Fit To Drop

As anyone who knows me will attest I am not exactly a lean mean fighting machine and I definitely have what is kindly described as a “middle age spread”.

It wasn’t always thus, I used to be lean and fit, playing sport most days. Indeed one of my “proudest”, if proudest is indeed apt, moments came about 25 years ago.

I was working on a new computer application for the Royal Navy, based at what is called a concrete battleship, i.e. a land naval base.

Being a military base sports and fitness were considered important and everyone was encouraged to play sports.

Consequently every lunchtime was spent playing some kind of sport, including some more esoteric ones.

Amongst my favourites was ”strong man rounders.” This was basically the same as the rounders you play at school, however instead of playing with a conventional rounders ball, you play with a deflated rugby ball instead.

Sounds easy?

Don’t you believe it!!

Oh yes, hitting the ball is easy enough, however to get the ball to travel any distance needs incredible upper body strength and you need to hit the ball in exactly the right spot – dead centre.

Hit it off centre it goes into an almighty spin. That, of course, adds to the challenge to the fielding side – have you ever tried catching a rugby ball spinning fast the “wrong way”?

For me, the best game of the lot was deck hockey. As the name implies it is normally played on the deck of a ship at sea, where obviously playing with a ball on an open deck is not a good idea.

Basically it is ice hockey without the ice. You play with a puck and sticks which, in size terms, are halfway between a standard hockey stick and an ice hockey stick.

The rules are virtually the same as ice hockey and it is fast and very physical, shoulder charging was not only allowed, it was actively encouraged.

Due to the transient nature of the base the teams tended to change quite regularly. However because we were working on a long term project we had a well established team and we played well together and we developed a reputation for playing hard.

A group of marine commandos turned up for a three month secondment and it wasn’t long before they had a team up and running and they too developed a reputation for being hard.

Inevitably we were destined to meet and come the big day there was a decent size crowd to watch this clash of the Titans. I have to admit some of us were nervous, whilst others were really fired up.

I won’t go into the full details, suffice to say two of the opposition ended up in hospital, one with a broken leg, and after twenty minutes they walked off saying we were too dirty.

So I can proudly say I was one of a team who made the Marine Commandos retreat.

Over the years my participation in sport diminished. Nowadays my “exercise” is limited to walking from the car to wherever I am going.

Last weekend it was hammered home just how unfit I am as I set off to Ayr for the Scottish Grand National.

Coming into land at Prestwick Airport you can see the racecourse, about three miles away as the crow fly’s.

Normally I get a train from the airport into Ayr, then either get a taxi or walk (about a mile) to the course.

I arrived at the station, found I had just missed a train and it was half an hour until the next one.

So I thought “well it is four hours before racing starts - I will walk to the course.”

So I set off through Prestwick Town - a lovely place - a proper High Street with real shops.

By then the sun was out and I was wearing a suit and carrying my computer bag, not an ideal combination.

I knew roughly where the course was - basically it was carry on down the Prestwick - Ayr road then turn left on the outskirts of Ayr.

Although the theory was perfect, I misjudged when to turn left and turned off far too soon.

I did not realise at first of course but after another mile I though "I should be there by now"

Further on I came to a playing field and I could see the Grandstand in the distance but could not see how to get to it.

Another half mile I reached a retail park, swallowed my pride, admitted to being lost and asked a couple in the car park for directions.

"Are you driving?"

"No, walking?"

"Oh!!!"

Anyway they gave me directions and it was another another mile and a half.

So I arrived at the course 1½ hours after leaving the airport, sweating, aching - the computer bag weighed a ton by now. I arrived in the press room bedraggled and shattered and immediately downed a half litre bottle of water.

That's not the end of it though.

I emerged after racing planning to get a taxi back to the airport. When I got outside there must have been about 300 people in the taxi queue and no taxi's there.

So - guess what? Yep I had to start walking again, although I did ask this incredulous police woman for directions for the quickest way to walk back to the airport.

I walked 1¼ miles before I reached the main Ayr - Prestwick road then managed to catch a bus to Prestwick town, from where it was a 3/4 mile walk to the airport.

This morning I checked the route I took on Google Earth - the walk to the racecourse should have been 3¾ miles, - I turned it into a 5¼ mile trek.

I have a big blister on my foot and my legs are still aching – I really am not fit and I am not 25 any more either.

A Matter Of Conscience

The question of horse fatalities has come to the fore again in the last ten days, following the death’s of Exotic Dancer and Wichita Lineman and, of course, the gut wrenching images of Mel

In Blue’s fall in the Foxhunters at Aintree.

