What better way to limber up for the Cheltenham festival than lunch with Richard Phillips? Thirty years ago, Richard was heralded as the next big thing. From his yard in Adlestrop, he trained his first Cheltenham winner, La Landiere, in the Cathcart Chase in 2003. He also won big races with Noble Lord, Time Won’t Wait and Gnome’s Tycoon. But fate had other ideas for him. Richard, a brilliant speaker and raconteur (think Ben Pauling crossed with Rory Bremner), was beset with problems. Tricky owners and repeated bouts of viral infections in a yard drags you down, as I know all too well.
Still, his loss is our gain. The racing world now has a wonderfully rounded observer, and he is my all-time favourite to shoot the breeze with over lunch.
‘I’m just bored of hearing me,’ Richard declared as we browsed through the menu at one of the festival’s favourite pubs, the King’s Head at Bledington.
‘But you’re the most insightful observer of racing,’ I said.
‘Actually, I think jump racing’s in a good place with the young,’ he said, before ordering hummus and salmon. He’s very healthy these days. I had the cheese soufflé and the devilled kidneys and had to go for a lie-down afterwards.
‘What makes you think that?’ I asked.
‘Well, they like risk don’t they? Like taking drugs or nicking someone else’s girlfriend. And they like the jeopardy of jump racing too.’
And that got us going on Constitution Hill, the most talked-about horse not running at the festival this year.
‘Well, the risk vs reward wasn’t worth it, was it?’ Richard said.
‘Bollocks. The problem was the pressure that Nicky [Henderson] and Michael [Buckley] were put under. It was outrageous that Max McNeill, an owner with no connection to the horse, spouted to the press that “It would be a disaster for racing if something happened to him.” McNeill apparently said that “with my Cheltenham hat on”, a reference to his being on the racecourse committee, which makes his interference even worse. Since when was it the committee’s job to pressure trainers as to which horses they run or don’t run at Cheltenham? He should resign for hanging the sword of Damocles over not just Constitution Hill, but the sport in general.’
I was pretty stoked up and was stabbing my soufflé. ‘It was totally inappropriate. The only people I wanted to hear from were Yogi Breisner [jumping coach] and Nico de Boinville [jockey], because it sounded like their schooling sessions had been going very well. It was woke pressure. The hate mail of the uninformed drowned out the vibes from the horse.’
‘It’s all about the culture we’ve developed in this country,’ Richard interjected, diplomatically engineering his answer through a mouthful of hummus. ‘Everything’s 50:50. Half wanted Brexit, half didn’t. Half want the Grand National fences to be massive – the other half want it to be a flat race. And half don’t want Constitution Hill to jump hurdles. But I think we can assume you’d have run him.’
‘So what is going to win at the festival?’ I asked, grumpily.
‘Well, I think Willie [Mullins] will win with Sober and Mighty Park. I also think Jango Baie will win. Won the Arkle around Cheltenham and was staying on in the King George. And it could be good ground by the Gold Cup, which will suit Henderson’s horses. They all want good ground.’
‘Half wanted Brexit, half didn’t. Half want the Grand National fences to be massive, the other half want a flat race’
‘But we’ve had twice as much rain since the New Year compared to last season,’ I pointed out.
‘Yup, but it soon dries out. It’s so well drained now. They might even have to water.’ And he might even have a point.
‘But wouldn’t it be great if Harry Redknapp won the Gold Cup?’ Richard said. ‘Since I’m a Celebrity, the public has worked out what a lovely guy he is. And he’s funny and self-deprecating.’
‘Nicky’s got other chances with Act of Innocence and Old Park Star too.’
Richard screwed his face up as if he had toothache. ‘That would absolutely kill you, wouldn’t it?’ He was referring to both horses having been removed from trainer Paul Nicholls at the end of last season.
Time to move the conversation on to something more cheerful, so back to the drains, one of which collapsed during the trials day meeting last month.
‘They’ve been checking the drains under the track by poking cameras along them,’ I said.
He pulled another face. ‘That reminds me – I’m late for the doctor!’
As the bill arrived, I told Richard that maybe the reason he doesn’t get sent 200 horses to train any more could be the fault of ChatGPT. Would-be owners checking him out will find that ‘Richard Phillips is an idiosyncratic artist who specialises in commercial erotic and voyeuristic imagery’ – soft porn to you and me. I don’t think the good folk of Adlestrop would fancy that at all.
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