Notes from a Wiseguy

 Saturday's runners as advertised by Racetrack Wiseguy were a nightmare.

McFabulous jumped four fences very nicely and then pulled up on the flat, Galvin looked as slow as the four-miler he might in fact really be and Brewin'upastorm skewed at the first hurdle and deposited his rider. Then Meditate scooted in to land the first half of the Breeders Cup double before Silver Knott got mugged on the line.

So that's torn it. That was a big, confident effort and it could hardly have gone any worse. It's done some damage to the good position I was in and it's back to softly, softly again.

It's a tough game. If it was easy it wouldn't be there because bookmakers wouldn't offer odds. I expect there is solace to be had in Dr. Johnson. A gambler, sir, takes on the perils of chance more than he might know for if he were better acquainted with those perils he would be less inclined to venture even a small part of his fortunes.

Human life is everywhere a state in which much is to be endured, and little to be enjoyed, is what he actually says and one might regard oneself as fortunate that losing some of what one has won and then the tradesman who said he'd come and look at a job wastes your afternoon by not doing if that's as bad as it gets. Art is all there is and a possible palliative, not that that should be regarded as its function. But it should be useful to remember in times of minor setbacks that we still have that pantheon of artists to appreciate because I'm not sure how much help they are in times of serious crisis.

So let's carry on, above, appreciating the good doctor.