Imagine if there was a human sport which had the same ratio of fatalities as racing, especially NH racing. There would be a massive clamour, and quite justifiably so, to have it banned.

Are we saying we value the life of a horse any less than the life of a human? If so should we actually be making such a judgement? What gives homo-sapiens the right to think it is superior to other species?

If we do accept the view the life of a horse is valued less than that of a human at what stage does the loss of life become too high?

A 0.1% attrition rate, 1%, 5%, 10% and if so how do you judge how much is too much? Some will argue, and a quote from a contributor to The Racing Forum, “there would be a helluva lot of people (and horses) out of work if NH racing was banned.”

Is that an argument for doing nothing? People’s livelihoods used to depend on sending children up chimneys or exploiting manual workers in dangerous working conditions. Neither of those, quite rightly so, would be tolerated in this day and age.

Attitudes change and it is possible the attitude of society may well change so that one day in the future racing, especially, national hunt racing, is banned because the cost to the equine contenders is considered too high.

I have posed many questions here – I am not pretending I know all or indeed any of the answers.

I do know I love horse racing, I love NH racing, it does not mean that I do not seriously have to examine my conscience on occasion.

I can see why many consider it cruel and when you see some of the events of the past few weeks it is nigh on impossible to morally justify the sport.

The deaths of high profile horses like Wichita Lineman of Exotic Dancer bring the fatalities more into the headlines, but the death of some 60 rated novice chaser is no less tragic.

I also realise there may well be a time when the sport is considered too cruel and it becomes impossible to justify it on moral grounds and the fact its banning would result in thousands being put out of work would hold now sway whatsoever.

Such an argument did not work when the ban on hunting was being put through Parliament. It would not work if there was a proposal to ban NH racing Racing is not exempt from the court of public opinion and we must not assume our sport is in some way a sacred institution – no matter how much we may love it.

Just because an activity is deemed acceptable now does not mean it will be acceptable in five, ten, fifty, one hundred years time. Public opinion changes.

There of those who say if you feel that strongly about injuries and fatalities then you should not follow the sport. Would that achieve anything?

With the amount of racing I go to I probably seeing more accidents on the track than most and that does not make them any more acceptable. I freely admit I have, more than once, shed a tear.

If I close my eyes I can still see Conny Noble, a beautiful grey, lowly rated, collapsing in front of me at Chepstow a few weeks ago.

Do I walk away from the sport because of that - if I thought, for one moment it would improve things of course I would - without hesitation. But I know it would make no difference at all. I am not at a stage in life where I am getting long in the tooth.

I have seen countless changes over the years which have really improved the safety of our sport.
It is almost impossible to believe now that when I first stated following racing the running rails were made of wood and the posts concrete. They claimed numerous lives both human and equine.

Fences were much more unforgiving and dangerous. Fences are now by-passed if there are stricken horses or riders on the other side. Anyone who remembers racing before fence by-passing will have a story of the field charging over a fence and some ambulance man doing his best to protect a stricken jockey.

The safety of racing has improved beyond recognition over the years - why?

Because of people who had consciences questioning what was wrong having concerns and doing something about it.

Had they decided to walk away from the sport would we still have a sport today?

We will never eliminate the risks and dangers that are inherent in the sport, however I believe it is incumbent upon everyone who follows the sport to still look at ways of making it safer.

Yes Beechers Brook was spectacular in the 1960's but it claimed too many victims. It has been made less dangerous but it is still, nevertheless, spectacular in its own way. As a species we do not like change - sometimes change is necessary.

When they first appeared I hated the fixed brush hurdles with a vengeance - because they are different - having seen them I am coming round to believe they are safer.

Everything in life carries risk.

Do we not get into a car because so many die needlessly in car accidents? Do we avoid having an operation because some people don't recover from an anaesthetic?

Of course not.

Do we expect the authorities to make things safer to reduce the risk?

Of course we do and racing should be no different.

If racing is to survive in the 21st Century it must be seen to be continually reducing the risks to all those who take part - be they human or equine.

Aintree - You Can Keep It

Obviously I am a keen racing fan and am an obsessive National Hunt supporter. Whilst Cheltenham is the pinnacle of the racing year, in terms of racing quality the Aintree Grand National Festival comes a very close runner-up.

However whereas I cannot wait to get back to racing at Cheltenham, I would not have the slightest regret if I were never to attend the Aintree Festival again.

Although the racing is of a high quality the meeting itself encapsulates, for me, much of what is wrong with modern racing.

Call me old fashioned but for me, an afternoon at the races should be a relaxing day out, in a warm friendly relaxed atmosphere in the convivial company of others who enjoy their racing. Sadly you will find none of these at the National meeting.

