![EA OF EMOTION: Munster’s players and supporters celebrate a famous victory.](https://www.irishexaminer.com/remote/media.central.ie/media/images/m/MunsterVAllBlacks1978_large.jpg?width=648&s=ie-362232)
![Munster v All Blacks 1978: ‘We were facing a team of kamikaze tacklers’](https://www.irishexaminer.com/remote/media.central.ie/media/images/m/MunstervAllBlacks19781_large.jpg?width=648&s=ie-362232)
![]() This has been a big season for the players and to have come this close and not won a trophy would have been a major disappointment
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Northampton rugby director John Steele |
![]() A young Munster fan celebrates his side's try
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![]() Both teams found it hard to break each other down
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‘The Hurley Player’ by Jack B. Yeats
Desert Orchid | |
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Sire | Grey Mirage |
Grandsire | Double-U-Jay |
Dam | Flower Child |
Damsire | Brother |
Sex | Gelding |
Foaled | 11 April 1979 in Goadby, Leicestershire, England. |
Country | Great Britain |
Colour | Grey |
Breeder | James Burridge |
Owner | James Burridge, Midge Burridge, Richard Burridge, Simon Bullimore |
Trainer | David Elsworth at Whitsbury Manor Racing Stables, Fordingbridge, Wiltshire |
Record | 70: 34-11-8 |
Earnings | £654,066 |
Major wins | |
Tolworth Hurdle (1984) Kingwell Hurdle (1984) Hurst Park Novices' Chase (1985) King George VI Chase (1986, 1988, 1989, 1990) Gainsborough Chase (1987, 1989, 1991) Martell Cup (1988) Whitbread Gold Cup (1988) Tingle Creek Chase (1988) Victor Chandler Chase (1989) Cheltenham Gold Cup (1989) Racing Post Chase (1990) Irish Grand National (1990) | |
Awards | |
Timeform rating: 187 | |
Honours | |
The Desert Orchid Chase at Wincanton Desert Orchid Chase at Kempton Park Racecourse Statue, ashes, headstone - Kempton Park Racecourse |
Date | Race name | D(f) | Course | Prize (£) | Odds | Runners | Place | Margin | Runner-up | Time | Jockey |
---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
14 October 1885 | Post Sweepstakes | 6 | Newmarket | 500 | 5/4 | 3 | 1 | 1 | Modwena | Fred Archer | |
26 October 1885 | Criterion Stakes | 6 | Newmarket | 906 | 4/6 | 6 | 1 | 3 | Oberon | Fred Archer | |
28 October 1885 | Dewhurst Stakes | 7 | Newmarket | 1602 | 4/11 | 11 | 1 | 4 | Whitefriar | Fred Archer | |
28 April 1886 | 2000 Guineas | 8 | Newmarket | 4000 | 7/2 | 6 | 1 | 2 | Minting | 1:46.8 | George Barrett |
26 May 1886 | Epsom Derby | 12 | Epsom Downs | 4700 | 40/85 | 9 | 1 | 1.5 | The Bard | 2:45.6 | Fred Archer |
10 June 1886 | St. James's Palace Stakes | 8 | Ascot | 1500 | 3/100 | 3 | 1 | 0.75 | Calais | Fred Archer | |
13 June 1886 | Hardwicke Stakes | 12 | Ascot | 2438 | 30/100 | 5 | 1 | 2 | Melton | 2:43 | George Barrett |
15 September 1886 | St Leger Stakes | 14.5 | Doncaster | 4475 | 1/7 | 7 | 1 | 4 | St Mirin | 3:21.4 | Fred Archer |
29 September 1886 | Great Foal Stakes | 10 | Newmarket | 1140 | 1/25 | 3 | 1 | 3 | Mephisto | Fred Archer | |
1 October 1886 | Newmarket St Leger | 16 | Newmarket | 475 | N/A | 1 | 1 | Walkover | Walkover | Fred Archer | |
15 October 1886 | Champion Stakes | 10 | Newmarket | 1212 | 1/100 | 3 | 1 | 1 | Oberon | 2:19 | Fred Archer |
28 October 1886 | Free Handicap | 10 | Newmarket | 650 | 1/7 | 3 | 1 | 8 | Mephisto | 2:22 | Fred Archer |
29 October 1886 | Private Sweepstakes | 10 | Newmarket | 1000 | N/A | 1 | 1 | Walkover | Walkover | Fred Archer | |
9 June 1887 | Rous Memorial Stakes | 8 | Ascot | 920 | 1/4 | 1 | 6 | Kilwarlin | Tom Cannon | ||
12 June 1887 | Hardwicke Stakes | 12 | Ascot | 2387 | 4/5 | 4 | 1 | 0.25 | Minting | 2:44.4 | Tom Cannon |
