Weather leaves National Hunt trainers in a fair old pickle
But the balloting has eased considerably, with owners disappearing from the game, and over the Christmas period it hardly reared it’s ugly head at all.
Most handlers are well down on numbers, but at least are now guaranteed a run for those they have left.
But no sooner does one door open than another is closed, with this infernal weather creating a whole new set of problems.
Vital meetings, such as Fairyhouse, Naas, Thurles and now Punchestown on Saturday, have gone west of late, with the possibility of more to follow.
And even when we do race it is sometimes far from straightforward, as we saw with Leopardstown and Limerick at Christmas.
Cork on Saturday last went ahead - what an extraordinarily difficult call it was - but even that was far from smooth sailing.
The chases were lost earlier in the week and then some trainers could not get their charges to the course and others, worried about the ground, decided not to run horses as the afternoon progressed.
But so desperate is the industry and the public for action that a decimated Cork was still more than welcome.
We are now rapidly roaring towards Cheltenham and time is running out for trainers who badly need to get experience into their novices in particular.
Willie Mullins’ Sports Line is a perfect example. At Willie’s opening day, early in the campaign, he nominated this fellow as ‘a dark one’ for the Arkle at the Festival.
When Sports Line made a spectacular start over fences at Navan on November 22, Mullins’ mutterings appeared to be far more than just fanciful thinking.
But Sports Line hasn’t been seen since, deprived of two opportunities by the onset of Ireland’s new ice-age.
Mullins wanted to avoid taking on Sizing Europe, Captain Cee Bee and Osana at Leopardstown and so decided to send Sports Line to Limerick instead.
He couldn’t, however, get the horse to the track, because the roads were so bad, and then aimed him at Naas last Sunday, but snow put paid to that meeting.
Overall, you would have to say this country has become a laugh-a-minute. The developers, bankers and government tried to sink it economically and the weather threatens to finish the job for them.
I mean, it rained for most of the summer, but it won’t rain at all in the winter, simply because it’s too busy freezing the arses off all of us.
It leaves National Hunt trainers in a fair old pickle and, if the temperatures in winter continue to decrease, then the days of balloting will begin to look like Carnival in Rio by comparison.
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IN England there is a crowd called Racing For Change, whose job is to try and attract new people, especially the younger generation, to the game.
The Racing Post on Tuesday gave their proposals extensive coverage and, if you want to enjoy a really good laugh, go and read them.
Here at home, during the ‘glorious’ Celtic Tiger years, buckets of money was wasted on capers which were doomed to failure.
Listen, there’s nothing wrong with a bit of fun and frolics, in an effort to boost attendances, but there’s a time when enough is enough.
Which brings us neatly onto Leopardstown at Christmas and the amount of noise patrons had to endure during the four days, obviously in the name of entertainment.
Leopardstown is one of my favourite tracks and there is no place better to watch a race, especially a chase.
But why they felt they had to place individuals, admittedly only doing their job, in the parade ring every day, offering a constant stream of booming and intrusive interviews was beyond my comprehension.
Quite frankly, no matter where you were on the course, there were times when you could hardly hear yourself think.
Robert Hall and Ted Walsh were quite close to the noise and how they did the business for RTE one will never know.
I’ve heard Ted eventually threw the toys out of the pram and the only surprise was that he wasn’t driven to doing so earlier.
It reminded a bit of the days when I used to visit pubs. You went for a chat and a couple of pints.
Then a few Donies arrived on and, suddenly, your conversation was drowned by some screeching which, apparently, was regarded as music.
They wouldn’t have been half-way through the opening number by the time this imbiber had voted with his feet and left.
No wonder people now sit in front of the television, with Betfair at the ready, in the peace and quiet of their own home.
