The refusal of Manchester City footballer Wayne Bridge to shake the hand of his former Chelsea team-mate John Terry in a dispute over the favours of a lingerie model received roughly the same attention in the media last Saturday as the outbreak of a new war in the Middle East. Racing hardly got a look-in, even on the sports pages. But the sporting moment I relished was the high five — well, actually, it was more of a low five — as a mud-spattered Paddy Brennan slipped from the saddle of Razor Royale after the Racing Post Chase and slapped his hand into the open palm of an immaculate Carl Llewellyn, business partner to trainer Nigel Twiston-Davies. That and the grins which passed between them told a whole story. One ultimately professional former jockey was acknowledging to another at the peak of his powers a case of ‘Job Done’, and a job done at considerable risk not just to life and limb but also to reputation.
Coming to the last fence locked in combat with the grey Nacarat, whom the relentlessly hungry champion jockey Tony McCoy was sure to be driving every inch to the line, and not wanting Nacarat to be left in the lead any longer, Paddy had nothing much left in the tank on Razor Royale. Yet he threw his heart over the fence and dared his mount to follow him.
It was one of those moments when total commitment can make you a hero or reduce you to zero. The margin between the two here was no thicker than a lingerie model’s thong. Although he admitted that his horse was emptying and that he didn’t have anything left, Paddy ‘went for gold’ — only for his mount to land on top of the fence.
Comments
Join the debate for just £1 a month
Be part of the conversation with other Spectator readers by getting your first three months for £3.
UNLOCK ACCESS Just £1 a monthAlready a subscriber? Log in