16 July 1887 | Imperial Gold Cup | 6 | Newmarket | 590 | 30/100 | 3 | 1 | 2 | Whitefriar | 1:18 | Tom Cannon |
Foaled | Name | Sex | Notable wins | Wins | Prize money |
1889 | Goldfinch | c | Biennial Stakes, New Stakes | 2 | £2,464 |
1889 | Kilkenny | f | 1 | £164 | |
1889 | Llanthony | c | Ascot Derby | 4 | £3,139 |
1889 | Orme | c | Middle Park Plate, Dewhurst Plate, Eclipse Stakes (twice), Sussex Stakes, Champion Stakes, Limekiln Stakes, Rous Memorial Stakes, Gordon Stakes | 14 | £32,528 |
1889 | Orontes II | f | 0 | ||
1889 | Orville | c | 0 | ||
1889 | Sorcerer | c | 1 | £229 | |
1890 | Glenwood | c | Aylesford Foal Plate | 2 | £1,726 |
"Lester Piggott, a dapper yet gaunt man, ghosts across the cold marble floor of a hotel in Mayfair with a vaguely haunted expression. The prospect of another interview, after a lifetime of such encounters, does not fill the great old jockey with glee. He has heard every question before and, as an infamously reluctant communicator, he has dodged most since his first winner in 1948. A Piggott interview is meant to be a challenge like no other.
Having spent the past few days consumed by grainy yet riveting footage of Piggott riding magnificent horses like Nijinsky and Sir Ivor, or watching him show a brutal need to win while driving on Roberto and The Minstrel to victory in the Derby in the 1970s, I launch into an earnest waffle of a greeting.
“Hello,” the 79-year-old Piggott says in his whispery mumble, offering a fleeting handshake.
Piggott’s life – stretching from 11 champion jockey titles and 30 Classic victories to a tangled personal life and being jailed for tax evasion – has always been compelling and prickly. Who else has won the Derby nine times, been stripped of his OBE and waged war against his own body so that he could scale 30 pounds less than his natural weight? The vivid backdrop lingers and a splash of colour peeks out in the form of Piggott’s pink shirt beneath a sober grey suit.
Forty years ago, when known as the Long Fellow, Piggott’s fame saw him ranked alongside Muhammad Ali, Pelé and George Best. Ali boasted loudly and justifiably that he was The Greatest; but the Long Fellow preferred icy silence or his trademark mumble.
“It’s not quite the same now,” Piggott says in muted relief. “I don’t get recognised as much. I’m much older, you know.”
A glass of hot water, given a zing by a slice of lemon, appears at his side. I ramble on about hardly being able to believe he will turn 80 next month.
“I can’t believe it either,” Piggott says. “What can you do? It’s a fact, isn’t it? A lot of people know I’m going to turn 80 – but I wish they didn’t.”
He is still married, after 55 years, to Susan. But Piggott and his girlfriend, Lady Barbara Fitzgerald, with whom he lives near Geneva, have just driven from Paris to London. Piggott went to watch Frankie Dettori and Golden Horn win the Prix de l’Arc de Triomphe – a race he won three times himself. “Golden Horn looks a good horse,” Piggott murmurs. “I’ve always liked The Arc. It’s a great race.”
At first, to keep within the remit of a racing interview, I ask if Golden Horn offers any real evidence that horses today are better than any of his best rides from 50 years ago. There is a long silence. I feel as if we’re in a Harold Pinter play and I allow the pause to stretch.
“I don’t think horses are any better today,” Piggott finally says. “There are good years and bad years. If you take Golden Horn and Mill Reef you can’t easily say one is better than the other. Mill Reef, Nijinsky and Sea The Stars are of the highest class. Golden Horn is close to that level. But how do we know which is really better?”
