Eddie Lynam© Photo Healy Racing
Irish Derbies mostly come in two sizes: either turning into a parade for a dominant champion which winds up getting criticism for being uncompetitive, or ultra-competitive renewals which get criticised for lacking an outstanding performer. And even on those rare occasions when both critical boxes get ticked, there’s flak for too small a field (Generous V Suave Dancer), a wonky clock (St Jovite V Dr Devious) or one outfit being too-dominant (Alamshar V Dalakhani.) That appears to be the Irish Derby’s thing: whatever happens, there will be flak.
This time it will probably focus on the theme of an outstanding champ getting an uncompetitive solo, with a plentiful helping of ‘too-dominant’ on the side. Australia is a 1-3 favourite already, boasts outstanding form at a mile, and those banking on him not truly staying the supposedly stiffer Curragh mile and a half could be indulging in wishful thinking. And since a win for Australia will mean an 11th Irish Derby for Aidan O’Brien, and a staggering 12th for the Coolmore syndicate in just seventeen years, the dominance tune hums itself.
Of course ideally there would be a greater spread of winners. If sport isn’t competitive it isn’t much at all, and there have been times when Ireland’s richest race has appeared little more than a benefit for Ireland’s richest owners. But it’s important to place the Derby in context. Decades from now when fans pore over the roll-of-honour, it won’t be the size of the field that will evoke memories, or the SP, or who owned what: instead the names will conjure the sort of images that those today have of Nijinsky, Shergar, Montjeu, Sinndar and all the other unbackable champions that may have earned some of the easiest money of their careers but at least still graced the Curragh in June.
Let’s face it; nobody living in mundane PAYE-land is ever going to be in possession of a Derby winner. And if it’s not one rich owner winning, it will be another. In fact a much more interesting question might be if said rich owners would still run in the Irish Derby if the prize-fund was, say, E1 million rather than E1.25 million. How far might E250,000 go in terms of, say, professional stewards, or drug-testing? But that’s an old one-string banjo here. It’s not the only one.
If insanity is defined as futilely repeating the same thing and expecting a different result then banging on about interference rules in Ireland and Britain is as insane as the rule that allowed Hartnell hang on to the Queens Vase at Royal Ascot last week.
Maybe I missed something in the aftermath but isn’t the most obvious explanation for why Hartnell veered alarmingly left across the track not some equine wanderlust but in fact Joe Fanning’s impressively quick summation of a situation where his horse was idling in front and his main dangers were far away on the wide outside.
How often do we hear of horses running on again for company: maybe that wasn’t on Fanning’s mind, but first impressions were he made a beeline for the danger, over-cooked it a bit, and wound up barging into Century.
The problem is that jockeys aren’t particularly worried about such moves in this part of the world. In any other jurisdiction such a manoeuvre would have had Hartnell immediately thrown out, not even entertaining wildly speculative rubbish about which was the best horse in the race. That should be irrelevant when horses that have been blatantly interfered with possibly lose out as a result.
But here jockeys operate in a culture where it is in their interests to take one for the team. If Fanning didn’t know what he was doing then Hartnell’s connections are entitled to ask why not: much more likely is he knew exactly what he was doing, maybe not to the extent of actually banging into the runner up, but even after doing that, Fanning knew better than anyone he’d hang on to the race.
This was a doozey, but no more than Sky Lantern in last year’s Falmouth or On His Own in the Cheltenham Gold Cup. Those results weren’t switched and this one was never going to be. But no amount of platidunious waffle afterwards can disguise how the rules are a dangerous joke, encouraging jockeys to gamble on breaking the rules.
But it’s not just interference rules that are fundamentally illogical. Joseph O’Brien was tactically superb in winning the Gold Cup on Leading Light. He also broke the rules, his use of the whip resulting in a seven day suspension and a three grand fine: hardly insignificant slaps on the wrist. Think O’Brien cared? Didn’t think so.
This is old hat stuff too but it is ridiculous that rules get broken and the transgressor doesn’t lose out. Whatever the rights and wrongs about use of the whip, in no other sport does someone get penalised for breaking the rules while at the same time getting a nod, a wink, and a pat on the back to keep doing what they’re doing.
Whatever Eddie Lynam’s doing though, he should definitely keep doing. The Co. Meath trainer got plenty exposure for his outstanding Group 1 sprinting double at Royal Ascot but what he achieved during the week actually probably didn’t get enough attention.
Vincent O’Brien famously saddled six winners from seven runners during Royal Ascot in 1975. Back then the meeting was over four days, but against that it was also a resolutely European affair, a long way removed from the international festival it is now, especially in terms of Australasian sprinters, precisely the kind of animal Lynam usually finds himself taking on.
He took just four horses to Ascot: three won, and if the fourth finds herself on a one-way ticket to America as the one blot on the Lynam copybook, it’s hard to argue she looked an outstanding candidate for the Sandringham anyway.
Evoking the memory of MV O’Brien can be regarded as a heresy in comparative terms but Lynam’s achievement was remarkable, especially considering he isn’t one of the select-handful that perennially dominates the top of the Irish trainers table. It also confirmed the depth of training talent in this country, talent that often simply doesn’t have the raw-material to work with.
