I came as such a shock. Day two of the Cheltenham Festival cancelled. High winds were causing havoc to the hospitality areas. Tents were lifting like Marilyn Monroe’s dress but the view of what was beneath was more like Britney Spears getting out of a limo - not something we ever wanted to see. The public were at risk. Everyone was disappointed. Jockey, Barry Geraghty, summed it up when he said “it’s frustrating and it’s going to be a long, drawn-out day waiting for tomorrow.”

Subliminal message: Sweep going on for Friday’s Gold Cup race.

Cheltenham has been cancelled before. Due to frost in 1931. Flooding in 1937. World War II in 1943 & 1944. Foot and mouth disease in 2001. And now wind.

Wednesday’s races would be spread over Thursday and Friday. Two long days that will take their toll on even the most enthusiastic race-goer. But what of Wednesday itself?

Subliminal message: Sweep going on for Friday’s Gold Cup race. You may have noticed the sticky above.

I for one was totally messed up. More messed up than Sinéad O’Connor. I had cancelled everything for yesterday afternoon to concentrated on the racing. Now I was suffering. Suffering from wind. And what of all those who had travelled over? I imagine they were walking around Cheltenham town like headless chickens horse-men.

Subliminal message: Sweep going on for Friday’s Gold Cup race. Better enter today as 08:00 on Friday is the deadline.

But at least we are back on track (literally) today and have the totesport Cheltenham Gold Cup to look forward to tomorrow. Someone may even run a [embedded subliminal message] sweep.

It went well. By my standards anyway. I hid the car around the back, locked the front door, turned off the lights, phone and radio, and settled down to work. It’s surprising how much you can get done without distractions. I left word with the dog to tell any neighbours who called to invite me for Christmas morning drinks that I was indisposed. That’s a big word for a small dog and he may have told them I was gone or away or both.

I made one brief foray into the outside world that day. Just to see Seán open his presents. There was a power cut right then and the wee man, having experienced as many power cuts in his short life as I have noses, knew what to do - he fetched candles. It didn’t matter that it was daytime - you don’t ever miss a chance to play with fire when you’re nearly 3.

Some of the wrapping was proving difficult to open but he knew what to - he fetched a scissors. It didn’t matter that there were three adults there to help - you don’t ever miss a chance to play with sharp objects when you’re nearly 3.

The Bob the Builder socks were well received as was the Gruffalo book set. The Buntús Foclóra created a whole new game - within minutes he had figured out the rules: When you have this book in your hands, dog is not doggie it’s madra; bike is not bike it’s rothar. His daddy scowled and kept muttering on about wasting time and money but I knew what to do - I sniggered and got Seán started on the numbers - you don’t ever miss a chance to piss off monoglots when you’re nearly 43.

Well that was it then. That was the highlight of the festive season. The following days are what I normally look forward to - the post-Christmas racing at Leopardstown. This year’s festival has been a disaster for me. Every single damn horse I backed fell. Every last one of them. I’m afraid to back again in case I am the cause of some poor jockey getting killed.

But in typical Irish fashion I have to look for someone worse off than me. If you’ve never used the expression ah shur, it could be worse then you are not Irish. When they bring in the language test for citizenship I bet that will be question one.

Luckily I found someone. A mickey-relation* of mine went to get out of car at work on Christmas Eve. She had just leaned back in to grab something off the passenger seat when there was an all-merciful clatter. A truck had taken the door clean off the hinges. Ah shur, it could have been worse - it could have taken me with it.

The insurance company were wonderful. They organised a garage to take the car and what was left of the door away. And they even gave her the loan of a car until her own is repaired. On Christmas morning her brother reversed his tractor into the side of it and made shite of the driver’s door. But she knew what to do - she rang the insurance and explained - ah shur, it could have been worse - it could have been me own car - you’d don’t ever miss a chance to defy logic when you’re nearly 23.

*For US readers: Related through marriage, not by blood.

While most of the country were glued to the Kerry-Dublin match a few of us had another great sporting occasion to entertain us - Ireland’s one and only all-weather track in Dundalk held it’s very first meeting.

For those who aren’t familiar with the terminology, an all-weather track has a sand surface as opposed to grass, or turf as it is called. Dundalk is more correctly termed a polytrack, meaning it is made from a combination of sand and parrots, or sand and synthetic polymers which are make-believe sea parrots. And like it says on the tin, it can be used in all weathers. Which is useful in a country where all weathers can occur on the same day.

