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Clever dick
Jeffrey Bernard
The nearer we get to the Derby the more pieces we find to fit into the puzzle. Last Saturday, Ryan Price's colt Whitstead — by Morston out of a Tudor Melody mare —won at Sandown Park in a manner that suggests he may be the one to test Try My Best more than any other. Apart from anything else I can't think of a trainer I'd rather see win the Derby than Captain Ryan Price. What an extraordinary man he is. Listening to him talk racing is always fascinating and often very amusing. He combines a wonderful upper-class accent with foul language and when he sings the praises of one of his horses his exaggerations are a delight to hear. Last Thursday, lunching with him at Newmarket, he said of one horse, 'He's a f---ing ballet dancer, old boy. I've never seen such a beautiful mover. If he walked on eggs he wouldn't break a single f---ing one of them.' That's Whitstead, and although he wasn't galloping on eggs last week he certainly galloped his rivals into the ground.
As for the Irish challenger, favourite and mount of Lester Piggott, Try My Best, what the hell can one think? Racehorses of 1977 comes out and flatly states, 'If he stays a mile and a half, he is a ready made winner of the Derby.' Bold words. What worries me though about the horse is not so much his ability to last the Derby trip — Lester is a past master of holding up a mile, and a quarter horse so that it can get the extra two furlongs — but the recent rumours circulating about the horse's well-being. The
rumours have been denied by both his trainer O'Brien and his owner Robert Sang ster who said last week that he was 'as clean as a whistle'. But, and it's a big but, is there smoke without fire? Are the rumours circulating to put people off backing the horse? Are the rumours circulating so as to make the horse drift in the market? Who knows? Lester and O'Brien I should think.
Meanwhile, yet another English trained horse put himself into the picture last week with a splendid win at Newmarket, Peter Walwayn's hitherto unraced colt Leonardo Da Vinci. He may not have been as impressive as Whitstead but it was a great performance for a 'first time out'. I do know for a fact, having been a Walwyn guest recently, that Pat Eddery thinks he is one of the best horses he has ever sat on and that's praise indeed. The problem doesn't get any clearer though if, like me, you leave the Walwyn establishment and pop down the road for a drink in the Red Lion at Lambourn. It's in there that you meet so many head lads, work riders and stable boys in the know that you can get earache listening to them talk about the dark horses entered for the Derby.
The loudest whisper I heard in Lambourn was for Major Hem's horse, Admiral's Launch. I personally wasn't all that impressed by his win in the Craven Stakes and he must improve a lot between now and Derby Day. I should have thought he might be more of a St Leger horse. I also got a tremendous nudge in the ribs and a lot of heavy winking from Hugie Heeney, Barry Hills's head man. He said that Sexton Blake was in very good nick but I'll wait until I see Jimmy Lindley again who was riding him out on Tuesday morning. What else is whispered? Well, from Ireland, when the wind's in the right direction, you can hear them shouting in the bars about Exdirectory and if you think he might be as good as they say you should take the 20-1 on offer now.
Slightly more amusing than the Derby question was the story I heard in Lambourn about the famous ex-jump jockey who became besotted with an aristocratic lady some time ago. She wouldn't have anything to do with him but he stalked her for a year and eventually she gave in and said she'd spend a weekend with him while her husband was in Geneva. They had their rhapsodical weekend and on the Monday morning the jockey drove her back to her house. He took her luggage out of the car and walked through the front door. To his and her horror the husband had returned a day early and there he stood, at the bottom of the stairs, looking like a gorilla and twice as big. 'Who the hell are you?' he asked the jockey. Quick as a flash came the reply. 'I'm a mini-cab driver and I've just brought your wife from Paddington Station.' 'Oh, thanks,' said the husband. 'How much do I owe you?' Four pounds sir."Right, here's a fiver. Keep the change.' Having heard that one I'm not in the least surprised that he was cool headed enough to win a particularly exciting Grand National a few years back.
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