Some people are fond of saying “I don't believe in luck , you make your own luck in this world.” They often strut also. I've never connected with them. One of the things that makes Cheltenham so special is how such arrogance is constantly challenged there. For me, the whole festival is about trying (and usually failing) to tame luck:
The trainers trying to get the horses there as fit and healthy as they can (Cue Card).
The jockeys trying to get themselves there in one piece with some decent rides (Jason Maguire)
The smaller owners professing to be just there for the day out but clutching their lucky mascots, and what's left of their bank balance, to their chests in secret hope (apparently an hour before Midnight Prayer won, his owner had a massive heart attack. I wish him well.)
The big owners who have seen it all before and bow their heads in supplication to the luck that keeps them here to enjoy it. (Granted, a handful do indeed strut around in the belief that they've already tamed luck, but time will do for them.)
The stable hands and connections who live and sleep nothing but their horses for years and travel to the course hope hand-in-hand with fear (spare a thought for Niamh Hennessey – and all connections of Our Conor).
And of course there's those who try not to tame luck, but to cheat it. The pickpockets, the hucksters, the touts (and trainers with cases of dodgy pharmaceuticals)
And there's those who try to negate luck. The bookies with their odds compilers, special offers and built-in profit margins (Paddy Power allegedly lost £5.5 million on the first race, on which they had a ridiculously generous special offer, “despite getting lucky on the placed horses.”)
And of course the punters, with their secret systems, losing strategies, favourite horses and lucky underpants.
For every person who backed Western Warhorse in-running to win the Arkle at 999/1 there's someone wondering why he clicked the lay button.
For every hundred people who lifted Hollywell up the hill, there's one who backed Ma Filleule at 40/1 to win only when they could have gone each way (me).
For everyone who backed both Our Conor and The New One (me) there's someone else who backed Jetzki and My Tent or Yours and did the forecast also, “just for the craic” and couldn't stop telling all and sundry all night (until someone hit him. Like I said – you make your own luck in this game.)
The horses, of course, just run round a nice big field...
The trainers trying to get the horses there as fit and healthy as they can (Cue Card).
The jockeys trying to get themselves there in one piece with some decent rides (Jason Maguire)
The smaller owners professing to be just there for the day out but clutching their lucky mascots, and what's left of their bank balance, to their chests in secret hope (apparently an hour before Midnight Prayer won, his owner had a massive heart attack. I wish him well.)
The big owners who have seen it all before and bow their heads in supplication to the luck that keeps them here to enjoy it. (Granted, a handful do indeed strut around in the belief that they've already tamed luck, but time will do for them.)
The stable hands and connections who live and sleep nothing but their horses for years and travel to the course hope hand-in-hand with fear (spare a thought for Niamh Hennessey – and all connections of Our Conor).
And of course there's those who try not to tame luck, but to cheat it. The pickpockets, the hucksters, the touts (and trainers with cases of dodgy pharmaceuticals)
And there's those who try to negate luck. The bookies with their odds compilers, special offers and built-in profit margins (Paddy Power allegedly lost £5.5 million on the first race, on which they had a ridiculously generous special offer, “despite getting lucky on the placed horses.”)
And of course the punters, with their secret systems, losing strategies, favourite horses and lucky underpants.
For every person who backed Western Warhorse in-running to win the Arkle at 999/1 there's someone wondering why he clicked the lay button.
For every hundred people who lifted Hollywell up the hill, there's one who backed Ma Filleule at 40/1 to win only when they could have gone each way (me).
For everyone who backed both Our Conor and The New One (me) there's someone else who backed Jetzki and My Tent or Yours and did the forecast also, “just for the craic” and couldn't stop telling all and sundry all night (until someone hit him. Like I said – you make your own luck in this game.)
The horses, of course, just run round a nice big field...
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