. 'Mr Collins will be with you in five minutes and he says you're to ring the bell if you need any more to drink,' she said. I have a shrewd suspicion that Irish eyes will be smiling yet again this week by the time the curtain comes down on Royal Ascot. Vincent O'Brien's horse Godswalk is rnY banker bet of the meeting but God only knows what effect the recent downpours will have on all known form.
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