The Grand National

Well its that time of year again, where the Nation is gripped by the biggest Horse race of the calender year. A day where anyone who's anyone will study the form guide in the paper, picking a horse because of the colourful jockey jersey; its current form; what the going is like or because its got no hope in hell, but with the long odds you could win a bloody fortune!

Religiously as a kid i spent that Saturday morning scrutinizing the small print, reading who the so called experts like Richard Dunwoody and Peter Scudamore have tipped and finally backing a horse with a whole weeks pocket money. Its always interesting looking at the horses being paraded to the start to judge what they might be like. Some saunter, looking classy and stylish. Others looking restless, their heads lerching back and forth with their trainers hanging on for dear life.

And then the start. Fucking hell they've mucked that up in the past. Just a scraglly, waffer thin bit of string stopping these beasts from charging off into the distance. And low and behold it will be your horse facing the wrong way, queue the incesant, tetchy shouting from the starter for order. One thing that will always stick in my mind is the race that never was. A false start that didn't register with half of the race jockeys with the winner celebrating maniacically, only to realise that it was all for nothing.

And the commentators. Do they even take a breath? and with their rambling, 100 mile an hour monotone voice they could literally be saying anything. Its quite frustrating really, listening out for any sort of mention of your horse above the cries of people around you shouting for their horse, trying to identify which of the 3 red and white quater jersey jockey's is actually yours.

I cant imagine what it must be like for the horse. Charging round like a lunatic with no chance to get your breath back, being wipped by some cunt who wont get off your back and then being shot in the head after the race because you've got a slight leg injury.

Ultimately the National is for mugs....like me. It invariably doesn't go to form as it does say with the Cheltenham Gold Cup as proved by the 1-2 finish of Denman and Kauto Star. But that is the attraction of the national as its like a lottery after all. I have been given a tip from Daz' Dad Alan for Die or Comply. But taking a tip from him would be like taking sweets from a stranger.

Happy Mug Punting!