Grand Irrational

I think that it is The Grand National today.

There was a supplement in my saturday newspaper with the definitive guide to the runners and riders but I left it unread.

The news media has been primed all week with the human interest stories linked to the owners, backers, punters, the man who makes up the huge hurdles, Liverpool in general, stable lads and lassies, the course and a host of other coincidences, freakish events associated with the race or with any link even if at first there is no apparent connection whatsoever.

A few celebrities were featured who have frittered away their monies on a race horse. Other tales relate to those who sacrificed everything to keep that gangley legged nag in oats and on straw and who were convinced or at least hoping that this year was theirs. After all they had been told so by a fortune teller or the stars and planets were so arranged to resemble, funnily enough, a gangley legged nag.

The background to the names of the runners has been investigated relentlessly on daytime broadcasts.

Those thinking about placing a bet latched onto the slightest sense of affinity or relationship to a name. In offices and workplaces throughout the land there were sweepstakes being organised with the sole beneficiary of the proceeds destined to enjoy a fabulous return to employment on monday morning.

I am not above stating that in the past I did participate in the experience of the Grand National.

Way back it was a bit of a family tradition to put a ring around three horses each on the double spread racing page of the Express on Saturday and to gloat over siblings if lucky enough to pick the winner.

On the occasion of our wedding exactly 25 years ago my wife was drawn to place a wager on, I remember it well, "The Last of the Brownies" given that Brown was her maiden name. I am happy to say that the we did not have a four legged winner but feel blessed that our marriage has gone from strength to strength in the intervening years.

I also recall taking my children to the local Bookies on the morning of the race once but never again. Although a much improved environment it was still a bit of a throwback to the days when children were not at all welcome onto the premises as it retained the mystique and ultimate seediness of a smoke filled refuge for the perpetual loser or ever optimistic gambler.

Nowadays the emphasis and hard sell of The Grand National is as a family friendly activity with one and all encouraged to wager a few pocket money pence or quid in a harmless and fun filled atmosphere.

There are the same range of enticements that frequent our TV screens and multi-media devices to draw us into the insidious world of gambling.

After all it can't do any harm really, can it?

I remained a casual observer of the mass participation in this years race.

One story however caught my attention. A 103 year old man was reported to have placed bets on the last 80 Grand Nationals but had never had a horse over the line in first place. In being featured in the national media as backing a specific runner that particular horse was catapulted into pole position. I hope that the old gent did not wager too much of his weekly pension. His favourite fell within the first few fences.

I was not aware, through my self imposed boycott on the event, of any of the actual field but was a bit annoyed at the final outcome in that I would almost certainly, definitely and without fail have backed a horse with the word Pineau  as it sounds a bit like Pinot as in one of my bestest tipples.