Your worst Cheltenham days

Here's mine. It was 2015, Champion Chase day. Stupidly, I hadn't got the leave in the diary by the mid January and then an email landed in my inbox telling me there was a compulsory meeting the Mon-Tues-Weds the second week of March. I checked the diary and sure enough it means I'm missing the first two days of the festival. I fire in a quick leave request but it is denied. Gutted! We have this sales meeting every year, but it's normally the last week of March and the details normally filter out during February so I still thought I was safe but they caught me on the hop. Learnt my lesson this year though, Cheltenham week leave request was in the minute the calendar was open. The boys I normally go with were at this time booking Benidorm but the meeting meant I wasn't going. Instead, I was going to be in a hotel meeting room near New Street Station in Birmingham doing role play. FFS.

Anyway, the Monday was the slowest day of my life. Then the Tuesday came and went and I had an OK day. I followed most of the action on my phone surreptitiously, and managed to eke out a winner and a couple of places, enough to call it a draw even though I was destroyed I hadn't seen any of it. At the start of the Wednesday they announced that because people have long distances to drive and trains to catch that the meeting would finish at 3.15. Everyone else is thinking of their journeys home. Immediately I am thinking of the big Ladbrokes on the corner about half a block up from the hotel and right opposite New Street station and the fact that I can definitely get in there for the start of the Champion Chase. I'd had one of my biggest bets of the week in the race, and all of a sudden now I'm going to see it. I could then flit from boozer to bookie for the X-Country, the Fred Winter and the Bumper before getting a train home after the last race. And I was on leave for the rest of the week. Things were suddenly looking up...

So the meeting ends and I'm like Colin Jackson out of there on the B of "Bang". Straight down the road and straight in the Laddies. I'd backed Sprinter Sacre for the race. I knew he wasn't 100% but it was a weak-looking Champion Chase and it's the black aeroplane! I figured he'd only have to be 85-90% to win. I had a big old bet at an each way price antepost, and another bet on the nose at 3/1 the day before. Let me tell you about this Laddies for those who don't know this branch. It's a big old shop, huge floor space and quite a friendly, knowledgeable crowd and from when I'd been in there the two days before. But this time, in my haste to get in there and watch the race I walked into a different part. It has a sort of side shop next door. Weirdly, it is the same branch but not connected. I suspect it allows them to circumnavigate the roulette machine regs and to have another however many RNGs. Beggars can't be choosers and it had screens and the race was just about to start but I did wonder why I was the only punter in this section.

Anyway, the race starts and the three staff members come out from behind the counter to watch the race. They were all young. The two lads looked like they were about 15 and the girl couldn't have been much older but looked it because she was just so fat. She really was the biggest munter I have ever seen in a bookies and that is saying something. About 16 stone even though she was short, with a big red face, yellow teeth and ginger hair. She also had the most offensive Brummie accent I've ever heard. Don't get me wrong, I have got nothing against the Brummie accent, and I'm not hung up on looks generally, but there was something about the loud, brash cockiness of this woman that made both grate on me immediately.

Sprinter Sacre seems to have settled into a decent rhythm early on and I'm trying to watch the race but these three staff members are really getting on my tits with their inane, ignorant and loud questions and even though I'm essentially a non-confrontational character I feel like telling them to "shut the F*ck up". They've all had a bet, and are getting much too excited. One of the lads had backed Special Tiara, and was almost squealing with excitement when that one went into a lead after about 2 furlongs. The other lad asked loudly "Is this race over hurdles or fences?" and neither of the other two knew. They all looked at me, but I didn't answer for them, just gently shook my head wondering how the f*ck these three can work in a bookies?

Anyway, it turns out this loudmouth, objectionable cow has also backed Sprinter Sacre and as the race progresses she gets louder and louder, screaming for Sprinter Sacre to win. As they get to three out, Special Tiara is still leading with Dodging Bullets and Somersby right there. Sprinter Sacre is just in behind with Sire de Grugy and both are nicely positioned and poised to challenge if they're fit enough. The noise from the fat cow is getting even more annoying now, and at this point I can't even hear the commentary. I briefly contemplate running out and into next door but we're right at the end of the race. Then all of a sudden, Geraghty is going up and down on Sprinter, and he's not responding. Dodging Bullets and Special Tiara are suddenly travelling miles better and even old Somersby is going away from him. This is the moment all punters know. The sudden realisation that you've done your dough and you've called it wrong. Your heart breaks a little in any old race. When it's Cheltenham, and it's the black aeroplane, a horse you love, it hurts even more. And it's not the money down the drain that hurts, it's the broken dream that gets you. In your head you've seen how the race will pan out a million times and the fact that it pans out differently really stings.

But back at Cheltenham we're over the last and it's between Dodging Bullets, Somersby and Special Tiara. All three looked like they're running through treacle on the soft ground but Sire de Grugy isn't getting there and the Black Aeroplane is pulled up, but bizarrely, the ginger witch next to me is still screaming "Go oan Sprinter Say-cre" like some sort of incantation that is getting louder and louder. As Dodging Bullets outbattles his rivals and gets his nose in front up the hill, she starts celebrating "Yes! Sprinter Say-cre!!!!" The noise she was making you'd think she was getting shafted by the horse, not having bet on it. Her two colleagues congratulate her on her "win" and starts to jump up and down. I am sure the tremors from this jumping will be felt at Prestbury Park, until then the caption comes up "Champion Chase 2015 winner Dodging Bullets". The two lads she work with start to laugh, and she looks down at her slip in shock as she realises she was cheering on the wrong horse!

Then looks at the slip underneath and says "Oh hang on, look, I backed Dodging Bullets as well, I had £2 on that one and £2 on Sprinter Say-cre!". This is the last straw. I walk over, grab her ginger hair and smash her face repeatedly into one of the shop tables until she is unconscious. Actually, that doesn't happen. I walk out shaking my head and get on a train. I can't bring myself to hang around for the last three races, I just want to go home.