“SUPPOSE you’ll be in Cheltenham for the week, will ya?”

Every year, at around this time, I dread being asked that question. The questioner can usually sense there’s something wrong as I gaze downwards and mutter something like, “Ah, I’m not sure yet … I might go for one day … I’ve a few things on at the moment.”

The looks you get. At first they’re puzzled. How could you not know if you’re going? Did you not book it months ago like a normal person? Out of pity, they might say ‘Sure, I suppose you’d see more on d’telly anyway, ha ha.’ Then they walk away, thinking to themselves ‘That lad isn’t a racing man at all, at all. How did he ever get a job with the Field?’

The truth? The racing at Cheltenham is too good to go there. I want to see the horses in the parade ring and going to the start. What happens at every obstacle needs to be scrutinised over and over. And the post-mortems and celebrations. I can’t afford to miss any of it. No way am I spending all those hours travelling, socialising and fighting my way through the crowds for a glimpse of the action, when I could learn far more from the armchair or office.

As a pal said to me the other day, “You have to get to the track by 11am, you don’t get back to your hotel until 7.30pm, you’re out until 4am, and then you have to get up in time to be back at the course for 11am the next day. It’s exhausting!”

Best day’s racing

But there is another reason I have stayed away. I did go to the Festival once – just for a day. And it was the best day’s racing I have ever had. It was that good that I said to myself ‘No point in ever going back there – it will only be downhill after that!’

Let me take you back 20 years to Tuesday, March 14th, 2000. It was the day Istabraq won his third Champion Hurdle. He was 8/15 favourite and it was a bit of a procession but, by God, the roar when he hit the front, the shivers down your neck, electricity pulsing through your body.

The cheering hadn’t stopped when I suddenly realised I’d have to run to get a spot near the winner’s enclosure. Down below, there was total bedlam in the ring. Charlie Swan and the horse were nearly carried in shoulder high by the invading throngs. Out of nowhere Brendan Grace popped up and sang a song he had written about Istabraq. Everyone joined in. An unforgettable day.

I can clearly remember all six winners on the afternoon. As usual there was an Irish banker in the Supreme, Youlneverwalkalone for trainer Christy Roche and owner J.P. McManus. I ran into some old friends from college and they were all on Best Mate at 6/1 or better. “Can’t be out of the first three,” they said, and they were right. But third place was all he could manage, as Paul Carberry was too cute on the unconsidered Sausalito Bay, making all to give Noel Meade his first Festival win. I think the trainer did a ‘Pope John Paul’ in the winner’s circle.

Henderson double

Nicky Henderson and Mick Fitz won the Arkle with Tiutchev and the ‘William Hill’ with Marlborough. The latter broke the course record and everyone reckoned this result meant that the novice Gloria Victis, who had hammered Marlborough at Kempton, was a big player in the Gold Cup later in the week.

Gordon Elliott rode the Kim Muir favourite, Shannon Gale, for Roche and McManus. But he fell at halfway and the race was won by Honey Mount, trained by Robert Alner. There was another beaten ‘green and gold hoops’ favourite in the last, the Ladbrokes Casinos Handicap Hurdle (Pertemps to you) as Darapour (Aidan O’Brien and Charlie Swan) finished fourth behind Rubhahunish, trained by Nigel Twiston-Davies.

As we made our way to the exit, I recall lots of people saying ‘What this card needs is a mares’ hurdle and a novice handicap chase’. Maybe I imagined that bit.

We stayed in Cheltenham that night and I do remember that whatever pub we were in was absolutely wild. Actually it got kind of messy, with people on tables and drink spilling, and there was a sense that violence between the locals and visitors was not far away.

All in all, it was a thrilling experience. But, for me, the box was ticked and I found it easy enough to watch from a distance ever since, preferring instead to pick off other less crowded meetings to attend.

I’ve been lucky enough to attend some of the best racedays around the world – Royal Ascot, the Arc, Kentucky Derby, Breeders’ Cup, Dubai, Hong Kong and Melbourne Cup. Admittedly, they were all flat races but very special days, each one unique in its own way.

But Cheltenham means something special to the Irish and it’s time for me to go back next Tuesday. No more excuses.