It’s amazing how quickly an Australian with staunch pro-republican views and an ingrained anti-establishment outlook, one with a convict heritage no less, will start Googling, “What to do if one meets the Queen of England,” upon receiving an invite into the Royal Enclosure at Royal Ascot.
For it is easy to get caught up in the pomp and ceremony of Royal Ascot, the five-day racing extravaganza steeped in history and dripping with tradition – so much so that one might even start using the word one in place of more suitable words in order to make one sound a little more sophisticated.
Horse racing is still in search of that one big carnival, where the elite decide who is best and the sport gets its place in the shop window, and Royal Ascot – whether it sets out to fill that spot or not – had its chance to shine last week.
On the track, the action is outstanding. Just six races each day leaves you wanting more and if a true turf world championship meeting ever develops it just might be Royal Ascot.
The best still won’t come to Sha Tin – not for money nor love or even travel allowances. By December big races are an afterthought and apparently the track, if you listen to Freddy Head, is perceived as too firm for the Europeans.
As it stands, the “Berkshire bash” just edges out racing’s version of the Ryder Cup, the Breeders’ Cup, or Dubai World Cup night as the place to prove you are the best.
World racing lacks a grand final but there’s a way to go for Royal Ascot to be considered truly multicultural. The attraction of some high-rating headliners like Able Friend, Spielberg, Brazen Beau and non-runner California Chrome papered over the cracks a touch: there’s very little depth as far as visitors go and Royal Ascot is largely a localised affair, with too many two- and three-year-old races to be a global event – not that it has set out to be, of course.
The biggest blight on the Royal meeting, ironically – for all of its old-world exclusivity, old money and, to be blunt, old people – is a lack of money. Royal Ascot’s prize money doesn’t match the quality of competition in the big races, and falls laughably short of standard in some of the lower grade events.
Amid the strong sense of nostalgia at Royal Ascot one can’t help wondering what could have been for British racing.
What if its administrators hadn’t sold the farm to bookies for two cents in the dollar decades ago? What if British racing had a robust government- or industry-owned tote and gained a reasonable return from wagering operators?
Well, British racing did, sell the farm that is, and it doesn’t receive enough back from bookies to ensure prize money is as competitive as elsewhere in the developed racing world, so there is not much we can do about it now – just “keep calm and carry on” as the T-shirts and coffee mugs in the gift shops demand.
As it stands, the biggest payout on day three is for a beaten runner in the Britannia Stakes or Tercentenary Stakes – so much so that Ladies’ Day should be renamed “Hong Kong sales day”.
Total purse for the Britannia Stakes, a tough race to win and a spectacular event with 30 runners, is £120,000, but a decent unplaced effort and an all-clear on a vet check could easily attract bids from Hong Kong of more than five times that.
Competition for buying the beaten runners in the Britannia is so hot that one half expected John Moore to be waiting for the horses in the parade ring, ready to lead them on to a plane, only to have Ricky Yiu Poon-fai and Danny Shum Chap-shing jump out of the bushes and grab a horse first before they even pull up after the line.
Another obstacle in the way of true globalisation for racing is rules harmonisation. Joao Moreira’s suspension for excessive whip use in the King’s Stand Stakes highlights how far away the world is from true rules harmonisation, and just how silly the British Horseracing Authority’s whip rules are.
The fact Moreira even gets busted for excessive whip use is proof alone that the rule is stupid – yes, he hit Medicean Man more times than he was allowed, but as Aussies would say, as good as he is, Moreira “couldn’t knock the skin off a rice pudding.” Or, more to the point, he wouldn’t – the most common complaint about his riding is that he isn’t strong enough in a finish. Magic Man he might be, but “Enforcer” Mick Dittman he is not. Of course the fact that Moreira has ridden a ridiculous 132 winners already this season makes critics of anything he does look a bit silly.
This isn’t to take issue with BHA stewards – all they have to do is count how many times Moreira hit his horse, and it was too many. But that’s the point – there’s too little room for discretion and not enough for common sense.
No reasonable person in racing likes seeing horses bashed for no reason and Moreira would rather show, swish or wave a whip at a horse than actually hit it. Twenty forehand strikes from Moreira couldn’t possibly hurt as much as six of the best from Ryan Moore. The British interpretation of the rule seems to ensure one thing: that when a jockey hits, he hits harder. Why not leave it to stewards to pass judgment on whether a jockey’s actions have crossed the line, like they are employed to do with careless riding or running and handling?
Is it really the tradition that makes Royal Ascot great? After witnessing four of the five days, one thinks it has more to do with the beautifully bred and presented horses and pristine racing surface than outdated traditions and singing Rule Britannia around a bandstand.
Of course one didn’t ever think a commoner would get the chance to meet the Queen, but we were at least hoping to snap a selfie with her in the background – apparently, that is frowned upon. Use of mobile phones as cameras in the parade ring and Royal Enclosure was actively discouraged by officials and a television host was reportedly reprimanded for her impromptu self portrait with Mrs Windsor as she rolled by in her magnificently pimped out convertible carriage.
Royal Ascot is great, but what one must do in life is not take one’s self(ie?) so seriously. From where we sit, the only relevance to racing that the Royal in Royal Ascot has is the fact you have to wear a top hat and tails. At least that is what you have to wear if you want to get a good look at the real stars of the show, the horses, and not be mistaken for someone’s driver.
(If worn anywhere else, a top hat looks utterly ridiculous – one looks like the Artful Dodger if the hat is placed on the back of the head, or if worn slightly askew, a drunken cowboy who is about to be shot in a western.)
After 30 races over five days at Royal Ascot, with bumper crowds and epic performances from Ryan Moore, Solow and Gleneagles, the greatest and most transcendent racing moment of the year remains American Pharoah’s Triple Crown-clinching Belmont Stakes win – a spine-tingling, history-making performance that produced this iconic photo, featured on the cover of Sports Illustrated.
Alas, drug rules are isolating American racing, making the industry an island, but there’s the power of sport right there. We’d hate a few ghastly iPhone 5s or Samsung Tabs to besmirch the image of Royal Ascot, but tell me the sight of mobiles in the air, each person desperately trying to capture the moment for posterity – or however long their cloud storage holds up – doesn’t give hope that racing has life in it yet.
I’m sure Her Majesty would agree, for we do have one thing in common – it’s all about the racing.
