Why I believe in Frankel, but not Chelsea

Frankel pulled me back a little from the brink yesterday. I don’t mind saying I shed a tear or two, not when the race was won, but a little way into that wide verdant straight; at the point when Frankel indicated he was ready to go on from his pacemaker, Bullet Train. It seemed to me as if the horse was saying, with a slight nod of the head, to the man on board, Tom Queally, ‘Come on mate, let’s go.’ And they did. And I thought to myself, ‘Fuck me, it’s Pegasus’ and he doesn’t even know it, he just is.

That’s why I believe in Frankel, because he will do his best, regardless. He won’t fall out with the owner, the trainer, the lad, or even the jockey – he’ll just put his head down and get on with it, in his own remarkable, mythical style. One day, perhaps, Frankel won’t win. I don’t want to ever see it, but if I do, I’ll still believe because I’ve seen the essence of the horse.

That’s where I have a problem with Chelsea. I can’t ever get to the spirit of the side. They remind me alternately of a bunch of mercenaries with no loyalty, except to the self, or a cadre of the worst kind of public service union members who work to rule, to the detriment of their service. There is one exception to this: Didier Drogba, whose gradual transformation from habitual box dropper and tantrum thrower to staunch goal-scoring servant, shines brightly enough to cast many of his team mates demeanours into sharp relief. Drogba, of course, looks like he may have played his last game, and Di Matteo, whose main attribute seems to have been that he is not Andre Villas Boas, is uncertain of his future.

And that sums up why I can’t believe in Chelsea, a club that is run at the top by a plutocrat, and on the pitch by the whims and moods of the dressing room. Di Matteo has done well they say, and why should they not, given the 2012 silverware, but haven’t the recalcitrant squad of AVB’s reign merely consented to play since the caretaker manager came in? On their finest night, instead of being able to fully enjoy the scenes of celebration, a neutral looks at the assemblage and sees a lot of luck, not much soul, and not nearly enough of whatever it is that Frankel and Drogba have got.

Winners with heart & soul

This post was partly inspired by a conversation with a Chelsea fan not long after AVB had departed. A lifelong fan, his disappointed and pained recognition of the pumped-up egos in the Stamford Bridge dressing room was palpable. This morning I imagine he has a well-deserved headache and a hoarse throat and natually all the previous suffering is instantly forgiven. Football fans have strong stomachs, suffering goes with the territory, no joy without pain. That’s all fine and understood, but I can’t quite forget the head-shaking of earlier this year and the expression of the fact that his team wilfully and frequently just chose not to turn up at the game.

Happy Birthday Muhammad Ali: lyric poet & boxer

Denman retired: December 2011

Denman’s career was total quality from start to finish. I was thrilled when he won the Gold Cup, but I believe that race left its mark and after his subsequent tumble at Aintree couldn’t watch him live anymore. I have a friend who hid in the ladies at Newbury to listen to the live commentary when he was going for another Hennessy. He is just that kind of a horse.

Thank you for yourself Denman.

Jumping for fun: minus McCoy

Kauto Star & Denman

Tank mode with Ruby up

The Raffle

There was a raffle yesterday; it was somewhere that shall remain nameless. I was asked to draw the (25, twenty-five, XXV, ٢٥, vingt-cinq, yes five times five) tickets in front of a small audience with a vested interest.

I called on the children to assist, the eldest wisely backed off, getting a clear sense of the pressure of the situation just as it was dawning on me. This left me and the seven year-old to deal with the imposter called luck, which, as any regular readers may know, is mere probability taken personally.

What this looks like on a Saturday afternoon at a charity Christmas Bazaar is a sea of faces staring, the majority being arranged rather more in line with accusation than expectation, as you and your offspring continue to frantically pull out tickets – without their names on…

It all got to me and I resorted to some violent shaking of the container of tickets in a desperate attempt to get to a ticket that would assuage the mob. This didn’t work either, one raffle-hopeful-but-slightly-indignant-personage just pointed out tightly that I was shaking tickets out on to the floor.

Cappadocia, Turkey

Where’s the Mayor when you need him?

Note to self: never again

Consumer ‘choices’ we just don’t need

My poor head sometimes makes dodgy links between things and to be shot of them I dump it on here (that’s a bad pun which might become clear by the end of the post). So that’s a warning, what follows might be a load of old shit that doesn’t make much sense. I have tried to get it to cohese, but it’s not quite there. If you are enjoying your Sunday morning, get out now whilst you still can.

