Bart's twelfth Cup

I really enjoyed Melbourne Cup night. Once again, I found it very easy to stay awake and alert through the entire show, 11pm to 6am; and to avoid having to abandon my post at any time, which is even more remarkable, bearing in mind that nights when I do not have to visit the lavatory two or three times are few. Dave Compton is a great man alongside whom to co-present, because he makes things easy and enjoyable. And the racing was great throughout the card. Bart Cummings winning Cup No. 12 was the icing on the cake, even if it came via a nose defeat of Luca Cumani's Bauer, whom I'd have enjoyed seeing win. The only blot on the landscape came from the Coolmore team, before and during the race.

I refer to the Coolmore team, rather than to the jockeys, who at first sight would seem the prime offenders, because I don't believe that the jockeys were the instigators of the debacles. I am very aware of the advice that those who live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones, and that I get plenty of things wrong myself in my generally futile attempts to win races; but I don't think it wrong on this occasion to express my disappointment in the team's performance at Flemington. Why was it a disappointment for me? Well, for one thing, I've been writing all year in Winning Post about what a great jockey Johnny Murtagh is and what a great trainer Aidan O'Brien is (and what a great stayer Septimus is), so I am very conscious that the readers of the paper will now feel themselves able to deduce that what I say isn't worth reading. (But, of course team Coolmore didn't cock the whole operation up just to prove me a liar!) And why do I think it fair to offer criticism? Because I was so appalled by the team's discourtesy at the introductory ceremony, for which they have so far got off undeservedly lightly, that I think that that gross lapse of acceptable behaviour means that the team has temporarily forfeited the right to the benefit of the doubt.

I don't know how many of you watched the pre-race ceremony in which the 22 jockeys due to ride in the Cup were presented to the crowd. You would have been excused if you were making a cup of tea at the time, particularly as the ceremony was followed by the eminently missable Ten Tenors, which was a group consisting of Richard Sims and nine of his fellow choralists making a noise which one would need to be a lot more musically aware than I am to enjoy. Anyway, the presentation ceremony was a load of nonsense really, but the 22 jockeys stood in line in the parade ring and were introduced in turn to the crowd, whom they saluted. What made it seem even sillier is that the riders were bedecked in Emirates Airlines baseball caps, garments which I always feel don't look great at the best of times, but particularly not on an occasion when common sense and usual convention would suggest that being bare-headed would be better. However, Emirates Airlines pump several million into sponsoring the Cup each year, and if it provides them with a bit of publicity back in return, it's no skin of the jockeys' noses, or the nose of Cup Day in general, if the jockeys wear the caps. Unfortunately, only 19 of the 22 jockeys deigned to wear the caps, the exceptions being Johnny Murtagh, Colm O'Donoghue and Wayne Lordan. Now, it's impossible to know why they didn't have them on. It could have been that the official charged with distributing the caps to the jockeys and asking them to wear them had missed out these three jockeys, and these three jockeys only; possible, but highly unlikely. It could also have been that these three jockeys just decided independently that the caps didn't suit them; again, possible, but highly unlikely, particularly as they had been wearing baseball caps, with the logos of their own team, whenever they'd been interviewed throughout the previous week. Furthermore, Johnny Murtagh, usually a man of great courtesy, would no doubt usually be very favourably disposed towards wearing Emirates Airlines caps, bearing in mind that he rides in Dubai every winter, principally for Sheikh Mohammed's brother and cousin. I think, therefore, that it is overwhelmingly unlikely that the jockeys took the decision to boycott the Emirates Airlines caps off their own bats. As I am sure that Aidan O'Brien would have had less petty things on his mind half an hour before the Cup than what his jockeys had on their heads, we have to assume that one of the Coolmore team must have taken it into his or her head to take the 'Rivalry it is but friendly it ain't' attitude towards Sheikh Mohammed's side down to previously uncharted depths, and thus forbidden the jockeys to wear the caps. Which is a disgrace - and the fact that I am the first person to point this out in print, more than four days after the event, is a disgrace to the media as a whole, because the culprit does not deserve to have got off so lightly for this appallingly discourteous and mean-spirited low act.