With that in mind, a small band, including myself and a grumbling* national hunt jockey, settled into our favourite all-weather pub to view the momentous proceedings. The winner of the first was Ms Victoria, trained by Mick Halford and ridden by Johnny Murtagh. Remember that. It will pop up at table quizzes in years to come and you will astound your friends with your knowledge of things sporting.

After the second, race, not drink, someone commented both winners had come out of stall 3. The pattern continued and the third and fourth races were also won by the horse drawn 3. Luckily we had listened and capitalised on this. It didn’t continue but we made some money anyway. Not that we could spend it - the staff were all out the other side watching the football and getting their attention was like trying to catch a fart bubble in a bath.

Now why was I so excited about a flat race? Those who have read my previous posts on racing will know I’m a jumps fan. I dislike the flat and despise the all-weather. As a stereotype Kildare man it’s my job.

Well for one, any first is worth getting excited about. More importantly I was excited about the benefits this track will bring to the national hunt scene. Many flat races will be transferred to Dundalk from other meetings freeing up slots for more jump races. In a country where we have too many horses and not enough races this can only be a good thing. It might get my mate the grumbling jockey a few more mounts too.

*He’s always grumbling. Just ignore him.

The Aintree Grand National, tomorrow Saturday at 16:15. 40 horses. 30 fences. Big ones. 4.5 miles (7.2 km in new money). The greatest national hunt race of the calendar.

Right. Nothing serious. Just a bit of fun. To take part in a sweep, just leave your name in the comments below.

The first 40 names will be assigned a horse at random. If there are less than 40 names then some, or all, will be assigned more than one horse. Who drew which horse will be published here. Only two people are prevented from entering: Me and Anonymous.

Entries close at 13:00 GMT on Saturday.

The prize. Well I haven’t one. Yet. But I’ll think of something. And sure it’s only a bit of fun. Nothing serious. The prize will most likely be chosen to suit the winner. In fact this bit might be more fun than the sweep itself.

Entries now closed

Note: The ladies got 1 horse extra each as did Eolaí. Not because he’s a lady, but because he said some nice stuff about me on his site this morning. That’s just the way confectionery crumbles.

Result: The Swearing Lady from the Arse End of Ireland won. Silver Birtch @ 33/1

The prize (to suit the recipient, as promised) is a bound set of Terry Pratchett books. Collector’s items. Really! No messing. Just five though, but they’re my favourites (doesn’t include Going Postal or Wintersmith unfortunately). Wailey, fukin’, wailey!

Shite! I phrased that arseways: What I meant was, Going Postal and Wintersmith are not included in this set, but are included in my favourite Terry Pratchett titles. Damn you Sweary for picking up on that! I’ll get ya. I know where ya live (for now).

Ted Walsh is many things. As he proved on RTÉ’s The Restaurant, he is a great cook. He is a great husband, father and neighbour, well liked and respected by one and all. He is an accomplished horse trainer, best know for his successes with Rince Rí, Papillion and Commanche Court, and as a jockey, was champion amateur 11 times. He is a natural wit and pundit.

But one thing Ted Walsh is not, is a politically correct waffler. He is a straight talker who says what he thinks. Whether he is chatting to someone on the street, a stable lad, a rich owner, a talk show host or as a TV commentator himself, Ted is Ted. Just like his cooking there are no airs and graces. Like it or lump it.

This is the man who threatened, live on Channel4, to knock John McCririck* through the window of a commentary box. Who’d blame him? Watching the RTÉ coverage of Fairyhouse yesterday I thought his co-presenter, Robert ‘Mouth full of Marbles’ Hall, was going to suffer the same fate on two occasions. Neighbour, colleague and friend or not, Ted wasn’t taking Hall’s pandering to the powers that be.

Hall made a remark about the number of horses which had been balloted** out. A red rag to a bull. Ted pointed out the flaws of the HRI’s^ balloting system and the lack of joined-up thinking in that authority. There are hundreds of horses that will never see a racetrack. Granted they may get their allocation of 5 bumper^^ runs and any number of point-to-points^^ but that’s not real racing and is a big disappointment for the owners who have invested financially and emotionally.

