40 horses, 40 skinny little jockeys, 30 fences and 4 1/2 miles of grass, water, and dirt make for the greatest spectacle of the horse racing year! It happened this weekend, and my heart is just now recovering from the thrill. Cataclysmic falls (and tramples), rider-less horses causing chaos, huge upsets, and roughly £2.7 million bet on the outcome. That's the total amount bet by people with money. Not us. I wish, I wish we had bet on it. See, I had this plan to bet £1 on about 20 horses, the ones with really bad odds (like, 50:1 or worse). That way, if any of the 20 won the race, we'd have make a quick £30 or more! But still that was £20 we didn't need to spend, so we didn't bet, and it's a real shame. Because guess who won?
Mon Mome, a real shrimpy nobody of a racehorse who took everyone by surprise! And the odds were 100:1. If I had put a pound on Mon Mome....*sigh*.
The Grand National is the only sporting event I've witnessed that doesn't start with a gun shot, or a buzzer, or a bell, or any kind of sudden alarm. Instead, a guy with a microphone calmly said, "Go on, then." And off they ran!
We discovered horse racing soon after we moved here when I took Marc to the races for his birthday. We bet £2 on Kingsbrook and won £6. Rolling in cash, we were. I have a magical knack for picking the right horse (but for the Grand National my predicted victor came in 4th). Best spectator sport ever? I think so.