The Secret Jockey - Vol 1

Is there is a gaping editorial hole for some insider straight-talking? Not the cod-blunt crap that so many of racing’s supposed straight-shooters indulge in, rather more along the Guardian’s notorious ‘Secret Footballer’ Diary. Anonymity famously allowed one player a licence to tell it as it really is, and with authority. A ‘Secret Jockey’ Diary could go far beyond mere “he’s a nice horse” cliché? It would be a service. People would pay to read it. So here’s an un-authoritative prototype.

‘Today had been the day. The horse bouncing, ground OK, the topweight staying in: everything set. And then I walk into the parade-ring and the owner shakes his head. Apparently a few of his pals couldn’t wait, took morning prices, and everyone got their card marked before he could get on. So now he’s steaming mad and laying it like crazy on the exchanges, on the phone, with one of the stipes practically standing next to him.

‘It’s not like I can say anything. Any peep out of me and I can whistle for the ride the next day, not to mention anyone ever talking to me again. And the last thing a stipe wants to hear is someone bleating because then they might have to do something about it. They’re not stupid: they know better than anyone the last thing any of the top brass want is the applecart upset.

“It could be worse, I suppose. As owners go, he isn’t the worst. He’s dropped me before and he’ll get a good few quid out of this. I actually don’t know why he bothers punting so much. It’s not like he needs the money. Some lads need to bet in order to make it pay somehow. But this fellah’s buzz seems to be carving things up for the sake of it.

‘The trainer’s practically got his tongue out trying to keep him happy too, which is fair enough, I suppose. He’s got to keep his owner onside. But it’s hard to take sometimes because he presents himself as this pillar of the community and he can barely lie straight in bed most of the time. Not that he ever gets called on it by those press bastards - lazy bullshit merchants — frightened of their shite.

‘It’s the same with some of the other jocks. You’d swear they’d never given one an easy in their lives. Not because they’re dodgy - although there are a few dodge-pots around. We’re practically all snow-white though compared to some of the owners and trainers. But we’re the ones who get hung out to dry for doing what we’re told. And if anyone gets an attack of the morals, there’s no problem finding someone who will, and probably for cheaper, so they can keep the ride.

‘Speaking of which, everyone’s talking at the moment about how a lot of us haven’t got a pot to piss in but what’s new? There’s always haves and have not’s: bleating about diesel, and the price of it falling like a stone, is like listening to trainers complaining about being broke while they’re sitting in tax-deductible 2016-1 Pajeros.

“Some of the lads seem to think they’re entitled because we put our necks on the line every time we get up on a horse which is true enough. But it’s not like we doing it at gunpoint. No one’s making us. Everyone agrees it’s a tough game, and that the cream gets to the top, so what’s the alternative? Some sort of subsidy? One man — one grant? Don’t annoy me.

“Anyway, the trainer’s annoying me now, whispering in my ear that this late change of mind means I might have a job with this horse since he hadn’t been left in his box for the last week. But even if we wind up sticking out, all I’ve got to do is get in fast, say the horse didn’t feel quite right, and then we can talk afterwards. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve a job to do. And someone else, a lot more qualified, can tell you how it’s done.” — Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental!

Back in the marginally more real world, it’s interesting to ponder how the ‘next big thing’ often seems to pull racing’s imagination more than the actual ‘big thing.’ Douvan has all the potential in the world. But an hour after his Leopardstown Arkle win Faugheen put in one of the great performances of modern times to win the Irish Champion Hurdle.

Any lingering doubts about him were put to bed with the best performance of his career so far, one which the handicapper initially reckons is worth rating 176, 1lb better than anything Hurricane Fly ever did, equal to Istabraq, and all of it is coloured by the suspicion this freakish talent might still be actually improving.

Nichols Canyon served it up to him and spluttered. Many were prepared to forgive Nichols Canyon because of a hard race previously but on official ratings he didn’t finish far off where he should have with Arctic Fire, the same Arctic Fire that Faugheen beat by a length and a half at Cheltenham last year and who got hammered by 15 lengths on Sunday.

This is benchmark stuff yet you suspect it was Douvan who really got pulses quickening on Sunday, Willie Mullins’s in particular it seems. He’s a brilliant horse who could become great. Faugheen is already the real thing.

Mullins himself is already a seminal racing figure, as indicated again by how he is now an odds-on favourite to be champion trainer in Britain this year.

This appears a classic bird in the hand versus two in the bush situation. Paul Nicholls has a hell of lead and Mullins supporters are basically backing on the basis of another vintage Cheltenham for the Irishman, and possibly even nabbing the Grand National too. That’s asking everything to go pretty much perfectly for Mullins. Can that really be an odds-on shot?

Much more eye-catching is 13-8 odds about an Irish win in the much derided Prestbury Cup. Yes, there’s a lot more relatively run-of-the-mill festival races now but as of now, you’d be forgiven for seriously pondering the strength in depth across-channel.