T
he whole crazy jamboree
starts with a roar that seems
to turn upon itself all the
fury of the vanquished win-
ter, chasing away months
of darkness and wind and sleet in a single
moment of exhilaration. At last! The start-
ing tape flies, the restless horses hurtle to-
wards the first hurdle, and 60,000 throats
share a visceral release. In the grandstand,
you can sense the great shout leaping across
the track and bouncing off the distant crags
of Cleeve Hill, and nearly expect layer upon
layer of bare trees to turn instantly into leaf
as the echo spreads back down into the val-
ley. For this carnival, once largely confined
to aficionados, has in recent years become
the English sporting calendar's premier rite
of spring.
Yes, despite strong roots in Ireland, a loy-
By CHRIS MCGRATH
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