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INSIDE THE CHELTENHAM WEIGHING ROOM


The attention on a jockey at the Festival is intense


for some, and with that, the atmosphere changes. Token “well dones” are exchanged – but these are selfish professional athletes wanting success. News of an injured rider will see a flurry of


available ones loitering near the front door to catch the eye of whichever trainer needs a replacement. I know I have been the loiterer and noted the queue, but I don’t mind saying that. I was competitive, and so was the weighing room. The chatterers will assemble in the tea-room; the


focussed will have a paper on the ground before them, rereading form, cleaning googles, avoiding eye contact and any distractions. I had a corner seat that suited me, and it did become a section in the back of the weighing room where the chat was light but where a similar group of men sat, knowing when to slag, talk, and shut up. The person sitting next to you could be, or oſten


is, your biggest rival, so conversations rarely centre around the action about to take place. They are oſten more reflective chats about what has happened because everybody in there, no matter how friendly they may be aſter racing, are now competitors, absorbed in their world, looking out for number one. Themselves. Energy and positivity drains as chances slide by


without success. Losers are sitting next to winners, and that can evoke all sorts of emotions. At The Open, those who miss out go home aſter two days. Here, your best chances could be gone by Thursday, yet you are still going to work, and those with no chance are teeing off alongside those who can win. I can’t think of a sporting clubhouse or dressing room like it. It’s a high octane, emotionally charged


environment where you hope manners will keep the peace. That doesn’t always happen, but enemies and friends are supposed to, and oſten do, find civil ground by Friday night.


Ruby’s peg in the Cheltenham weighing room RACING TV CLUBMAGAZINE 23


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