I’m more interested in the fact that his wife remarked in 2012 that, “at 72, you feel very differently about things than you do at 25.”
Piggott clears his throat. “When we get older we look at it differently. We’re all quite happy.” Susan has voiced similar sentiments despite Piggott fathering his son, Jamie, with his former secretary Anna Ludlow, and now living with Lady Barbara – 22 years younger than him. Does she really not harbour any bitterness? “No,” Piggott says. “I’m very lucky. We all get on.” Would he ever divorce Susan and marry Barbara? “Never thought about it.”
Jamie made his professional debut as a jockey at the age of 19 in July 2013. “He had a ride or two but he got a bit heavy to continue. He now works in the stables and rides every day. He probably could have been a good jockey.”
Piggott was ruthless with his own 5ft 8in frame. A typical story insists that his breakfast was a cigar and a cough – and that he ate hardly at all. Walter Swinburn, the former jockey, once told me Piggott kept his cigars and chocolate locked up. He would take out just one piece of a Yorkie bar to give him the rustle of a sugar rush.
“It did feel like a battle. But if we wanted to ride we had to be low. It wasn’t easy but we were all in the same boat because at that time the weights were so much lower.” Can he enjoy food now? “I don’t still eat much really … not compared to other people.”
Piggott was ravenous but strength coursed through him. He and Nijinsky cut a poetic picture of man and horse in full flow, but he needed raw force to secure some of his most famous wins.
“Well,” Piggott says, “it was important to win. The Minstrel was a very tough horse. He had to be – those three races he won [the Derby, the Irish Derby and the King George] in the summer of 1977 were hard. Roberto [who won the Derby in 1972] was different. You had to make him do it.”
Piggott underplays his savage use of the whip. “You couldn’t have used it like that these days,” he admits. “But I never really hurt the horses. It seemed like I was whacking them but it never was as bad as it looked.”
Could he have won the Derby on Roberto and The Minstrel if he had used a modern whip? Piggott pats me kindly. “Well … the other jockeys would have had the same whip …”
I slap my dumb head. Piggott laughs, a little wheezing cackle. “Exactly. But who knows?”
He grins mischievously when I say that one of my favourite Piggott stories is of his stunt when stealing the whip belonging to the French jockey Alain Lequeux in 1979. There was a furlong to run when, having dropped his own whip, he stretched out and lifted a replacement from Lequeux’s incredulous grasp. It was theft; but it was also pure artistry.
“The other boy [Lequeux] was a good friend of mine. It was a big race, in Deauville, and I wanted to win. It looked like he was dropping out and someone was ahead of him. He knocked the whip out of my hand, accidently of course, so I just took his like that …” Piggott leans across, his face as sly and concentrated as the Artful Dodger. With a cunning pluck of the air he nicks my imaginary whip. “Instinct. I did it just like that. I finished second. He was third. That was the problem. That’s why they put me off. But no rule covers it.”
Whip-stealing is not in racing’s rule book? “I saw it happen again last month. Did you read about it? It was in America – on the old track in Pennsylvania [when, during a race, a jockey, Angel Castillo, lost his own whip and then stole another belonging to Pierre Hernández Ortega]. They didn’t do anything to him. I got a [20-day] ban.”
Piggott was banned often in his career. At 18 he was suspended for six months after the racing authorities decided his father, Keith, had persuaded him to endanger other jockeys. Piggott was already famous and, a year earlier, in 1953, his name had been mentioned in a PG Wodehouse story. Were they simply intent on cutting him down? “I suppose so. Today you’d probably get four days. They just did what they liked really. It wasn’t very fair. Of course racing’s much better regulated now.”
Other jockeys seemed a little frightened of him. Did he use that stone-faced aura as a weapon? “Not consciously. I don’t see why they should’ve been frightened. It’s funny you should say that.”
It’s likely that they were in awe of him. “Probably – some of them anyway.”
On Saturday, at the finale to the European flat season, on the richest day in British racing with four Group One races, Piggott will be the guest of honour at Ascot. He will hand out the awards at the Qipco British Champions Day. “It should be terrific. They’ve done well to put all those races together.”
