Yeats v. Kauto Star. A Moment Hidden In Time. P1

Yeats v. Kauto Star. A Moment Hidden In Time.


Conspiracy theories abound, they always have and always will. Was there really an air crash at Roswell in July 1947, involving four foot tall space people with large sorrowful eyes and bulbous heads? Were all six manned landings on the moon just a giant conspiracy manufactured by the North American Space Administration? Was there actually a gunman on the grassy knoll on that fateful day in November 1963? And was there a possible cover up that took in such disparate groups as the CIA, KGB, Mafia, FBI, the Israeli Government and Lyndon Baines Johnson? These hotly debated questions have bounced around for ages. For me personally, the Roswell incident looks like a load of horse manure. The moon landings are real, there is ample proof around to rebut the claims, including space pictures. JFK on the other hand, looks a bit dodgy to me. I’m not committing myself to confessing a belief that the great man suffered death at the hands of conspirators, but I’m not prepared to deny a feeling of uneasiness about the subsequent investigations.

The above has I believe, demonstrated that conspiracy theories as such, are many and varied, and can be full of crack pot ideas that can be just too hard to swallow, or they can be total truth. And of course there are those that can fall anywhere in between these two extremes. I guess what I’m trying to say here is that conspiracy theories should not be written off as rubbish, just because of what they represent. Many a man is languishing in a cell, due to a theory being proved true.

What I’m about to pass on, is information that’s been held back for legal reasons. A great many people, including myself, have been bound hand and foot to the Official Secrets Act, which until now, has prevented the release of any news pertaining to this momentous event. But I’ve had a gut full. I’ve sat on this news for a number of years now, and it’s really begun to eat away at me. So I’ve decided to cast my fate to the wind and reveal all. If the powers that be want to come after me, then let them, I’ll be long gone. I have friends in high places who also want the lid blown off this cover up. If and when the bastards try to nail my pelt to the wall, my allies will give me the nod, and I’ll bolt for the high country where men are men, and women do as they’re bloody well told. (God I hope the wife doesn’t read that.)

Although this is a racing story, it’s seeds were sown in the grubby world of politics. After the Labor Party had retained the UK government in 07, it quickly became apparent that they were well and truly on the nose. As the term wore on, things took on a bleak perspective, everyone from big Gordo down, knew that they were up **** Creek. Something had to be done. It was then that some bright spark came up with the idea of the match race. The greatest match race in the history of the UK. Arguably the finest head to head clash of all time, from anywhere on the planet: Yeats v Kauto Star.

At first it received the ridicule it deserved. Nobody denied that it would be a mouth watering spectacle, but it had bugger all to do with their chances of catching the next train out of ****sville. With these being frantic times though, it wasn’t long before the idea began to take on some sort of delusional substance. It was decided that if they could get the connections to agree to the match race, they could suddenly call a snap election for the same day that the combatants hit the track. The plan was to hopefully keep the voter turn out low. Added to this was the hope that the nation’s hankering for the equine clash, might just be enough to send the poor, old, deluded voter to the ballot box in a good frame of mind. The whole scheme reeked of irrational desperation.

With the government offering five million pounds prize money, three to the victor, two to the vanquished, the respective owners quickly fell into line. The next problem to be sorted was the conditions of the race itself. Both sides agreed to twenty furlongs, and after a little haggling, it was decreed that the obstacles should number just six, two fences, two hurdles and two ditches. To be run hurdle, ditch, fence, twice. The jumps to be positioned at two, five, eight, eleven, fourteen and eighteen furlongs into the race. The final run home to be a flat test of stamina. Ascot the venue. The weight was an issue. The Kauto Star camp wanted ten stone, Ruby Walsh’s weight, but the Yeats outfit thought it too much. With some pressure applied, Ruby agreed to nine stone nine. Mick Kinane was a happy man, he feasted like a king. The hunt rider lived on rabbit food.

Of course it was thought most prudent that for the time being, things should be kept under wraps. If the race and the reasons for it were to be revealed too early, there was a huge risk that the whole affair could explode in their faces. And so a date was set for late April 2009, a full twelve months before an election was due. As the event drew nearer though, all kind of fears began to manifest themselves among the backbenchers. With an all out revolt looking a strong possibility, big Gordo began to get the trembles. With the **** kickers threatening to go public, and the Conservatives smelling a rather large rodent, the government had little option but to throw up the shutters.

And what of the five million? When informed by the powers that be, that the race a no go and that no money was to be released, the owners of Yeats and Kauto Star produced their signed pieces of paper, and told the suits to go **** themselves. The race was on, and that was the end of it. Gordo’s boys had no choice but to threaten all and sundry with a rushed trip to Gitmo if so much as a single word about the debacle, was leaked. So effective has the cover up been, that nearly three years down the track, next to nobody has any idea of just what went on. If the issue is raised, the standard answer is usually couched in pompous derision.

There is no way that I can fully relate what happened on that April afternoon. I can only post what’s been passed on to me by an English expat now living in Germany. He was there hiding in the trees on his own grassy knoll, video camera in hand. He refuses to say what he was doing there, how he was dressed, or who he was with, but that matters little. What does matter is the film, I’ve seen it, and each time it’s watched, it raises the hair on the back of my neck.

The film starts with the two great champions moving out onto the course proper. The grandstands are eerily empty, and a phalanx of beefy, security agents, looking for all the world like a gathering of Village People clones at a mardi gra, stood a watchful guard. The two riders nodded and eased their mounts towards the starting point in the chute at the top of the straight. There were no gates, it was a walk up start.

Both Walsh and Kinane eyed each other as they moved cautiously towards the starter. Mick didn’t think a length here or there made all that much difference, Ruby on the other hand was out to gain every advantage he could. Much to the flat rider’s surprise, as the starter let them go, Ruby pulled the persuader. With no restrictions on the whip, he issued a few on Kauto Star’s read end. The great horse sprang to life. He charged straight across the face of Yeats who’d been on the fence, and set sail for the first of the obstacles, a hurdle at the four furlong pole in the straight six chute.