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Ten Random Christmas Stocking Fillers

Brian O'Connor

Brian O'Connor's Latest Blog

Davy RussellDavy Russell
© Healy Racing Photos

First of all, a rallying call: racing is brilliant. It really is - and not just because its cheerleaders say so. The cheerleading actually does the game no favours. After a while it becomes a drone blotting out any sort of criticism. And the thing with criticism of any merit is that it comes from a basis of enthusiasm. It's rooted in a desire to change things for the better. No one wants to be cribbing all the time but all cheerleading does is maintain the status quo. That's no good to anyone.

Yet a trend seems to have begun which attempts to reduce racing to mini-curio status, often by those who dissolve into delirium at parish-pump pastimes, second-rate football, or faddish trends like MMA and the gurning of the depressingly ubiquitous McGregor.

Introspective 'who we are' narratives are incessant these days. But for a huge number of Irish people the business and sport of horses and racing really are part of what and who we are. It may not be fashionable to say so but never forget, Mr McGregor, that nothing dates faster than trendy.

Evidence of a 165 per cent increase in the number of wins by female jockeys since the change, and a doubling in the number of rides taken by women in France, indicates that much needed change is occurring. How long will it be before authorities closer to home acknowledge that maintaining the status quo here is just a cop out.

That he's at the top of his game at 38 years of age only cements the view that we may have been enjoying the finest crop of riding talent ever produced by this country over the last two decades. Walsh and Barry Geraghty are 38 as well. It gets remarked upon that the following generation hasn't managed to dislodge them. But just consider what they're up against.

And you just think, what? There's not enough improvement required in the regulation of racing here that nearly a million couldn't be spent on it? How many full-time professional officials could be hired to work at the coalface for that? And haven't the Turf Club not learned the cardinal bureaucratic rule - whatever the budget is has got to be spent in order to justify your existence.

There are intimate moments such as the impact on of his sister's death, and his account of the realities of a jockey's life in terms of wasting. But the first mention of his ex-wife comes more than a third of the way through the book when we find out she used to be an apprentice jockey and won races on a horse called Crofter's Climb. It feels like we find out as much about Crofter's Climb as we do about Julie Fallon and their family together.

Eventually the tone of the book starts to wear as thin as the material one suspects the ghost-writer got to work with.

Apparently the BHA's disciplinary panel took into account how Morrison hired a private investigator, paid for a hair-sample and offered a reward which helped convince them the trainer didn't seem the kind to break the rules like this. No doubt that's correct. But rules, by definition, are supposed to be one-size-fits-all. And this feels a very discretionary ruling which sets an unfortunate precedent.

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