One of Piggott’s closest friends passed on a message that suggested the 366 days the jockey served of a three-year prison sentence, for failing to declare £3.25m in tax, softened him. Piggott looks briefly affronted. “It didn’t make any difference.”
When he came out of prison was his appetite for life renewed? “I never looked on it that way. It was stupid, really, to be there. I don’t know how to describe it. It was just unnecessary.”
It has been said, even by the Queen and Peter O’Sullevan, an arch Piggott supporter and the majestic race commentator who died earlier this year, that the jockey paid back the tax man from a bank account he had never previously declared. “Oh, that’s rubbish,” Piggott insists. “Really. It is. Who would do that?”
Piggott did something more unbelievable. Twelve days after walking out of prison, at the age of 54, he won the 1990 Breeders’ Cup in the US on a horse called Royal Academy. Piggott grins when I say it resembles a movie. “Or a fairytale. It was great, wasn’t it? I was lucky to get the chance. When I came out I had no idea I would be riding him.”
Royal Academy, ridden expertly by Piggott, surged from the back of the field in a dramatic finish. “I was a long way back because he had to be. He wasn’t really a mile horse so we had to hold him back as long as possible.”
Piggott’s father, a former jump jockey who also won the Grand National as a trainer, was notoriously tough. He was still alive when Piggott won that miraculous race. Did his dad compliment him on any of his 4,493 victories? “Not really. I knew him so well. He only talked about it when I did something wrong. That was the best way.”
After his first win as a 12-year-old at Haydock Park, his mother Iris said: “He is quite a good rider, but will never be as good as his father. Don’t make a fuss. Lester is a very ordinary boy.”
Piggott nods. “She downplayed things – and that’s a good thing.”
Perhaps now, nearing his 80th birthday, Piggott can say out loud what he surely believes – that he was the greatest ever jockey? “You just hope you were. But how can you tell?”
“You’ve had quite a life,” I say to the old jockey.
“Oh yeah,” he smiles, realising that this interview, rather than his life, is almost over. “It’s been terrific, really. I can’t complain.”
Lester Piggott leans over and, with another small pat of my arm, he reminds me of one last salient truth. “But there’s only so much you can talk about.”
"It’s worth stating at the outset that my favourite sports moment of all time is not when Tipperary’s Nicky English kicked that soccer-style goal past Ger Cunningham of Cork in the Munster final. Not exactly. Not quite. But we’ll come back to that.First, some context. In the summer of 1987 I was nine years old. It was the first year that my parents had deemed me old enough to bring to matches. And the match-going experience was decidedly different to what it is these days.
For one thing, the roads were all shite, as the EU had yet to wave their magic motorway wand. Travelling to pretty much anywhere was likely at some point to take you down a boreen with grass up the middle of it. But apparently the GAA hadn’t noticed this particular problem. Believe it or not, Tipperary played five matches in the Munster hurling championship that year, and four of them were in the hurling mecca that is Killarney.
And yes, before you ask, we brought sandwiches and flasks of tea to every game. Given how long it took to get from south Tipp to Killarney in those days we should have brought sleeping bags as well.
The night before a game my parents would pore over a map, picking a route and, depending on the opposition, identifying the arteries that were ripe for congestion. “The Clare crowd will surely come through Ballydesmond, so if we go through Millstreet we’ll avoid them until Barraduff.” Ah, the glamour.
My Dad drove, while my Mam took navigation duties, the toughest task being the effort of folding the gargantuan map in a manner that allowed her to read it without obscuring the entire windshield.
Two family friends came to most of the games with us. Tommy Sweeney wore a baseball cap and puffed on a pipe, while delivering droll witticisms from the free side of his mouth. Patrick “Butt” O’Dwyer had a loud laugh and an easy manner. Long retired from the pitch, he had once been renowned for his on-field temper but by that stage the only thing that seemed to raise his ire was bad referees. My sister Michelle and I would sit wedged in between these two bears of men. There were no seat belts but I’d wager we could have survived the car flipping over with those two on either side .
I suspect that everyone in the car other than me was travelling more in hope than expectation. Sixteen years of losing will do that to you. What’s the opposite of a magician pulling a rabbit from a hat? That was Tipperary – finding new and painful ways to lose every year.
