Grand National Winner.

 Grand National winner. 

You wait a whole year and then two come along at once. Yesterday for what seemed like the first time in ages  you found yourself a Grand National winner. Now how many years ago since that last happened. Last year of course sport disappeared without trace and never looked like happening at any time or place. So here we are into the fourth month of 2021 and the Grand National did take place but the occasion was once again overshadowed by yet more tragedy and a grievous sense of loss. At some point something nice will occur and we may not be ready for it. 

On Friday morning His Royal Highness the Duke of Edinburgh sadly died and on a Saturday afternoon at Aintree racecourse the memory of Prince Philip was celebrated and richly recognised by nobody in particular at Aintree itself but certainly remembered with fondness by the jockeys, trainers and perhaps even the horses themselves. Grand Nationals are always special occasions and yesterday was no exception. In fact it was pretty historic if truth be told and ground breaking as well for good measure. 

For the first time in the history of this delightfully hardy perennial a female jockey came charging past the winning post at Aintree, thereby ensuring that a very specific breakthrough in the world of horse racing had been confirmed. It isn't often that the ladies have left any kind of imprint on the Sport of Kings but now the word is out. Anything that the men can do women can do equally as well. It may be no small coincidence that both in football, rugby union and cricket, women are very much competing on a level playing field. 

Yesterday Rachael Blackmore, who, a couple of weeks ago, had taken control of the Cheltenham Festival, monopolised  another big race venue with some of the most impressive horse riding that any of the perhaps sceptical punters had ever seen, dominating the event with considerable flair and then making a lasting impression on the fine, upstanding people of Gloucestershire. The Grand National though, was hers to win and she rode her winner Minella Times with astonishing and consummate ease. It may just as well have been an undemanding gallop along Blackpool beach, so comprehensive was her victory. But she did it and gee whizz that felt good. 

But some of us could hardly hold back the excitement since once again we picked the outright winner and we were just overcome with simple elation. The usual procedure of course is that you normally jab a pin into the Saturday sports page of your daily choice of newspaper in the vague hope that a lucrative afternoon will be yours at roughly tea time. Your field of expertise does not stretch to the choice of one horse in perhaps the most famous horse race in the world. So you jab your pin into the Saturday sports section of your newspaper and just hope for the best. It is, admittedly, more by chance than any shrewd judgment. Still it's perfectly harmless and no bookmakers should ever feel remotely troubled by what amounted to guesswork from my humble position. 

In fact yesterday you simply turned to the runners and riders of the Daily Mail Grand National page, assessing all the while recent form, strong recommendations about the potential winner and just going with your gut instinct. So my wife put an each way bet on Minella Times and you then hoped that the inevitable victory would ensue never really sure whether you cared if it did or not. The scene was set on a nippy Saturday afternoon in the spring sunshine of Aintree and Liverpool held its breath. 

Now we're all familiar with the Grand National by now. It is one of those ancient sporting treasures that never fails to enchant and enthral if only because the race itself tends to be regarded as a lottery. Every year a large group of well looked after, almost pampered horses stride elegantly through the paddocks of Aintree, sleek, beautifully groomed animals who always look as if they're about to rub shoulders with royalty. 

Then they all cantered down to the starting tape in the distance, ears pricked, legs full of athleticism and pumped up energy, eyes staring nobly out into the Pennines. Once again the punters and fans who constitute the very spirit of the Grand National were not there to see their favourites. Instead men and women wearing black masks held onto their steeds with proprietorial love and care, stroking their backs, clinging onto their stirrups and then smiling at them as if they were extended members of their family. 

So it was that the runners and riders quite literally jockeyed for position, kept circling around each other at the start rather like one of those John Wayne westerns where the cowboy trots into a wild west town and demands a drink. And there went the breath-taking stampede of hooves, jockeys on horses and a whole sequence of those impossibly daunting fences that seem to get more frightening by the year although this may not be the case.

There they go flying over Beecher's Brook, a fence of such intimidating height that you almost feel a deep sympathy with the horses that have to negotiate it. Then  there's the Chair followed by seemingly endless fences with thick bushes, higher and higher, steeper and steeper. Yesterday a vast majority of male riders must have assumed that this would be just another ordinary day of victory for their gender.

As a blur of bewildering jockeys on their mounts came towards the final mile or so you were reminded of the sheer visceral thrill that can only be experienced by the kind of person who always wins the Grand National. Heads down, crouching forward on their equine friends, their colourful silks now flashing a rainbow of colours, the jockeys aboard their horses sprinted towards the finishing line as if their lives depended on it. 

Now Minella Times, ridden by the inspirational Rachael Blackmore, hit the front followed by a veritable stable of challengers. It was the most riveting finish of a Grand National for many a year  with four or five horses emerging as possible winners. But Minella Times did the business. This was sport at its most nail biting, a real horse race, a high quality race of the most mature vintage and one the memory bank will always have a soft spot for.  

It hardly seems like 48 years ago since a world class horse by the name of Red Rum galloped joyfully home in one of the first of three Grand National victories. In the mind's eye, you can still see poor Crisp tiring and flagging as the finishing post beckons. Then Red Rum, quite possibly the most charismatic horse ever to take part in the Grand National, won this most prestigious of races. Sport could hardly have produced a more fitting champion. But Minella Times. You were a worthy winner. Well done Rachael Blackmore.