An International race to savour

By Ian Carnaby

I have never truly understood the saying: ‘There is nothing new under the sun’. How can that be true, when the Knavesmire is under water for the Ebor meeting, Britain cleans up at the Olympics and Gene Hackman takes over at Chelsea? I think he’ll do all right, as long as he doesn’t go to Marseille to sign any players.

What I take the saying to mean is that everything, or most things, come round again if you live long enough. Sometimes they come round twice. Sir Mark Prescott has a horse called Limelight at present, and at first I thought that ten years must have elapsed since the Limelight we owned, who is hale and hearty and has babies every now and then, most of them by Wace, departed the racing scene. She dead-heated in a maiden hurdle at Taunton and won a handicap at Chepstow before giving birth to Lennie The Blade, who was also a winner but fell, fatally, when revisiting the scene of his dam’s greatest triumph.

In fact it’s not quite ten years and Sir Mark’s Limelight is American bred. Before either of them came along Bill Wightman had a Limelight, as well, and if someone hadn’t ‘borrowed’ my copy of his autobiography I’d be able to tell you all about the horse’s record. (Do not lend books or tapes; if I give you only one piece of advice, apart from never playing poker with anyone known as ‘Doc’, let it be this.)

It’s good to know that Bill is still going, well into his nineties, and I imagine those close to him did not worry him with the news about Mick Channon’s narrow escape on the M1. Bill trained for Mick in the early days and I cannot think, off hand, of another role reversal like this in racing because Mick trains the remarkably durable sprinter Digital for his former mentor, of course.

I agree with John McCririck that famous names should not be used again. I wouldn’t like it if, for example, I set off for Brighton this week and there was another Operatic Society due to perform. Of all Brighton stalwarts, he was the greatest. Not that he was incapable of winning anywhere else; indeed, he won the Manchester November Handicap in dense fog in 1959 after dislodging Kenny Gethin before the start and galloping loose for a complete circuit. That’s my sort of horse.

There won’t be anything quite as dramatic in the Ian Carnaby Selling Stakes at the seaside track, though I need hardly tell you it has a glittering past. Quite apart from Modest Hope’s gallant victory a decade ago when rated 28 - he raced 125 times in all but came to Brighton only once, thereby preserving his perfect record - there was the little matter of Seb Sanders winning last year on Ishibee. Without that all-important victory, Jamie Spencer would have been champion jockey. Sadly, Seb is sidelined this year with a broken leg and we wish him a speedy recovery.

When I studied the five-day declarations it occurred to me that Caustic Wit might win. He is trained by my good friend Malcolm Saunders, who is an outstanding trainer of sprinters and has given the ten-year old a nice rest.

I happened to bump into Malcolm in Bristol recently and asked him whether he had anything suitable for the big race. Some trainers would hem and haw and promise to do their best but Malcolm lined up Caustic Wit straightaway and the ten-year old would be just about good enough too, because he’s already won over course and distance this season and that was in a non-seller, but the draw - 16 of 16 - was unlikely to help unless it rained.

He was also up against a truly international field. There was the Russian challenger River Kirov and the Jewish contender Oi Vay Joe, not to mention Cleveland, from Ohio. It is only right and proper, I feel, that this seismic encounter takes place between the Olympics and the Ryder Cup, so that no one is distracted. I look forward to detailed coverage on the back pages of the nation’s sporting press, once everyone is tired of the Dimitar Berbatov saga. Everyone apart from Tottenham supporters, that is, because they were tired of it a month ago.

Here’s hoping you and I find the winner. Then I can smile at the Southampton bookie Fred West, who never thought he’d have a famous name, and remind him of the old saying, because I also backed a winner with him at Portsmouth dogs in1967. Patience is a virtue, as my mother used to say. Come to think of it she backed Operatic Society and waited patiently for him to emerge from the fog. I shall be doing much the same thing myself, any day now - emerging from the fog, or possibly the sea fret.