The debate on whether or not the extraordinary Frankel should contest the Derby seems to be concluded, at least in Henry Cecil’s mind, which is the place that matters. The common view seems to be that no mere horse could repeat over the undulations of the four furlongs longer Derby course the extraordinary physical explosion, the sustained surge of power which won him the 2,000 Guineas over a mile at Newmarket, and so we won’t see the best horse around in the most glorious race there is.
Life is rarely that tidy. Henry Cecil felt it was too soon to test such a speedy horse even over the mile and a quarter of most Derby trials and who can blame him. The problem is that a horse of Frankel’s class would frighten off most of the potential opposition and his sheer class would probably enable him to beat off a small field without necessarily answering the question about whether he might stay the Derby distance. And there are some wonderful prizes to be picked up over a mile.
The mild frustration I feel over Frankel missing the Derby is as nothing to the frustration I felt on Guineas Day when an M11 crash ensured that I spent four hours en route to Newmarket without ever getting to the races to see him run. My attempts to circumnavigate via Cambridge, plagued by the contrary nagging of my Sat-Nav, led me into a series of nose-to-tail jams around Hertfordshire, and in the end there was nothing for it but to turn tail while phoning Mrs Oakley and talking her through the TV recording process. Hands-free, of course, officer.
Although Mrs Oakley is a genius in her own fields, they do not include technology and this was a feat akin to an air-traffic controller talking down a blind passenger to land an airliner after the pilot had passed out at the controls.
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