Galway reveals much about the psyche of the Irish race-goer
Whichever, there were bums on seats and bodies in the ring and that, after the Celtic Tiger took the value out of everyone and everything is, it seems, what is needed. It was certainly a pleasant change from The Curragh on Derby day where one could have strewn a generous picnic blanket inside the bookmakers’ ring, sat quietly sipping champagne and munching strawberries whilst enjoying an uninterrupted view of our premier Classic.
That, it would seem, reveals much about the psyche of the Irish race-goer. Run million euro equines in Group race after Group race on the level and a meeting may still proceed practically ignored but put on some flat-race maidens, a couple of ultra-competitive handicaps and throw in a modest handicap chase and some shocking long distance hurdles and the world and its mother will attend.
No doubt, Galway was busy. The bookmakers will agree and disagree in the same breath. There were bets — lots of them — but insufficient in size and stature to set the pulses racing. It was that kind of day. Like Longchamp on Arc Day — just far more expensive — we all knew we were there for a reason but no-one seemed sure quite why.
Similarly to the French feature, the day began slowly. There was a gradual, sometimes barely noticeable, increase in volume and activity as the Plate came closer and closer but, like the favourite in the big race and the rainclouds up above, it threatened for a long way but its challenge never really materialised.
Perhaps, for a change, we can blame Tony McCoy for that. For 350 days of the year he’s the darling of every punter on every track in these isles but when the Champion Jockey dares step inside the Ballybrit boundary to pit his popularity against that of the Dermot Weld — Master of Rosewell House all year round and Galway for one sacred week each summer — he has the unusual distinction of coming off second best.
Not on the course, of course. The genius of the saddle all but jumped off Finger Onthe Pulse at the second last, carried him over the tricky final fence and dragged him, kicking and screaming, to an awesomely unlikely victory that denied most of those punters present a bumper payout.
In victory, he saw off the well-backed Themoonandsixpence, from the yard of Champion Trainer Willie Mullins, and favourite Majestic Concorde, from the white hot Weld stable. We’ve come to expect that sort of performance from one of the greatest jump jockeys that has been and ever will be and this remarkable ride was just another reminder that his talent and determination has no confines.
After all that, it was time for a wind-down and a stroll along memory lane. A short walk behind the stands brings one by the bandstand and the bars and all the way down to the Mayor’s Garden and newly rebuilt Killanin Stand. In days gone by that stand was a haven for punters when the rain inevitably arrived. It was also once Tote Hall.
The old structure was as grey as a dull autumn evening but it had character and characters in abundance. Long gone are the days when a man inside a glass window shuffled slowly backward and forward between the entrances to the men’s toilets, hanging pre-painted prices beside the numbers of the horses. It was simple. Simpler than simple. But it was unique and it was Galway.
That’s all gone now and so is the charm. The new stand screams ‘modern’. Externally, it has more curves than a burlesque dancer, but far less appeal. Internally, its angled aisles and modern conveniences shelter the race-goer from the racing — removing them from the game. Sometimes the reputation of a meeting will sustain its attendances but all our great racing stadia are becoming about the knives and forks and not the patrons who provide the atmosphere. The Killanin Stand is just another reminder of that.
