Sometimes you just have to check the date to make sure it is not April Fools’ Day. Today was such a day. It seems someone has decided it might be a good idea to tinker once again with the Derby. You might recall that until twenty years ago it was run on the first Wednesday in June. Times were different then. Swathes of London used to shut, allowing the proletariat to pack a hamper with beer and sandwiches and meander to the high point of Epsom Downs, from where they could pick out a Yankee-full of horses, picnic in the centre of the course and doff their hats to the passing dignitaries.

With London more of a banking and business centre these days, it was decided to move the Derby to a Saturday in order for those not working shifts or on the rock and roll, to either make the pilgrimage to Surrey or to watch the race legitimately from their televisions.

This year, viewing figures and outside interest in the race has apparently slumped. This is not altogether surprising. Saturdays are busy days in any calendar. Sporting fixtures tend to spring up vying for spectator prominence. And horseracing – be it the Derby or even the Grand National – will always struggle when pitched against the likes of test cricket, rugby, international football matches or five-setters from Wimbledon. The problem with the Derby is that the event itself lasts only two-and-half minutes. You can dress it up all you like with the preliminaries, but the race is over in a comparative flash. For those having a bet, racing is an instant rush of adrenalin that often reaches an enforced and premature conclusion. Even race-watchers unfamiliar with the intricacies of race-reading can see when their selections are dropping through the field like stones in water. In the time it takes Messi to lace up his boots, the drama concludes. Race over – time for another lager – what’s next? In comparison, those settling down for the long haul that is two halves of a football match budget for a case or two of lager, never mind one glass.

Aside from the competition from other sporting fixtures, racing faces an uphill struggle when trying to recruit newcomers to its ranks. June is a summer month; people hold barbeques, unwind in the sunshine or even take a few days on the Continent to re-charge their batteries.

Those committed to racing will always watch the Derby – those floating, in-transit viewers can take it or leave it, whether it is staged on a Wednesday or a Saturday.

There is a tendency these days for bodies and individuals to try and be all things to all men. As David Cameron has apparently recently discovered, this really doesn’t work. Those that dislike you will always dislike you; and those that might be persuaded are often deterred when feeling their interests are sacrificed in favour of waverers.

Every industry has to beware of that big gun hovering above its head, pointing at its foot and just waiting for someone to cock it. Racing has listened to too many outside bodies for too long. Bookmakers, brewers and TV companies have their own agendas. As a result of listening to bookmakers racing is faced with overkill: constant involvement of brewers as sponsors means racecourses are full of drunks on a Saturday afternoon and now the TV companies express themselves dissatisfied with the latest viewing figures.

How about racing listening to those within for a change. In order to chase and run down viewers to their living room carpets, managing director of Epsom, Rupert Trevelyan (hardly a name associated with a man of the people), is considering moving the Derby to an evening slot. Encouraged by this scheme, broadcasters claim this would result in increased viewers. Quite what they base this speculative statement on is unknown, but we can bet whatever their motive is it does not take into account any concern for the future of racing.

When it took place on a Wednesday, the Derby used to have the theatre to itself. Staging it on a Saturday means it is just one more event on a packed day for most people. Staging it on Saturday night will mean for many that it becomes something else to juggle with as the kids bang the dinner table in advance of their sausage and chips. For others it will clash with that first drink down the pub, getting ready for the party down the road or preparing for that night out with the lads that comprise the Ladbroke Life. And for those that really actually care about racing and follow it with interest, by the time the runners have been dispatched from the famous Derby start on Saturday evening, they might just be feeling as if they have had enough racing for one day.

AS I SEE IT …
Wednesday May 21st

This is the time of year when racing should be flourishing in all its various forms. Attendances should be on the ascendency. On the run-up to the Derby and Oaks and with Royal Ascot less than a month away, racing is reaching a peak.

However, one area seems to have encountered a problem: betting turnover is stagnant. And as we all know (bookmakers have drummed it into us often enough), a healthy betting turnover equals a thriving racing industry. Betting money is ploughed back into racing, generating extra prize-money and better facilities. That is the theory, on which I shall not dwell. But consumer confidence in betting on horses is fragile to say the least. And it was hardy increased after events on Saturday when, despite the concerted efforts of various high-profile syndicates incorporating involved and numerous perms designed to cover all eventualities, the tote Scoop pool, like some languid domestic dog, still rolled over. It seems even the best brains in the business were unable to crack the code hidden within the races on offer.

