Cheltenham means different things to different people. For some it's the sweet smell of helicopter petrol and pony dung. For some, it's waking up in a lager bath after a day's carousing with the girlfriends of the Barnsley reserve team. For me though, it's about watching horses run fast and knowing what horse is gonna win from the second they take off. I've been here in the Cotswolds since Sunday. Fair to say, I know who's gonna win.
Wild Ben's Cheltenham Horse Racing Tips for Day One:
Supreme Novices (14.05): I was with (in)famous west Clare point-to-point jockey Patches O'Farrell at Leopardstown over the Christmas. We rented a bedsit on the South Circular Road and spent most of the night watching bootleg DVD's (Lincoln was shite, Zero Dark Thirty was brilliant) then ate Indian and drank Tiger beer at the Tandoori Hut in Portabello till 7am. We rolled out of the flat the next day and caught the racing. I was well-impressed by Jezki. My Tent Or Yours may have the best name of the week. but Jezki's got that jez n'est ce quoi.
Champion Hurdle: (16.05) I'm sick to death of the Hurricane Fly crowd. Lads, we know the score. We saw last year's race. Shite in a bucket personified. I'm not putting my pint pension on that horse at that price. Feck that now. Feck most of the others as well. Zarkander and Run Ruby Run wouldn't get me out of bed in the morning. Grandouet, now that's horse with some a bit different. A very good turn of foot. And very fresh. Barry knows how to ride him as well
Cross Country (17.45) : At Cheltenham, you can only trust a man as far as you can throw him, and though I never tried to throw Enda Bolger around, I still trust the man. It's pure instinctive. Arabella Boy makes me blood boil. Get on it.
Wild Ben's current gut feeling on the Papal Election: Wary of the Brazilian fella, still thinking it'll be an Italian.
