‘I used to live with three jockeys in a small village called Dualla, near Cashel. They would watch the wrestling on television and then practise the moves on me. One day they stripped me off and tied me naked to a street lamppost and left me there for the night and the neighbours called the Gardai.’ Oisin Murphy pauses. ‘It was fun and I thought it was normal.’
Murphy is one of the most gifted jockeys in the world. But his life has been a rollercoaster – a ride which would have crushed most people.
He has five Jockeys’ Championships, 43 Group One victories and two Classic wins to his name. But he’s also chalked up two significant suspensions when he was careering out of control: a three-month ban for a positive cocaine test in France followed by a 14-month absence for conduct prejudicial to racing (he broke Covid rules) and two alcohol test breaches. The fact that he named the two dogs he gave his sister Merlot and Belvedere speaks for itself.
Murphy is forthright on any number of subjects and adamant that the whip is essential
While he is second in the Jockeys’ Championship this season and he has ridden three Group One winners, the magic hasn’t been flowing at the level he demands of himself. ‘I haven’t been walking on water,’ he says. ‘It hasn’t been happening. Maybe I’m better when I’m getting torn to shreds and everyone hates me.’
I want to point out that he’s probably the most-loved jockey currently riding, but it’s best not to interrupt his flow.
‘In the past, when I got stressed – or fried is the word I used – I would drink to enable me to get into a headspace where I wasn’t thinking about my performance for a few hours. In all my relapses I thought it would be a one-off. It wouldn’t be one and it wouldn’t be ten. My drinking got progressively worse: every time I stopped for a bit, I picked it up again. And the consequences were worse than before. But I now know that picking up a drink isn’t going to help and so I’m 500 days sober.’
A hugely positive aspect of Murphy’s life has been his long partnership with the trainer Andrew Balding. ‘Andrew’s yard was quite a culture shock. It was a surprise when I came to England [aged 17] where people don’t really beat each other up for no reason, for fun,’ Murphy says with a nostalgic smile on his face. ‘I was the tenth apprentice at Andrew’s when I got a licence, and I think six of us went on to be professional jockeys, which is pretty amazing, as he only had a hundred horses at that time. And 13 years later I’m still with him, which is amazing too. I know when I got suspended people were telling him that he should sack me.’
Balding has allowed Murphy to be his own man in the saddle. That’s where the magic comes from. ‘The bottom line with Andrew is, when things go wrong I say it as it is and I’m brazen enough to take the flak. We just don’t fall out. There aren’t many working relationships [in racing] like that.’
Does he prefer riding for owners and trainers who don’t give him instructions?
‘Yeah, no one tells me what to do. I think about every race that I ride in more than they do, and I come up with the best plan for each horse. It’s just about having the confidence to do what you know is right. It’s nice controlling a race from the front and winning when you shouldn’t. That isn’t easy, but I think the greatest thrill are those 30-runner handicaps at Ascot, where you have to get on the back [in the slipstream] of the right ones.’
Before a big race, does he get frightened of getting beaten? ‘No, because it’s happened so often. But I’m very hard on myself and I know occasionally I can make a difference. It hasn’t been happening for me this season, like last year. Nothing bad has happened, but only one winner at Royal Ascot and one at Glorious Goodwood.’
Murphy is forthright on any number of subjects and is adamant that the whip is essential. ‘I think six [strikes] is the minimum. Look at the countries where they banned it. Racing has died there. And people can’t tell if a horse has been asked for maximum effort unless the jockey is using the whip. Even people who follow racing quite closely can’t tell. I got a hundred abusive messages on social media the other day after I rode a horse at Newbury that got beat because they didn’t think I’d tried hard enough.’
Murphy’s vices are now chocolate, small cigars and sugar in his coffee. He’d been swimming before we met, even though he’s as fit as a butcher’s dog and had five rides that afternoon. Like all professional sportsmen, he is obviously obsessed. But there isn’t an ounce of narcissism in his body.
He may be a great jockey, but he is a finer man. When he first moved to Lambourn, he lived next to an old lady. And in the depths of winter, irrespective of how early he had to jump in his car to drive halfway round the country to ride out, he would always sweep the snow off the path to her door. Unrequested and unheralded. That is the measure of him.
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