So that, sadly, had left a bitter taste in this viewer's mouth before the horses were even in the parade ring. And, of course, the riding did nothing to freshen the palate. My own view, as anyone who watched the television will know, is that Wayne Lordan and Colm O'Donoghue were extremely fortunate to avoid a non-trier's charge, because to my eyes it seemed impossible to conclude that they were doing anything other than plan their horses' tactics around what they thought would suit Septimus. I don't blame them for this, because I am sure that they were riding to orders, and for this reason I don't think that Aidan O'Brien did himself any favours by deciding that attack was the best form of defence in the stewards' room. Of course, it turned out that the attentions of his stablemates were much more a hindrance than a help to Septimus' chances, but in deciding whether a jockey has ridden a horse on his merits, intention is the key, rather than outcome. I can't see that the riders of the stablemates were doing anything other than trying to ensure that Septimus could race prominently in a strongly run race without having to make the running - otherwise, no competent jockey on earth would have, as they did, kick up wide to fight for the lead after missing the start. Madness, sheer madness. And especially after the senior steward had impressed on them beforehand the importance of ensuring that each horse was ridden solely for the benefit of his own chances, rather than for the chances of the stable as a whole. And especially as Channel Seven TV presenter Simon Marshall, formerly a top-class jockey before his size intervened, had given the viewers the benefit of his experience, walking the track and saying that the jockeys would be counting between the furlong poles along the riverside and trying to run at thirteen and a half seconds per furlong at that stage to ensure that they got from (a) to (b) with maximum efficiency. By my calculations, Aidan's horses were running at around twelve and a quarter seconds per furlong at that stage, which tells one all one needs to know about the skill with which they were rated. And to come out afterwards with the poppycock that this was a sensible tactic to use on Alessandro Volta because he had made all the running when he beat a small field of lightly-raced horses in the Lingfield Derby Trial was about as sensible as saying that, because of winning that race, his chances of future victory would be maximised by running him only at racecourses beginning with the letter 'L', or on Saturdays. Honestly!

Happily, the discourtesy, bad riding and questionable intentions of the Ballydoyle jockeys - which followed nicely from the Yellowstone debacle which meant that lovely Baughurst and his connections, oh so deserving of a place in the field, were denied a start in the race to add further to the shame of Team Europe - couldn't spoil the night. Bart's win was great, Bauer was a star, and the next few horses home all ran with great credit, so all was well that ends well - plus my winnings from C'est La Guerre EW will more than cover my Septimus losses (of course, didn't you realise that I was talking through my pocket?!). So that was great. And even better came in the train on the way home, when a text came through to say that Somewhere Safer, the dearest mare in Queensland, had won her fifth race by landing the 6.35 GMT at the Gold Coast. To win five races with any horse is a wonderful achievement, and her trainer and my co-owner Michael Tidmarsh deserves to be more than saluted for his handling of her, as well as for his purchase of her in the first place. That was really, really good.

Since then, things have got a bit quieter round here, with four horses going on holiday, including Brief Goodbye and Ethics Girl heading up to Norfolk to enjoy Kerry Oldfield's bountiful grass in 'Horse Heaven' for a couple of months. It really warmed my heart to see them revelling in the luxury of their new surroundings - or not so new for Brief, bearing in mind that this is now the eighth winter that he has had his holiday there. Lucky is back enjoying life in her lovely field chez Fordhams, with Jenny - who's been enjoying the quiet life for a while while she becomes older and who can resume work in December ahead of what should be a spring debut - keeping her company again until her yearling mate is ready to take over later this month. And even the horses here have some grass to munch, as we have moved them out of the field which they have used all summer, which is now a mudbowl, and into the one which has been rested since April. It has plenty of grass at present, but such is the rate of munching that it's a case of 'Blink and you'll miss it'.