When sport is put back into perspective
The day started mightily.
The dashing young rider won the first race. As always he would hardly have passed the winning post before rushing off to take his ride in the second race on the card. His mount fell at the first fence in that race. Seriously injured, he was rushed to Cork Regional Hospital. He died there at the beginning of this week. Jack Tyner, son of trainer Robert Tyner, was just 17. May the Saints have mercy on his sporting spirit and console his grieving family.
I heard an expert say yesterday in the aftermath of the fatal accident that, had he survived, young Jack Tyner could have gone on to become one of the true greats of his demanding and hazardous sport. Apparently he had it all, style, strength, judgement and courage. He rode a great race for a win only 12 days ago in Limerick. From a family steeped in horselore and racing, he had already made quite a name for himself even at the tender ago of 17.
Truly a tragic accident in a sport where victory and triumph so often share the same terrace as disaster.
I confess to knowing about as much about of horse racing as one could inscribe on the head of the pin.
But, from having attended many meetings over the years, notably the annual Galway Races, I know one thing for certain: jump jockeys have to be the bravest and most resilient sportsmen of all.
They take their lives in their hands about every time they set a horse at a fence.
They provide all the thrills even as they accept the inevitable spills.
These little men seem to have bodies and nerves of steel. I always observe their day’s work with something approaching awe any time I go to the races.
Imagine yourself wearing their lightweight boots and bright silks for a day’s work on the course.
The belly that swings up over the saddle is usually as empty-for weightwatching reasons-as the hardy hearts are full of fire and hope.
They sit atop about a ton of highly-strung horseflesh, wound up to the last, quivering for leaping and running, and tipped with four steely shoes that can be lethal weapons in the event of a fall. And few races are completed without several falls in the field.
And when the horses do indeed stumble, normally at high speed, the wiry little men can apparently often achieve minor miracles by managing to stay aboard, righting them again, recovering the stirrup or stirrups with their questing feet, keeping racing towards the finish with scarcely a break. Those recoveries are marvellous feats of horsemanship in themselves and they happen at every meeting where there are fences to be jumped.
And when horse and rider do fall, frequently heavily on the landing side of the fences, often with the whole field coming behind in a bunch, it is a major miracle, it seems, that the injury toll inflicted on the riders is not much greater. How do so many of them manage to bounce on the turf like rubber balls? We know that they break about every bone in their bodies over the seasons even though they know how to cushion their falls from the worst consequences and avoid oncoming horses. It is still a significant feat. It is made more remarkable by the fact that they normally will be taking part in the next race as well. They are not men, clearly, who are fond of the insides of ambulances. If they do break bones they come back incredibly soon afterwards, doing it all again and again.
I remember once, at the Galway Races, being amongst a group of leading sports journalists (picking their brains) when this sprightly jockey joined us briefly between races. He was dark, in his early forties, lively and smiling, bouncing with confidence. When I was introduced I realised I had met a household name in the world of jump jockeys, one of the best. Even I knew his name and fame. After he rushed away a sad kind of mood came upon the experts, a deep sense of regret.
When I queried I was told that the rider had clearly lost his confidence following a bad fall some months earlier and would never be the same man again.
He did indeed retire from the saddle within months. I’ve often reflected since that loss of nerve, even though we ordinary mortals would not spot it, must also sometimes be a consequence of these crashing falls and injuries. I understand that jump jockeys, certainly in Ireland and England, do not earn anything close to the huge wages one might expect given the risks and demands of their profession.
The millionaires are mostly flat jockeys in the classics.
The jump jockeys earn their money the hard way and clearly they are riding for the love and excitement of the game as much as the day’s wages. When you think of the salaries of Formula One drivers, or such as Fernando Torres, you would be inclined to think there is something wrong with the scales. But that’s the way it is.
The death of Jack Tyner is a terrible tragedy.
The only element of consolation may be that, having already won one race on the day, and out racing again, this young sportsman died doing something that he dearly loved. RIP.
* cormac66@hotmail.com
