The collective intake of breath. Utter disbelief. Simon Holt's pulsating commentary. "Has he blown it".....??
Luke Nolen easing up as he approached the line. Perhaps because no horse has ever come back at Black Caviar once she has hit the front. Nolen in cruise control. But a momentary "brain fail" so nearly spoiling the script. The first paragraph had been written way back on Tuesday. The first race. Frankel imperious....
And then we all headed back to Ascot for more. For the coronation of a Queen. In a Jubilee year....
The day cold and blustery. Almost autumnal. But a huge contingent of Australians brightening the day. Filled with expectation. Belief in the inevitable. Here to witness a procession. The prospect of defeat not even whispered. And for one rare occasion, Australian and British sporting aspirations polarised on the same outcome....
To the pre-paddock. And there she is. This bull of a horse. Not pretty. Plain at best. A rolling gait. A media scrum. Photographers everywhere. Including TLNCK....
Away to the paddock. And we take up our place on the rails. Not far beyond the winning post. Not far beyond the spot where it all nearly went wrong. Where Aussie dreams so nearly turned to Ashes.....
Very little can ever match the raw intensity of what happened next. Cruise control. And then desperation. The line upon them. The head bob going the right way. Just....
As she trotted away from us, a hint of lameness. But "job done". Thankfully. Thankfully for Mr Nolen. Who held his hands up immediately. He got away with it. And we all who were there could revel in the moment. Sport. Bloody Hell......
A few hours later, and the meeting gone for another year. Just one topic of conversation in the car park. Inevitably.....
And then a lone, slightly hunched figure passes not a hundred yards from where we are having a debrief drink with Ralph Beckett and Andrew Balding. One of Andrew's owners with us. He knows the man. "Peter, fancy a beer....?"
Peter Moody, Black Caviar's trainer, had intended to slip away to Newmarket. Shunning the London parties. Drained. Even exhausted by what had happened.....
But just as the big horse's engine had spluttered in the dying strides, so the Moody vehicle had failed to fire. Stranded. Waiting for the AA. A beer seemed a good idea....
And so, remarkably, we spent a happy hour interrogating Peter. No stone left unturned. A hugely amiable and entertaining companion. We all know the Black Caviar story. To hear the Black Caviar story from the "horse's mouth" was special. As the beer flowed, so the story unfolded. Remarkable, remarkable, remarkable.....
Like children outside the pavilion at Lords, we proferred our racecards for signatures.....
She won. We were there. A day in a million..... 