Meanwhile, another arm of the HRI is investing heavily in promoting racehorse ownership. And doing a great job of it. They have made it easy for everyone to participate through clubs and syndicates. There were 1,500 of these in 2006. In Ted’s opinion they are doing far too good a job. What is the point of the HRI encouraging new owners into the game when they can’t guarantee them being allowed play?

Hall unsuccessfully tried to defend the balloting system on the grounds that it was the only solution. Ted just said it doesn’t work and they need to think of another way.

A trainer was fined €250 for withdrawing his horse at too late a stage. His real crime? He said the ground had become too firm from the third last in. Other trainers had used excuses like stone bruises and, the old chestnut, off feed. Here, Ted pointed out, was a man being fined for his honesty. Hall backed up the stewards saying they declared the going good, the trainers had walked the course that morning and concurred, therefore they had no right to be calling it good-to-firm or firm now.

But what Hall was missing was the simple fact that, while the ground had been watered overnight and was good that morning, the warm day and the breeze had dried it out since. Ted could see this. Even TV viewers like myself could see it. There was dust rising.

For readers with no interest in racing who have managed to get this far, let me draw some parallels with our state institutions.

Like the HRI who encourage more owners and horses into the scene but fail to provide them with a chance to race, our county councils allow housing developments but fail to provide for the backup facilities like schools, water supply and sewage treatment.
Like the stewards who made up their minds that the going was good not firm and would not be told otherwise or re-evaluate their decision, our government have decided the election will be on a Tuesday and will not be moved. This, despite the fact that so many voters who work or study away from home will be denied their constitutional right.

There are too many stewards and HRI-like officials running this country and not enough Teds. Perhaps too many of us are taking it lying down like Hall.

* From Kav’s image bucket.

** Balloting is the process by which horses are selected for a race where the number entered exceeds the number permitted to run. Considered unfair by most owners and trainers. I haven’t aksed the horses. More here if you’re really interested. You will have to be really, really interested to read it though.

^ Horse Racing Ireland. A body charged with the administration and promotion of horseracing in Ireland.

^^ I’m fed up explaining things. Google them. Sorry - just lazy today.

Day 1: Four bets. My Way de Solzen got me off to a great start winning The Arkle at 7/2. Hardy Eustace let me down for the Champion Hurdle but at least we had an Irish winner with the John Carr trained Sublimity. In the 4:00, Juveigneur got a nose past his opponent on the line but unfortunately Joe’s Edge pulled the same trick on my horse and I lost out to a 50/1 shot. After her brother had won on Sublimity, Nina Carberry gave Heads On The Ground a fantastic ride in the Cross Country to win at 5/2.€20 wagered. €40 collected.

Day 2: Not so good. Four bets, five if you count the free bet with Ladbrooks. Just one second. Dempsey at 20/1. Luckily I had him each way so I’ll get something back. He looked like winning. The funny thing was all the experts had him written off saying the track wouldn’t suit him.

€20 wagered. €12.50 collected. Actually, that’s not bad.

Day 3. I learned an important lesson on day 2: Never shout at the TV. The dog interprets it as me being savagely attacked and comes barreling through the door, growling and teeth bared knocking over everything in his path. I didn’t make that mistake today and whispered my horses home instead. It’s not the same craic, but it did work for one of of my four selections: Taranis at 9/2.

€20 wagered. €27.50 back.

I didn’t get to use the free Ladbrooks bet today. Both the Irish Independent and the Mirror printed the voucher on the back of the racing page. The wankers!

Day 4: The bookies got hammered! But not by me. I decided to go for long-shots each way instead of favourites. Still, it was a great day’s racing. Especially when local hero Ruby Walsh rode Kauto Star to victory in the Gold Cup. I cheered him on even though my few bob was on Cane Brake. Eh, another local hero. Yes, my heart was ruling my head.

€20 wagered. €0 back.

Overall - Wagered:€80. Collected:€80. Profit:€0. Excitement: Priceless.

So why bore you with all of this? Just to reiterate the point I was trying to make below: For me the love of horses and racing is greater than betting. Whether you make nothing, make a fortune or lose (as long as it is what you can afford to lose), the thrill of the race is the same. There is a big distinction between those for whom the horses come first and the betting second, and those for whom there is only the betting.  Please don’t confuse us when you talk of gambling.