|
In 1993 Alan purchased a mare from Tattersalls sales for a modest sum that he named Prime Property. Beautifully bred by Tirol out of a Bustino mare she showed very little by way of form and her handicap mark plummeted down through the 40s and the 30s.
After a couple of particularly poor runs, even by her lowly standards, I thought she needed a longer trip.
"She needs a bit further," I told Alan and each time we sent her another couple of furlongs.
We found a race for her at Southwell on 22nd July 1995. The day before she was due to run Alan called and asked if I was going to go with him to the evening meeting. Her race was the last on the card, the 8.40 "Whisky Fillies' Handicap Stakes", a desperately poor Class F event. Prime Property's rider that evening was Lindsay Charnock.
I declined the invitation as I had other runners that afternoon. Alan went to watch her run, as he always did whenever he had a runner no matter where it might be. He even saddled the mare and gave the jockey his instructions before the race.
The following morning I got a call. It was Alan who was about to deliver his verdict on the previous evening's events.
"There's some good news and some bad news", said the voice on the end of the phone.
"What 'appened?" I asked hesitantly.
"This filly, she should be in the Guinness Book of Records", said Alan.
This didn't sound good as I found it hard to imagine that she'd broken a track record or anything else, so what was it?
"Of all the horses that ran today Prime Property was the very last horse to pass the winning post all day", stated Alan. "She was beaten sixty lengths and tailed off."
I wondered to myself what good news could come of that scenario, a horse rated 38 beaten by half the track in one of the worst races ever to be run.
"So what's the good news?" I asked, puzzled how this story could have a positive ending.
"I've finally got to the bottom of this horse", said Alan cheerily. "She's a blooming sprinter. She blows up after six furlongs. We've been running her too far."
I wondered what the hell he was talking about, but seemingly with no other road down which to go I agreed that we'd drop her back to seven furlongs, and then eventually, if needs be, six.
|
.JPG){kind=link}
.JPG){kind=link}