To serious punters, worse was to follow as it became clear half-way through the Newmarket card that unless securing a golden strip up the stands’ rail, runners were highly unlikely winners. Nothing that was dispatched from the stalls that were positioned grandstand-side won unless racing closest to the rail. In short those that tried to mount a challenge from the centre of the pack were wasting their time. This has to be an intolerable situation. In order to bet, punters have to feel they at least stand some sort of chance of winning. Incidents such as this – occurring for whatever reason – only compound suspicion in potential backers. If they are to be reduced to betting ala Las Vegas style, they reason why not bet on events that pay Las Vegas odds? They reason that as they know the odds are a true reflection of the probability, numbers less the House percentage are a more attractive proposition than running the horse racing gauntlet with all its vagaries and possible permutations: horses busting out of the stalls, getting in a muck-sweat beforehand, draw bias and a sudden downpour being obvious events that can scupper even the best thought-out plans.

So is it time for racing to take steps to prevent some of the unforeseen eventualities that occur on an all too regular basis and that means some bets are not worth the paper they are printed on before the stalls even open?

Of course, as we are dealing with flesh and blood animals that regrettably cannot speak, it is not possible to eliminate every ticket-ripping hazard. But, living on an island with irregular weather patterns, to what extent is it reasonable to expect punters to be meteorologists as well as form students? Have we reached the point at which, for those seriously attempting to make sense of a scenario that means a pack of horses are let loose to run across a stretch of turf, the whole process is just too complicated to bother with? Does turf racing simply feature one obstacle too many?

Therefore, could it be time to take a leaf out of America’s book and concentrate on more racing conducted on an artificial surface? I can hear the howls as I write. I am not suggesting Group 1s are conducted round the speedway tracks that are Lingfield and Kempton. Both courses have their place; I suggest it is not as hosts to prestige events.

We all know there is too much turf racing – there are simply too many racecourses. Perhaps it is time to consider looking at a few of them with a view to altering the landscapes of those that survive a much-needed blitzkrieg. This does not mean turning them into glorified dog-tracks. Polytrack is expensive to lay and for that reason those courses that use it are by nature tight and turning, placing their own emphasis on draw bias and to a degree, luck in running. There is no need for it to be ever thus. Any further attempts to extend the boundaries of turf to synthetics could be conducted in a different manner. Certain tracks could conceivably accommodate an artificial surface without losing too many of their characteristics. I am thinking of Sandown, where an inner track could be laid and therefore preserve the outer turf track for jumping. And, dare I say it, the round course at Ascot, leaving the sand-based straight as it is. Maybe we could take a look at Newmarket where there are acres of room for a strip of ground to be designated for an all-weather track. Forget the arguments that some horses fail to show their best on Polytrack. It is a universally kind and forgiving surface – so much so that trainers work horses on it with no compunction whatsoever. It is less complicated and less likely to produce an out-of-the-blue result than a gluepot or the equivalent of an aircraft runway.

I appreciate this is radical stuff. Most ground-breaking ideas are! If betting turnover is the golden calf we are told it is, surely it is in racing interests to renew the gilt every now and then regardless of cost. The world continues to turn. At present there is a suspicion that racing remains a revolution in arrears.

Ladbrokes appear to have hit the spot with their latest ad campaign, featuring a bunch of likely lads that they have individualised and labelled under the umbrella of living the Ladbroke Life. I can’t say I like the stereotyping of punters in this way, but on this occasion at least the Harrow firm has not depicted those inclined to have a bet as being morons. This is in contrast to the dross campaign Corals see fit to run. They have decided to employ the services of a girl dressed in riding breeches carrying a blue riding whip who strolls in to a barbers shop and then, presumably having second thoughts about having her hair styled there, walks out again to the slogan, “Stick One On It”. Stick one on what? I can’t say it makes any sense to me. Perhaps someone at Corals decided all they needed was to present a woman in tight breeches that slapped her thigh with a whip – the colour of which I have not seen any jockey use – for punters to migrate to their shops in droves.

We punters might get it wrong at times. We might be gullible; we might get hoodwinked, but we ain’t stupid!
Are we? …

ENGLISH RACING FAILS TO COMPETE
SUNDAY MAY 11TH

On the day of the French 1000 and 2000 Guineas at Longchamp, and when Leopardstown were responsible for the Derrinstown Stud Derby Trial as well as two other Group 3 events, the best we could come up with on these shores was Plumpton and Ludlow.

Of course some of you may have been rejoicing that the jumpers (who never actually go away these days) were back.

