Ruby Walsh: To dream big is a luxury, to deliver big is a skill
A noble tradition: Noble Yeats and Sam Waley-Cohen jumping second from right in the closing stages of another pulsating Aintree Grand National.
Much has been said and plenty written about last Saturday's Grand National. I can't add much more to the winner's story or to those he beat, and, like everyone else, only have my own opinion on the great race.
But for 15 minutes last Saturday evening, it consumed me like it always does. It has changed since I remember watching West Tip in 1986, and it has changed again since I rode Papillon in 2000, but it’s still a challenge, still unique, and winning it is still a massive achievement.
A handicap chase with 40 runners in front of 75,000 people is not a routine outing, and last Saturday proved you still need the one thing that will never change: Luck. None of those in years gone achieved more than Noble Yeats did, they just acquired the same thing differently.
The big fences and drops of old have been replaced with safer versions and easier gradients, but none of the changes have removed the luck element, and it is a race that still surprises you as you watch.
Fundamental theories change every year, and this race changed them again because the perceived concept I had formed from the last few renewals of needing a good early position was thrown out the window and the race was won by a seven-year-old novice.
Noble Yeats lined up handy at the first attempt to start, but with Mount Ida arriving late, that attempt had to be aborted. The other 39 runners turned like a ship in the Suez Canal and, at the rushed second attempt, Noble Yeats missed the break.
He got lucky because the speed in front of him was too strong, so Sam Waley-Cohen ended up in the correct place, which was almost last as they hurtled across the Melling Road to fence one.
Good jumps early saw him latch onto the back of Davy Russell on Run Wild Fred going to Becher’s Brook, but a slight mistake by Delta Work in front of them saw Davy switch inside to the left, and Sam moved right to get beside Davy at Foinavon.
That was lucky, because Run Wild Fred fell at the next, the Canal Turn and, heading to Valentine’s, Sam had found his way onto the tail of Burrows Saint and Any Second Now. Having started wide, Sam edged left to the inside and pressed forward as the others slowed at the Melling Road into a pocket approaching the 12th.
In front of him was Domaine De L’Isle, who jumped right at 12, and Sam edged further along down Samcro’s inner before The Chair, where two he had followed at some point, Burrows Saint and Domaine De L’Isle, departed.
None of his decisions thus far were flukes. They were reactions to what was happening in front of him, but none of them were pre-empted. Each one just happened to be correct. Nobody would have questioned his decision if he elected to follow Davy Russell or Paul Townend instead of overtaking them. And yet, one would have brought him down, and the other put him way out of his ground.
And so, he turned at halfway in the Grand National in position A with his dreams of winning intact. From there to two out, it was plain sailing, and the weakening Freewheelin Dylan left him a lovely split to make his challenge on the approach to fence 29, where he landed beside Any Second Now before surging clear from the elbow.
So, on his final ride, Sam Waley-Cohen won the Grand National on a horse trained by a man younger than himself, on a horse his Dad had bought to share the dream.
Paul Byrne sold him in February, but he and Emmet Mullins planned this for over 12 months, and the execution is beyond impressive. To dream big is a luxury, to deliver big is a skill, and they did both. But it all costs money, so horse racing needs people like the Waley-Cohens to have success for the sport to last.
Cornelius O’Callaghan and Edmund Blake had dinner in Buttevant Castle the night before they partook in the first steeplechase in 1752. Those who worked in the castle cheered them on whilst those who had eaten in the castle partook.
The Duchess of Westminster owned Arkle, and Dorothy Paget owned Golden Miller because horses are dear to keep and expensive to buy. Syndication has helped spread the load for many and helped a little with inclusion, but nobody is guaranteed success, and just as in the Grand National, luck will always be required.
Still, this sport will depend on those who can afford this expensive hobby most, which props up a whole industry, and the Waley-Cohens will have sparked the dream for someone else to try.
Well done to them, and perhaps on Monday at Fairyhouse another giant supporter of the sport will succeed in the Irish version, or maybe, like last year, a minnow will get their day in the sun.
Whoever wins will take satisfaction and joy from the success. It could define somebody’s career or be another notch of greatness on an established CV. But, as those 30 horses thunder southeast towards Ballyhack from their starting point behind the old weigh room, the dreams and hopes of a cross-section of society will be alive.
Max Flamingo, Ronald Pump, Velvet Elvis, Mister Fogpatches, Streets Of Doyen, and Lord Lariat run for smaller owner-trainer combinations. And some of those in bigger yards, like Mount Ida and Smoking Gun, are running for less well-known owners, and some, like Enjoy D'allen, Off You Go, Ten Ten and Champagne Platinum, are representing a prominent owner but smaller trainers.
Screaming Colours will run for the Durkans, and then you have the usual mix of big names and famous colours, but it takes them all to create the excitement, and I hope Monday can be as consuming as last Saturday. I didn't see Noble Yeats coming, nor did I see Freewheelin Dylan last Easter Monday, so maybe the predicable isn't so predictable after all.
