Gambling does funny things to the mind. Common sense, the last bastion of
reasoning, too often goes A.W.O.L. A few summers ago I hatched, perhaps, my
most ludicrous racing system. It went something like this. From the 2000
Guineas, all furlongs lead to Epsom Downs. I cogitate, scrutinise and drink the
Derby. On the eve of the great event, my mind bursting with all-known form, I
tuned into the BBC’s preview programme.The usual suspects – Carson,Balding, Aussie McGrath, fat bloke who does the betting –were sat on an open-top bus, looking like they were on a beano to Southend. The occasional jockey was wheeled in front of the camera. It was then I saw them. Mick Kinane’s bushy eyebrows.Flapping around his forehead like a pair of hang-gliders. They must, I deduced,
give him aeronautic advantage swinging around Tattenham Corner. The form book was swapped for the appliance of science. Kinane’s mount trailed in with the proverbial washing. Maybe - just maybe - if the wind had changed direction across the Downs, my system would have blown the racing world apart. If nothing else, it would have raised a few eyebrows in the echelons of Timeform et al. No more daft systems for me now, but have you noticed the distinct advantage held by left-handed jockeys in claimers at Plumpton on a Monday……
