Science of winning for a Ballybrit virgin

A BALLYBRIT virgin, my first foray at the Galway Races was akin to a blinkered nag staggering shoeless at a donkey derby.

Two races in and I’d already been pipped twice at the post, Studmaster and Dbest falling foul of Zeroberto and Athlumney Lad.

Not likely to let defeat halt my gallop, I betted my blouse on the third race, hoping Defi would defy the odds.

He did, and suddenly I was up and away, riding the crest of a wave, convinced that the idle instinct bet was the only way to go.

Until the fourth race and the jockey and I came back to earth with a bang.

Another dose of reality stood nearby - Nick Leeson, rogue trader and gambler extraordinaire.

He had single-handedly brought down Barings Bank, but would he be able to bring Ballybrit to its knees?

I considered consulting him for insider tips, but was momentarily distracted by the sight of half the Munster rugby team.

Peter Stringer, signing autographs, looking fit.

I thought about asking him to ankle-tap a filly or two if it could secure a race win for me.

Sanity cut in and I moved away.

Into the arms of former Taoiseach Albert Reynolds, almost.

In a neat side step, I escaped his embrace and made my way towards the Guinness Oyster marquee.

Regaling the masses was TG4’s freckle-faced Hector. “Roll up ladies,” he bellowed, “it’s time for the sexy oyster-eating competition.”

Three lovelies obliged and what followed was worthy of a turn in Angels lap-dancing lounge.

Back track-side, the crowds were gathering and the clouds parting - what had started as a dull, dank day threatened to turn into summer and humours improved all round.

As jockeys rode by in a flash of silk, Sports Minister John O’Donoghue added his voice to the din.

Caught up in the hurly-burly of the Galway Races, betting on a Cabinet reshuffle was the farthest thing from his mind. Neither did it occupy the minds of the multitudes who turned out at Ballybrit.

After all, politics is a blood sport and no place for a gambling man.