In essence, the French were at it again – stealing our thunder, something Paris was not devoid of on a damp Sunday. To an extent the weather did its best to dampen proceedings. It rained; more accurately it pelted down.

As was widely anticipated, Jean Claude Rouget won the French 1000 – or the Poule Essai Pouliches as it is known locally – but not with most people’s idea, Lesstalk In Paris, but with Avenir Certain.

Known to enjoy a topic of conversation over or during lunch, officials called the almost obligatory stewards’ inquiry not long after the winner passed the post. To be fair, when pulled out to make her run in the straight, the winner’s actions could be likened to a night club bouncer on a day off. Several rivals were given ‘some of that’ as, in search of daylight, she barged them out of the way.

Once in the clear she was easily the best filly in the race, sloshing home in a rainstorm. Veda was second ahead of Xcellence, who had beaten Miss France in a messy Impudence. Bawina took the eye in fourth. By Dubawi, she was staying on and could be a major player in the Prix de Diane.

Five minutes after the French 1000 Guineas, Mandy’s Boy broke his maiden over hurdles at Ludlow. Not to be outdone by events in Longchamp, the bing-bong followed although no further action was taken.

Half an hour on Ludlow grabbed some unwelcome headlines with what could only be described as a gross piece of incompetence. What we had was a complete farce initiated by the starter.

To vary the drama, he let the runners go for the three mile chase then frantically decided to wave his yellow flag which the recall man failed to see. This was not entirely surprising given the start looked bona fide to just about every witness.

Two miles later the runners were brought to a halt by another flag-waver. All this after what appeared to be a perfect dispatch from the gates, and in front of a packed Sunday house of casual race-goers, many of whom will presumably assume racing’s administrators are a bunch of monkeys in various jackets, coats and suits.

Back at Longchamp the sun came out for the colts. Last year’s Jean-Luc Lagardere winner Karakontie dug deep to wriggle through on the inner rail and hold off the persistent challenge of Prestige Vendome in the 2000 Guineas. Despite pulling early as if he had a train to catch, Newbury handicap winner Muwaary justified inclusion in the field when finishing fourth.

At Leopardstown, clues for the Irish 1000 Guineas were thin on the ground as a result of the Group 3 trial. Afternoon Sunlight lasted home in a bunch finish from Palace, with Ballbacka Queen and Waltzing Matilda looking as if they will be better over further close up in third and fourth.

The Derrinstown Stud Derby Trial was seen as the big classic clue race by many. Ballsax winner Fascinating Rock and last year’s Beresford winner Geoffrey Chaucer dominated the betting.

On a day littered with the speculation of inquiries, we had yet another one here. As every sixth former will recall, amongst other outpourings, Geoffrey Chaucer was responsible for the oft-ribald Canterbury Tales. This was the kind of day he may have preferred not have had to have penned. A classic run in a monsoon in France; unless something unforeseen comes to light – and even if it does (sometimes you let sleeping dogs lie) – a starter with ideas above his station at Ludlow, followed by added drama in Ireland.

Ebanoran was first past the post in the Derrinstown ahead of Fascinating Rock with a showboating Geoffrey Chaucer in third. But on what was meant to be a routine Sunday peppered with Group action, the tension continued.

The trouble with this was that Geoffrey Chaucer was impeded twice by the two that finished in front of him. Ebanoran was first to deal a race-denying blow as he made a winning move two out, rolled across Mr Chaucer’s path and then held on.

Fascinating Rock finished with a flourish, also leaning in on the giant Geoffrey Chaucer, meaning Joseph O’Brien had to snatch up and cruise home, looking unlucky. To an extent he was, but he wouldn’t have won today on a horse that, although a strong traveller, may have been rusty and was not on this occasion quick enough to take his chance when he had it.

However, remembering this was his first run of the year and that he was conceding 3lbs to the other two, he is the one to draw the eye. However, without disqualifying the first two, it was hard to know what other action the stewards could take.

But this was Ireland and they found an alternative. Someone had a brainstorm and decided to disqualify Ebanoran in favour of Fascinating Rock, but to allow Ebanoran to keep second ahead of the one horse that was most inconvenienced by the shenanigans, namely Geoffrey Chaucer.

That as I write is the full story. It may not be the complete story. There may be a reversal of some sort later behind closed doors and when the Bushmills has been diluted.

The Ludlow starter may find gainful employment in the public sector. Oh, and Catcall – the villain of many a piece – won at Longchamp.

Quite a day!

Perhaps the last person to leave will turn out the lights…