There's one born every day...

Cavanman's Diary

It’s Wedthursfriday and I’m idling in the dog days, or more accurately hog days, between Christmas and New Year. Today is one of the last chances for pure, old-fashioned vegetation before we all stir from the turkey-infused slumber. I flick on the television and remember that there is racing at Leopardstown. Excellent – and I might even cobble together a column out of it.

So, I prepare my work station. Out comes the laptop and I sweep aside a few items on the coffee table to make room.

A box of Milk Tray, the bottom row of which some scumbag raided when the top shelf got diminished down to the orange and coffee ones (je suis le scumbag – but keep that to yourself), is returned to the press.

There are some Christmas presents yet to be put away – a book called Pike Fever by Jens Bursell, Made In America by Bill Bryson, a new jersey, which was too tight Christmas morning so hasn’t a hope in hell of fitting now. And the ubiquitous scented Christmas candle; printed on the side, hilariously, is the scent, “Red Apple Wreath”.

Beside me is the dog, dozing peacefully until she detected movement in the vicinity of the chocolates, now suddenly on high alert. So, table cleared, I begin to study the form.

First up is an 18-runner 2m 5f Handicap Chase, the 12.00 at Leopardstown. For some reason, I’m drawn to Politicise at a meaty 40/1, despite him being beaten up a stick at Navan a month ago.

“Each-way claims,” reckons the little Racing Post blurb. Good enough for me.

I log into my betting account, which has lain dormant for a couple of months, and realise, to my amazement, that there is €102.46 in it – a war chest. But as soon as I stick a tenner each way on Politicise and boldly take to Twitter to share my prediction, the regrets kick in. Mine is the outsider of the field. Have I blown a big chunk of my budget already?

“The money keeps on coming for Seddon,” remarks pundit Don McClean about the favourite, which has been backed into 9/2.

But four weeks is a long time for Politicise, who is vying for second place with Archie’s Charm with 7f to go. Three fences out, it seems like he is going as well as any. Then, suddenly, the jockey gets to work. I think he is done for but what's this? Politicise is staying on.

On the run-in, the camera cuts to Seddon, who romps home, and it’s hard to see if my boy has held on for fifth place. I refresh the page about 10 times until it eventually gives the full result. And, lo, Politicise has crept into fifth and my balance has been updated to €172.46. Away we go!

I like the look of Good Land in the next one but it’s not something we have much of in Cavan and I opt for the aptly-named Search for Glory, in the hands of Jack Kennedy.

It’s at this point that I start getting really windy. Now that I’m up money, the “what we have, we hold” mentality infects my thinking. I don’t want to go OTT on SFG and I begin to ponder backing him each way, even though he’s just 9/2, meaning I would just about (but not quite) get my stake back should he finish second or third.

And then I remember a famous opening line by Richard Baerlein in the Observer in 1981, when he advised readers to back Shergar for the Derby. “Now is the time,” he wrote, “to bet like men.”

Baerlein got stuck into that one at all prices from 33/1 down to even money and won enough to buy a house in the country, which he named ‘Shergar’. When my nag clatters into a hurdle with a mile to go, it becomes obvious to me that I will not be moving into a mansion called 'Search For Glory' any time soon – but he does stay on for third, proving I should have trusted my cowardly instincts.

No matter. Bet again, to paraphrase Beckett, failed bettor. My balance now stands at €152.46. The next race isn’t until 1.10 which gives me time to leg it down to the Adventure 21 Café beside Lough Ramor, where the wind chills me to the bone when waiting for a coffee, so much so that I decide to add some carrot cake to the order.

While waiting, I check out the 1.10 on my phone. Six runners, which means only two places are paid for each-way purposes. The top two are very short prices so I go with €5 each way on Braganza at 22/1.

Halfway round, my horse, named after a Portuguese royal dynasty, is stone last – and if anything, he gets worse. Puta madre!

By now, the RTÉ coverage has started and they are flitting between Limerick and Leopardstown. Next up down south is a straight match between Brazil and No Looking Back, owned and trained by Lacken man Oliver McKiernan.

Brazil is hotly fancied but Ruby Walsh makes a bold argument in favour of the Cavan horse, by way of Rathcoole, who cost €32,000 and could win a cool 22 grand here by beating one rival, albeit the Samba nag is reckoned to be the real thing.

I stick a tenner on No Looking Back and he cruises home at 10/3. Now, I am at the high point of my day, my balance showing €175.79. I feel bullet proof, unsinkable… Down she will go, though.

Back to Leopardstown and a quick perusal of the form has me sweet on Amirite. Am I? Almost certainly not, although Ruby, who hasn’t let me down yet, fancies him (“I think if he gets into that rhythm, he can out-run his odds anyway.”).

A fiver each way is the stake this time but just as things are going okay, jockey Rachael Blackmore, another star of Cavan stock, is unseated.

“Jack went out the side door, he landed on Rachael’s back and off she went,” is how Ruby pithily sums it up.

It’s now that I lose the run of myself entirely. A tenner on Desert Friend – third. And then, the big race and a bullish Patrick Mullins interview (“I’ll be playing my cards late anyway”) convinces me that Sharjah can turn back time.

Two crispy tenners (okay, it’s virtual but still) go on the gelding but his race is run about a mile in when he almost sends Mullins into orbit.

“Very bad mistake! Amazingly, astonishingly stays in the race!” exclaims commentator Jerry Hannon.

By now, the running tally is €135.79 and I am reminded of those sea weather forecasts on the radio in the mornings. Sherkin Island to Valentia, 8 knots, rising slowly. Leopardstown to Limerick, €135.79, falling rapidly…

I study the next from the Treaty City, the 2.35, intently. This could be make or break.

The favourite is Chautuaqua, owned by well-known local publican Declan Sheridan of the Meadow View. A patriotic bet? The price (13/8) is a bit short for me. I opt for Purse Price. Another third.

By now, my early luck seems a distant memory. “Horses tend to improve for the application of cash,” someone on the telly wryly observes when it becomes clear there is a big gamble on favourite Green Glory in the next, a two-and-a-half mile handicap.

I go for Typical Thomas at 16/1, leaving me with €115.79. Typically, he shows well but starts to reverse on the home stretch. The gamble lands; cue delirious scenes among the winning connections, the Come Home Sober syndicate. Judging by the pictures, it’s highly unlikely they will. And who could blame them?

At that, I have to abandon this get-poor-quick scheme to walk the dog, who has been watching me with a mixture of scorn and pity throughout this equine adventure.

Time to do some sums. I call it a day, in the black to the tune of €13.33. Minus the coffee, take away the carrot cake, carry the one… We’re talking in or around €7.50 profit, well below minimum wage - even for a journalist.

There’s one born every day, the dog’s scornful look seems to say as we head out the door. And, I have to admit, it’s odds-on she is right again...