You realise what you are in for even before you enter the course.

Racegoers are treated as if they are going to be troublemakers, corralled like sheep or cattle.

You actually wonder if you are attending a race meeting or a football match where they are expecting trouble.

Arrive by train and you are greeted by Merseyrail staff who fall into one of two categories. They are either over zealous little Hitler’s who would make members of the Waffen-SS look like meek childminders. Alternatively there are “chippy Scousers” displaying that infamous local “wit”, which I somehow always fail to find totally unfunny. Clearly none of them have ever attended any customer service course.

On arrival at the station at a busy time and you are then corralled into what is effectively a holding pen until they decide you can proceed to the course.

Before entering the course you will then have to go through the so called security screening process. This screening dates from after the 1997 National. This, if you recall, is the meeting which was abandoned due to the IRA bomb threat and which resulted in one of the most embarrassing, incompetent displays of policing ever seen in this country. Basically the Merseyside force panicked big style and over-reacted in their reaction to the threat.

Perhaps Merseyside Police should spend some time with the Thames Valley police who are responsible for policing Royal Ascot, a much more high profile “target” from a security perspective but policed in discreet but effective manner.

Almost as a means to try and justify their actions the “ring of steel” was introduced to “protect” the event.

In reality this security screening is just for show and is a complete and utter waste of money.

This is exemplified by my arrival at the course on Thursday. All racegoers have to pass through airline style security scanners. You are meant to put mobile phones and metal item in a bag for examination. I “forgot” to take my PDA out of my jacket pocket. I went through the scanner, set off the alarm. At which point I was expected to be searched but no – absolutely nothing at all.

Next was the bag “search” – I had a computer bag with me. Four sections. I was asked to open one of them, a quick look inside. That was it.

So we had security screening. I set the alarm off and was not searched, I had a bulging bag which was not searched. What is the point? (This is not a “one off” either – the same happened to me last year. Indeed last year I saw a chap set off the alarm. He was asked to step aside to a search and he just walked off and was not challenged.)

So you are now in the course. Not in a happy mood by the way you have been herded like sheep. Concerned, because the ring of steel is, in reality, a just token mesh, expensive window dressing.
Once inside you wonder where you are. Are you at a racecourse or are you at any UK High Street on a Saturday night?

Sadly, I would say the overwhelming majority of those at the course will not see a horse all afternoon. Most have glasses of alcohol in their hands and seem hell bent on pouring as much alcohol down their throats as possible.

The middle day is “Ladies Day”, although the other two days could easily be described as dress (or perhaps “undress”) rehearsals.

These Ladies days should be a “delight on the eye” and granted some of the outfits are delightful, being worn by attractive women. Sadly, however, these are a minority. The majority, not to put too fine a point on it, are awful.

I was tempted to include the words “mutton” and “lamb” in describing the women, however in doing so I would be insulting sheep.

There is so much fake tan on display I am surprised there is not a world shortage. The trouble is most of the tan is so obviously fake and badly applied it looks comical, especially when combined with high heels, mini skirts, tight tops and size 20 bodies.

If it rains the puddles are orange and the racegoers have “tiger stripes” from the streaks.

As the booze flows the noise gets louder the legs more wobbly.

Earlier I compared Aintree with a UK High Street on a Saturday night. The similarity is most apparent towards the end of the day. Racegoers falling over, vomiting, making even more of an exhibition of themselves.

Of course it isn’t just the women. The lads are out as well – ogling the women, swilling the beer doing very impressive impersonations of wide boys and spivs.

I suppose I should show some balance and say this phenomenon is not unique to Liverpool and Aintree. It is something that is certainly endemic at a number of northern courses. Chester is as bad as Aintree for exhibitionist “ladies”, whilst the loutish lads predominate at York. For balance both sexes attempt out drink one another at Newcastle and Haydock.

Indeed thinking about it, the problem isn’t just a northern problem anymore as this insidious behaviour is now creeping south. Newmarket is attracting more than its fair share of undesirables – look at the problems at the last two Guineas meetings or the July meeting and Sandown has seen a few juicy punch-ups in the last year.

The sale of booze is a cash cow for racecourses so you can see their reluctance to clamp down on sales. However do they not realise they are going to lose the genuine racegoers. I know many people who used to go racing on a regular but now no longer go because of the “atmosphere” at an increasing number of courses.

I’m not sure what the Liverpool version of a Chav or Pikey is – whatever it is they are out in force at Aintree and that is what ruins what should be one of the best meetings of the year and that is why I, regrettably, don’t care if I never go to Aintree again.