This from my great friend, George Baker.
It went something like this…..
Day 5 in The Big Brother House dawned overcast, muggy, humid and sultry. A long week of fabulous sport set aside time spent with great mates. A potent mix. But by Saturday morning, the batteries were running a little flat…
“A little flat” is how I had felt on an August Saturday morning last year as “Glorious” drifted towards a close. Only for the day to be turned over and upside down and every which way by a trailblazing Stewards Cup winner called Get It…
On Saturday as we drove once more to secure an Ascot drop zone, I vividly recalled that gloried Goodwood day and its wondrous conclusion. But there was no way that this day was ever going to match. Two shots at the 28 runner Wokingham runner but a glance at the Betfair market strongly suggesting that this was a day when we would be making up the numbers. And so expectations were very limited. Lightening and striking just does not happen…
The Car Parks quieter and no mad dash needed for shadowy spots beneath high and ancient oak trees…
The “Oi Oi Georgie” picnic of Tuesday seemingly months ago. A long week. A tiring week. A week when some good hands have been shaken and cheeks kissed. A week when hands have been shaken and fingers counted straight after. The rich and varied tapestry…
From a glass in the car park to a gentle lunch in The Turf Club. As ever, plenty asking about our chances. If guns had been put to my head, I probably would have come down just in favour of Desert Cop over Get It. The former with better Bahraini form, and the tacky Epsom ground not for him in The Dash. And Get It’s silly trainer had blown all Summer chances by unleashing him to break the Ascot course record six weeks ago and rage 7 pounds up the handicap as a consequence. He was not going to be winning any Wokinghams off 100 against this field….
A possible silver lining if he finished “mid-div” would be a lower mark for that Stewards Cup…
As the day drifted by and the batteries ran even lower, I planned for an early post race escape. To get out of the tails, and probably a settling pint in The Noah’s Ark…
To the pre-paddock. Barry, Maher, Rose and Taryn superbly keeping a lid on flighty sprinters in raging heat…
To the paddock. Picking out Jim Crowley and Seamie Heffernan amidst the heaving masses. The chat that never means much. And what am I for God’s sake going to tell Jim and Seamie about riding this place….??
Riders up. And away. And calm…
To the top of the stands to the “lucky spot” from where I watched Get It set the Longines clock ablaze. I have several lucky spots. Some need changing up. This particular one rammed full with Pimms swillers. And so I found a huge TV and thought about that pint in The Noah’s…
No nerves. The nerves stalk the mind and the pit of the stomach on many an occasion, but with expectations limited, the heart beats well and hard, but not that back of the throat thump….
All in. Stalls open. Jeez, Get It flew. A Stewards Cup start, and bounding a few lengths clear in a matter of strides…
Still the heart was calm and the mind steady. Scanning the field, Desert Cop clearly off the pace and up against it from flag fall…
So eyes back on the little horse who was galloping in that cool way of his and the peloton settled in his wake…
The three pole. Still in front, but Seamie beginning to nudge…??
Two down. Still in front. Still calm. There is literally no way on earth that Get It off 100 is going to lead from pillar to post in The Wokingham…
And then it all kicked off !! The furlong pole. Still there. More than “still there”, he’s still clear. What the absolute f**k is going on. Don’t shout GB. Shouting does not help and you usually end up looking silly. Oh Sod It – “Go on my horse !!!” “Go on Seamie.” A few strides to go. Still there, but not clear. No idea who the closers are but they are getting close. Two up the middle and one flying up the stands rail. “Come on my boy !!!!!”….
Around me, several are looking at this whirling dervish of a goon who is screaming maniacally at a big TV screen…
They hit the line. So close. I think we have it. Then the dread doubt crashes in. Replay, replay, replay, where’s the replay….??
Slow motion. They are coming from all sides but that pretty little head is down where it matters…
A roar that puts a few off their afternoon teas, a mad scamper down an escalator, disbelief, don’t well up GB, welling up (obvs), a tear or three (pull yourself together GB), some shouts and waves and the realisation of what has just happened seeping into a fuddled mind, to the walkway, meaningful calls from jockeys coming by, Barry and Maher and Rose out on the track….
And then a walk that if I could bottle would make me a billionaire…
Rishi with Seamie. Seamie’s hand reaching out as our paths collide. Calls from beyond the railings and from high above. Scenes. Into the paddock. A sea of wondrous faces and the sheer joy of victory cascading towards me. This means a lot. As you may have gathered. This is why we battle through the dark and dog days, and the nights when the demons come to visit. This is why we do it. This is beyond words. Words can never come within 6 furlongs of that feeling…
And meeting Brian Lara was pretty cool too….
And that pint at The Noah’s tasted very good….
So thrilled for Mark Tracey, David Fish, Jim Machale, Kevin Dunne and the MyRacehorse partners…
So thrilled for my exceptional team without whom I am nothing…
These are the days. And the great start to the Epsom adventure takes another massive leap forward. Just a start though…
A good mate texted to say that we have joined a pretty elite crew by winning The Stewards Cup, The Wokingham and The Royal Hunt Cup. Devilishly hard races to win. We have only gone and done it….
Get It only went and Got It….
(7 minutes in to the video)