This week I read this article, about the emotional part of the brain being involved in complex decision making processes. It referred to research that suggested that trying to make complex decisions on a purely rational basis will lead to a greater chance of your making a poor decision. For example, I can immediately apply it to punting decisions; it explains why all the study of collateral form in the world won’t necessarily find you the big Saturday handicap winner… The research reminds us that there’s a lot more going on in your subconscious mind that can usefully contribute to thought processes than you might be aware of.

The example used in the opening paragraph of the linked article (How Should We Make Hard Decisions) is about the choice a shopper makes about which toothpaste to buy. Because there are so many types of toothpaste, promising to do so much for you, the simple entry of ‘toothpaste’ on your shopping list can turn into a demanding cognitive choice as your rational brain attempts to sift through and compare all the information on offer. The article’s conclusion is that you will buy the one that ‘feels’ the best.

I kind of knew what the writer was on about. I have referred to that moment before on here, when I become trapped in a supermarket aisle staring for ages trying to make a tortuous purchase decision. This process can be exacerbated when I am hungover. But as hard as I thought about the toothpaste example, it just didn’t ring true. I always buy the one that’s on offer, usually placed at the end of the aisle. I have no feeling other than the one about having saved a quid, or whatever.

The point is we don’t really need all those types of toothpaste to choose from do we? It’s a choice, but it’s a false one, because, as the research suggests, we can’t process the choice cognitively anyway. I buy what makes me feel good in terms of saving money, you might buy the one with a red, blue and white stripe. The concept of choice is an illusory one in this case because we buy based on feel or habit, or pricing. And even if we make a ‘poor’ choice it is unlikely our teeth will fall out immediately as a result.

Actually, there’s a whole philosophical debate to be had there about free will and toothpaste, but I am too addled for that today. Let’s just say, the research is good, but the toothpaste example just didn’t work for me.

Anyway, I’ve now sadly got this choice concept in my head and I am out in the world shopping later in the week and I come across two types of toilet roll piled high: buy 9 rolls and get another 9 free. I approach the toilet roll buying in the same way I do the toothpaste (have you noticed how half a supermarket aisle can be given over to stocking each of these products – anything that saves me disappearing down the aisle can only be good).

The thing is, in this enticing BOGOF (another crap pun alert), type one is white, and type two is that rather murky colour which might be best described as something akin to mouldy apricot as it is neither yellow nor orange, nor indeed cream.

And stocks of the white one are running low because that’s the one that people want to buy. Why? Do they feel better about white paper? Or do they know that more dyes go into coloured toilet paper and it is therefore less environmentally friendly (is that true?)? Or do most people have white bathrooms and it’s a style decision they base their selection on? Or maybe it’s just because that murky, mouldy apricot colour is just too disgusting to have in the house if you don’t have to.

That must be it!

But I suppose, to link it back to the research, we feel that white toilet paper is the best – even though, rationally speaking, the job it does cannot be affected by the shade it comes in…

In any case, toilet-paper manufacturers of the world, save us the bother of potentially being in a cognitive overload situation when choosing bog roll – scrap the filthy pastel shades, the impregnated with aloe vera varieties, the quilting and the twee embossed varieties and just make one sort of plain toilet roll: white.

Thanks.

Wrong

Wrong

So wrong, like you would not believe

There are some strange people who take it all too seriously indeed here

Red Rum on BBC Sports Personality 1977

Red Rum and Ginger McCain interviewed here by a slightly nervous Frank Bough.

A classic moment when Red Rum hears his jockey Tommy Stack via black and white video link…

St Leger: the oldest classic

For various reasons my heart’s not been in the flat season this year. The truth is that I have barely watched a race since Derby Day. I’ve turned the racing on just now and absence has made the grass seem greener than ever before and the jockeys’ silks buzz out of the tv screen.

Re: bets, I’ve had a few… Then again, (this season) too few to mention.

I might have one later on Blue Bunting, or I might not. Either way I will be with her in the
St Leger. Fillies don’t win the race much, but of them all I think the drying ground won’t inconvenience her and I like her robust profile. I’ve got to finish the post now because I want to watch Born to Sea, Sea the Stars half-brother, make his debut in ten minutes at the Curragh (2.40).

