What a Day for a Dave Green

 The first day of Cheltenham is officially my favourite day of the year. I look forward to it full of hope and anticipation and sometimes it goes quite well but it doesn't usually begin with form figures of 11211 for me, immediately covering the rest of the week's investments and the rest is fun, fun, fun which may or may not a tip for the last race tomorrow. Some drippy boys made a record that sounds a bit like 'what a day for a Dave Green' in not quite the worst excesses of the 1960's. It still comes in useful even now.

 But it's not really about the money. It's good to have an interest that pays for itself, an index of how well one's doing and I'd certainly think twice about how much I enjoyed it if it was costing me to be involved but sport, if it's worthwhile, is bigger than that.

I'm not the world's most passionate guy but when Rachael and Honeysuckle won for Henry, I think I'd call that crying. There's a bit more to it on occasions like that than having a few quid on a horse and tipping it up quite confidently with all good scientific reasons here a month back.

If that was emotional for slightly sentimental reasons, I almost cried the race before to see Constitution Hill take another step towards outclassing Arkle, or any other horse there ever was, in the Champion Hurdle. 

He will never need more than a second gear. He will never go off at a price that makes betting on him worthwhile ever again so, thank you, William Hill, for laying him at Epic Odds of even money today, if only for a tenner.

That was wise of you. I'd have had the house on him if I'd been allowed to. It was a performance that put all the available opposition that hadn't side-stepped him, among which State Man could have been a worthy champion hurdler in any other year, very much in the shade. Such class comes along as rarely as once in a lifetime and it was a thrill to see.

 

A third reason for celebration are personal form figures for me of 1121101 on the day. Rachael did try to take the handicap hurdle from the front on Bad but on this occasion Pop Music Theory and Michael Jackson weren't to be. And that is sport. Into each life a little rain must fall. There is simply no point in winning all the time. That would make winning meaningless.

It's not worth any sort of fortune. I'm still on the road to recovery from a dreadful start to the year so the stakes weren't high. There haven't been many better days of sport than that, though, even among some heroic 12 Hour bike races either witnessed or taken part in by me, those cliff-edge snooker matches featuring Alex Higgins in which anything might happen, some cricket, some football, I dare say, but that was very special.

I don't know if I could stand it being that good every day but, by definition, it can't be special every day.

If I wanted it to be ordinary every day, I could get a season ticket to Fratton Park.