TDN Weekend

less atmosphere of bacchanalia and gains a nearly ascetic quality, as though they are submitting the very core of their natures to some proving ordeal. For others, equally, even the biggest wa- gers represent little more than a cheer- fully tribal gesture. Many an Irishman will gladly risk short odds to clamber aboard the Walsh-Mullins bandwagon, treating his betting voucher as a ticket to share the eu- phoria that reliably spills from the track it- self into the bars and hotels until the small hours. For the defining theme of Chelten- ham's modern success, unquestionably, is the friendly rivalry between the hosts and the raiders from Ireland. Be in no doubt, the emphasis is sooner on the "friendliness" than the "rivalry". Where Ryder Cup galleries grow ever more boor- ish and unsporting, no British punter ever begrudges even the most relentless tide of Irish success. For one thing, you do not have to show a passport before staking a bet. It was the great Vincent O'Brien, after all, who first taught punters of every stripe to respect the meeting the way he did, target- ing it with his best horses and pioneering their transit by air. The subsequent transfer of his genius to the Flat, moreover, reminds us that jump racing has historically found its greatest resonance when breaking down not only the barriers between nations, but also those between classes. That has seldom been the case at Royal Ascot, for instance. But just as O'Brien first emerged from pro- vincial obscurity, so many of the stories that nourished Cheltenham's spectacular growth have exalted men who could never have bought their way there. The ultimate example was Sirrell Griffiths, a Welsh sheep farmer who the Cheltenham Gold Cup itself in 1990 with a 100-1 shot named Norton's Coin. To that extent, jump racing in Britain and Ireland has become a victim of its own suc- cess. Increasingly, over recent years, the best horses have been concentrated in still fewer hands than on the Flat. Since there is no scope for a payday at stud, of the type that can sometimes make sense of huge sums changing hands on the Flat, it can only be presumed that wealthy owners gain ad- equate satisfaction simply from the thrill of winning a Gold Cup, a Champion Hurdle or even one of the supporting races at the Festival. Certainly any horse that shows lu- minous potential in the sport's nurseries – in a maiden point-to-point in Ireland, say, or a juvenile hurdle in France – is nowadays nearly guaranteed to be subject of an offer that can't be refused. As a result, the same few silks are nowadays in danger of becom- ing wearily familiar in the winner's enclo- sure at Cheltenham. So a little of the mystique has been lost. For the organisers, who were able to ex- pand the fixture to a fourth day in 2005 without the slightest diminution in the in- tensity of media and public attention, that is doubtless a price worth paying for its soaring commercial payload. But while ci- vilised resorts can of course still be found downtown, notably around Montpellier, the novice seeking a classic flavour of the Festival is urged to surrender the streets of 63

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