F EATURE PAUL TOWNEND
FR IDAY
bolting the inside space that Santini had vacated. The winning manoeuvre, as it plays out. They thunder toward the last. The stride is long but with Lostintranslation upsides, it is time to hit or bust. They y it in unison and Al Boum gets away the quicker. The yellow in the corner of his eye begins to recede and Townend feels the excitement of victory within. Then Santini’s grey creeps into his vision. Wide. It’s hard to know exactly where he is. But he’s closer every stride. Closer. Closer. The winning post ies by. Is there anything sadder than happiness lost? Townend pulls up frozen. Were they beaten? Not sure, he mentally kicks himself for allowing himself to believe that he had won. Several jockeys congratulate him but he waits for the big screen to con rm. It does and the icy cold of shock is blown away by the blazing heat of victory. His sister Jody sprints to join him at the top of the hill. The walk back passing in a blur of shouted compliments. He is whisked from weighing in, to presentations, to the interview tent before another stewards enquiry, this time involving De Bonville and Blackmore. Finally, packed into the car by Anna, with a Guinness in hand, he is halfway to the airport when he realises that he has left the Gold Cup behind in his racing bag! An urgent call ensures it is safe before another call tells him the crewwill be ready for him in Kilkenny for celebrations. Waiting at the airport the multiple Gold Cup winning champion nally gets his pizza. He smiles to himself, no more days to go.
be legged up onto Al Boum Photo that a man in a trilby appears at his shoulder. “Are you going to do something similar to last year?” Mullins asks quietly. “I am,” his jockey replies simply. This equates to the full input from the trainer to his jockey. The trainer’s job is done, from here the rider takes responsibility. The start goes well and he is happy with where they are, three quarters of the way back with some light. He can see Kemboy isn’t going as he might and is pleased to see Bristol De Mai moving forward. Al Boum is slow at the last with a circuit to go and then hits the rst down the back like a bird bouncing o a windowpane. Soon after the jockey goes looking for a stride and the horse makes another mistake. He grimaces and takes a breath, imploring himself to stop and start again, to let the horse get back into a rhythm himself. He is rewarded with two fantastic leaps at the sixth and fth last, which land him upsides in front, widest of four heading into the tight left bend at the top of the course. Bristol De Mai folds quickly at the slight injection of pace and Townend slides in one. They pour over the third last and the pace increases. Go with them but don’t commit runs. A yellow ash announces Power on Lostintranslation, while a dash of red unexpectedly reveals Real Steel joining late. The second last rushes to meet them and the stride is tight but Al Boum shortens up swiftly, not always a pleasant experience on him, and lands in front. Santini has dropped back and Townend immediately crosses over onto the rail, locking and
The dierence one day in four can make. Momentum and con dence begin to pick up speed like a boulder down a mountain. In the rst, Burning Victory is running on to be a distant second to Goshen when he stumbles and unseats which leaves Townend in a remarkably similar situation to when Glens Melody ran through the wreckage of Annie Powers infamous departure. Jamie Moore is a bystander as the eld gallop past. Monks sh claws his way to the front of a four-way wrestle for the Albert Bartlett, Townend inching a large chestnut door across Richard Johnson on Thyme Hill. For all of his protestations of not hearing Walsh’s Tuesday words, this was remarkably similar to that particular advice. Take what you want and pay for it. “Paul Townend to the stewards room, please.” With the Gold Cup the next race and the need to weigh in, receive the presentation, do the necessary interviews, weigh out and prepare for the biggest race on the calendar in less than 20 minutes, Townend requests that the enquiry is put back until after. His request is denied. He accepts his two-day suspension for careless riding and hurriedly joins the other jockeys. He nds the circular gold rimmed glasses of Joe Donnelly in the packed Parade Ring and explains that with the absence of genuine pace, he is conscious he needs to be closer than last year but also aware of the fact that if he doesn’t get into a rhythm, he will not win on a horse not known for his jumping uidity. The bell rings. It is only as he is about to
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