Blue Bunting: unusual tail

Taking my name in vain

Last week my current account was relieved by a scammer of £600 quid, most of which I didn’t have anyway.

Things have changed since the last time this happened, a year or two ago when I had to go into the branch, fill out forms, wait weeks for a refund. This time I had a refund the following day and a replacement debit card the day after that.

This week I got sent a letter from the Yorkshire Building Society thanking me for opening an Internet Saver account. They gave me an account number and everything and said I had 42 days to make an opening deposit before the account I DIDN’T OPEN automatically closes. Looks rather like they automatically opened it. Not unlike that wretched insurance company that gave me some kind of insurance that I didn’t ask for either. This new form of pushing product beggars belief.

On the other hand, it could just be some kind fraudster trying to save in my name instead of spend. If anyone else wants to join in via electronic transfer – please feel free. Here are the details.

Bank Sort Code: 69-92-04
Account Number: 47328497
Reference: 4732849720

Apparently I’ve also agreed, as a member, to assign any windfall payment in the first five years to their Charitable Foundation. And as a member they welcome my feedback through Member Panels, or to attend Member Question Time (only if a Dimbleby’s hosting) or call their Member Suggestion Scheme on 0800 0565 252.

Again, feel free. If I had the least bit of energy I’d be fuming.

There’s no photo for this is there? There just bloody isn’t

Hoof It

The blog has not had much time or inclination to entertain, or be entertained, lately but I did manage to watch the Nassau Stakes and the Stewards Cup from Goodwood last Saturday. Aftertiming is a disgusting habit as all punters will know, nonetheless, after not having had a bet for ages I was very much taken with Hoof It’s appearance and was therefore prepared to overlook both his joint favouritism and top-weight of ten stone.

Looking at the horse, with his deep chest and powerful engine, I concluded he would be well able to carry the weight. And he was, and more impressively than I could have hoped. He was a joy to watch, and you should take those when you can in my experience, as they can come few and far between in a gambler’s life.

The horse’s owners are supplementing him for the Nunthorpe @ the Ebor Festival I think. Good.

Hoof It and Kieren Fallon coming home well - ears pricked

Derby Day: Part II

The Queen *curtsies* not Carlton House *admires nostrils*

Well, well, well. Kieren Fallon comes a cropper in the law courts.

Native Khan’s owner, Ibrahim Araci, has been successful in his appeal to prevent Fallon from riding Recital this afternoon and the sensational story has usurped the favourite in the market, the Queen’s horse, in the racing headlines.

Going into the race it has all been about Her Maj’s Carlton House and his twanged leg tendon. Now we will be hanging off our seats going round Tattenham Corner to see if Fallon’s intended mount, Recital, is running like a Derby winner and Native Khan’s Araci will be wanting right to be on his side for the second time in a day in the UK.

Imagine the equivalent in another sport? Injunction prevents footballer playing in a Cup Final. Legal ramifications may abound. But that’s for another day.

Today we have the Queen, the Aga Khan, the Turk and the Irish, plus a billion punters. What story are they going to back this afternoon with so many to choose from.

Now, with a little help from the judge, one of the most intriguing narratives of the day belongs to Recital.
Pat Smullen is forgoing a date in Tramore, Ireland this afternoon and hot-footing over to the Epsom Downs to partner Recital. I don’t really rate the form of that horse myself – Fallon may know better than me of course, but I would like to see Native Khan come home in front of that one, for both the craic and on pedigree.

Then there is Carlton House, belonging to the Queen. She has never had the Derby winner, so a first winner for her and a sixth winner for her trainer, Sir Michael Stoute, would be a nice headline for the Sunday papers. Better yet that she saves her first winner of the Derby for her Diamond Jubilee year (that’s 2012)?

Best story: Native Khan wins, making Fallon a liar and a fool
Second best: The Queen wins and a nation rejoices
Third best: Recital wins and the British justice system prevails

Ok, not buying that analysis? Try this instead.

Ballydoyle run 4 – yawn, yawn, yawn, yawn. Of the four, I would take Seville.

I can’t have anything by Montjeu today so that narrows things down nicely. And I find I am bored of typing now so I will leave it as a combination forecast involving Native Khan, Seville and Vadamar. Oh I am nothing if not rigorous in my analysis…

Native Khan's sire: Azamour - an exceptional looking horse