The Munster hurling final day is one of the great occasions in Irish sport.Be it Semple Stadium, the Gaelic Grounds or in Páirc Uí Chaoimh, it is a huge date on the provincial and national stage.It is a well-documented fact that on Munster final day, carloads of supporters would travel from the Glens of Antrim to Thurles to view the protagonists in action.
It’s 30 years ago now but it was a similar situation in 1990 when the two old foes collided on a scalding July day in Thurles .Tipperary had the MacCarthy Cup in their possession back then too having beaten Antrim in the All-Ireland final the previous September.Cork, on the other hand, were down in the dumps having lost to what proved to be a very poor Waterford team in 1989, a Waterford team that were subsequently hammered by Tipp in the Munster final.Cork went into the Munster final in 1990 as raging underdogs, almost no-hopers against the reigning All-Ireland champions.But it was a different Cork team that they were facing this time. In attitude as much as anything, as Teddy McCarthy and Tomás Mulcahy were both out for the provincial decider through injury.
The Canon and Gerald brought a fresh and renewed impetus to the Cork set up, brought back a few players who had been discarded and going up to Thurles there was a calm and cautiously optimistic approach.
For Cork to be in the hunt they needed a positive start to have any chance of outright victory, they needed to unsettle Tipp early on and that is exactly what transpired.
Cork started brilliantly, inspired by Jim Cashman who was a dominant figure at centre-back, while Tony O’Sullivan, later Hurler of the Year, was hugely influential at wing-forward, as the below clip from the @corkhurlers1 twitter shows.A Tipperary laden with great players like Nicky English, Pat Fox, the Bonner brothers, Declan Ryan, John Leahy and Bobby Ryan quickly realised that this was a different Cork team than the one who had went down so meekly to Waterford a year earlier.
The Cork crowd really got behind the team and as the game progressed an unlikely hero was to emerge from a small club in West Cork.
Argedeen Rangers’ Mark Foley had one of those magical days that you could only ever dream about. Everything ‘The Dentist’ touched turned to gold, there was no holding him.
Tipp couldn’t cope and the rest is history as Cork swept to one of their greatest Munster Final triumphs.
One can recall sitting in the Ryan Stand that day with Cork Examiner sports editor Tom Aherne and both of us losing the run of ourselves surrounded by Tipp supporters who were in a state of shock. Foley’s performance that day has stood the test of time as one of the greatest individual displays ever given in a Munster Final or otherwise.
But there were heroes everywhere, from Ger Cunningham out. Teddy McCarthy, John Fitzgibbon, Tomás Mulcahy, Kevin Hennessy, Denis Walsh, Ger Fitzgerald, Tony O’Sullivan to mention just a handful.
Jim Cashman had the game of his life at number six completely stifling Declan Ryan. But it was Foley’s day.
That performance would be nearly impossible to repeat but in the All Ireland final against Galway he scored 1-1 which was a major contribution as Cork regained the McCarthy Cup.
Tipp exacted revenge a year later in a Munster final replay when Jim Cashman was controversially taken out of the game.
The Cork Tipp rivalry was as intense as it ever was back then and Cork won back the Munster final in 1992.
The Cork team that day in 1990 was: G Cunningham; J Considine, D Walsh, S O’Gorman; S McCarthy, J Cashman, K McGuckin; P Buckley, B O’Sullivan; D Quirke, M Foley, T O’Sullivan; G Fitzgerald, K Hennessy, J Fitzgibbon
Scorers: Mark Foley 2-7, John Fitzgibbon 2-0, Tony O’Sullivan 0-5, Cathal Casey, Ger Fitzgerald, Kevin Hennessy, David Quirke 0-1 each.
In the All-Ireland final a short few months later Cork defeated Galway in a seven-goal thriller in Croke Park, winning in a scoreline of 5-15 to 2-21.
The Cork scorers that day were: John Fitzgibbon 2-1, Kevin Hennessy 1-4, Tomás Mulcahy 1-2, Mark Foley 1-1, Teddy McCarthy 0-3, Tony O’Sullivan 0-2, Ger Fitzgerald, Kieran McGuckin 0-1 each.