Well boys and girls, itâs that time of year again. Derby day. The premier, three year old classic on the planet is to strut itself once again. Some in far flung regions of the world will hold that their Derby, run on dirt, should hold pride of place, but how can this be justified? For me and a few others, that kind of thinking just canât be supported by any well reasoned debate. But enough about that other race, weâre here today to celebrate the umpteenth renewal of this time honoured race, an event first run at Wolverhampton in 1462. And Iâm here to tell you, Iâm bloody excited about.
And what better place to stage this wonderful event, but Epsom Downs? A course at times described by some rather unkind souls, as a meandering goat track imprinted on someoneâs God forsaken, undulating cow pasture. I beg to differ though. God has not forsaken this hallowed ground, heâs blessed it with some of the finest thoroughbred bloodlines the globe has ever seen. And what of the horse flesh that has passed before us over the years? No not the poor unfortunates who've had the ignominy of ending up on some European dinner plate, but the greats of the turf. You all know who they are, and thank goodness for that, because I have no idea as to who they might be. Didnât Arkle win a Derby for Scobie Breasley? If not, I stand corrected and most humbly apologise for my shortcomings, which it must be stated, are many and varied. But thatâs a horse for a different course.
I donât know who is in with the best chance of taking out todayâs great event, or how the race will be run, but rest assured, as that bold collection of colours comes cascading down the hill towards Tattenham corner, I, like all racing fans, will be caught up in the splendour of the spectacle itself. We wonât be thinking of past champions, or the perceived quality of this years crop, weâll be filled with expectation and awe. And as they sweep the bend and begin that arduous run for home, those of us whoâve by now done our cash cold, will turn our attention to the combatants who with a furlong to go, will have the race to themselves. He with the biggest heart will prevail. And to him, will go a precious place in the annuls of racing history.
And what better place to stage this wonderful event, but Epsom Downs? A course at times described by some rather unkind souls, as a meandering goat track imprinted on someoneâs God forsaken, undulating cow pasture. I beg to differ though. God has not forsaken this hallowed ground, heâs blessed it with some of the finest thoroughbred bloodlines the globe has ever seen. And what of the horse flesh that has passed before us over the years? No not the poor unfortunates who've had the ignominy of ending up on some European dinner plate, but the greats of the turf. You all know who they are, and thank goodness for that, because I have no idea as to who they might be. Didnât Arkle win a Derby for Scobie Breasley? If not, I stand corrected and most humbly apologise for my shortcomings, which it must be stated, are many and varied. But thatâs a horse for a different course.
I donât know who is in with the best chance of taking out todayâs great event, or how the race will be run, but rest assured, as that bold collection of colours comes cascading down the hill towards Tattenham corner, I, like all racing fans, will be caught up in the splendour of the spectacle itself. We wonât be thinking of past champions, or the perceived quality of this years crop, weâll be filled with expectation and awe. And as they sweep the bend and begin that arduous run for home, those of us whoâve by now done our cash cold, will turn our attention to the combatants who with a furlong to go, will have the race to themselves. He with the biggest heart will prevail. And to him, will go a precious place in the annuls of racing history.
