Envoi Allen victorious in the Champion Chase (JTW Equine Images)
By JTW Equine Images
There is nothing quite like the jumps season. The crispness of the air, the fragrance of the grass coupled with the thunder of cavalry chasing over miles of open countryside in the pursuit of victory.
Baying, baleful and raucous, the crowd endears them on with passion, vengeful moans if beaten but ecstatic if victorious.
The finest gladiators fighting it out, with one proving triumphant, the rest defeated, but unbowed. Vanquished, but steadfast.
A vision more accustomed with the Coliseum than County Down.
And how do you present this pantheon of thoroughbred transcendence?
By sending a quintet of fine athletes over 3 miles in a beautiful part of Northern Ireland, to do battle in the quiet outskirts of Lisburn.
Rare are the moments that modern life can deliver a pulsating, fervent narration to a sporting event, but at Down Royal that became a reality for those assembled, to bear witness to a race that promised it all, and delivered so much that the Samson and Goliath cranes of Belfast might have been needed to lift all of the crowds wishes.
Wishes, that not even Tinkerbell could have believed would come true.
The Champion Chase was certainly fitting of the title, and Ladbrokes would do incredible to find a more fitting stalwart of the heroics of jump racing to sponsor than this triple-mile trial.
And the finest way of showcasing such talents would be for a household name, a warrior to those who adore the winter game, to triumph in tumultuous glory.
A whiff. A flicker. A crumb. All that is needed for the hero to step forward to cast aside the fears and throw themselves headfirst into the challenge, the fight, the battle. All, for that redemption of past efforts, and to go forward, to rapturous supremacy.
That certainly occurred as Envoi Allen vindicated his narrow defeat in last year’s renewal by taking his second Ladbrokes Champion Chase, this time under Darragh O’Keefe, deputising for the injured Rachael Blackmore.
Now 10 years old and shortly rising 11, he showed that despite a tendency to get close to the last, he still has more fire in his soul than Brokk’s forge in Viking mythology, fending off the persistent, tenacious challenge of Hewick by just under a length.
It was a second win in 3 renewals for him and the team of trainer Henry De Bromhead and owners Cheveley Park Stud, a perfect antidote to the agony of being beaten on the line 12 months earlier.
Last year’s winner Gerri Colombe faded after 2 out to come home in third, ahead of Visionarian and Delta Work, the veteran finding this test all too much for him on the day.
It was Darragh O’Keefe’s first Grade 1 win since landing the 2020 Savills’ Chase at Leopardstown, again for Henry De Bromhead and Cheveley Park Stud.
Whereas that victory came amongst the muted whispers of the COVID-19 pandemic, this was a far more fitting and evocative celebration, a chorus of spectacular rejoice instead of the stifled mute of a medieval refectory.
Not that the crowd would allow you to forget what the feeling of elation and drama would sound like.
A huge roar went up as the goliaths of the winter game went past the stands with a circuit to run, with Hewick winning the battle for the lead under Jordan Gainford and giving the field a tour of the Northern Ireland countryside.
Whilst he was travelling with zest, the eye was drawn to the bright crimson colours behind, with Envoi Allen roving in third place behind Gerri Colombe in the manner of a horse with baleful confidence.
Even his jumping looked improved than last year, with the only noticeable errors coming from his conqueror of 12 months ago, a shuddering, awkward error 6 out causing Sam Ewing to begin to ask his mount to pick the bridle up as the race firmly simmered into a rolling boil.
Far from the fluency he has enjoyed last year, this performance was more reminiscent of a lazy teenager, the urgings of his pilot having the same effect as asking said pubescent to tidy their room or wash the car.
It appeared that his sweet fluency of 12 months ago, almost like Moscato, had been replaced by a harsh Tuscan red, the welcome taste of victory replaced with the knowledge that this race was slipping through his hooves faster than prosecco at a wedding.
Delta Work, for all his noble efforts before in years gone by, was losing touch on the field and dropped very tamely out of contention, the Gigginstown monopoly on the race well and truly burst. Perhaps he needed the run, perhaps he isn’t up to this level anymore.
Chivalric and noble throughout, he may be booked for other targets later in the season. Visionarian seemed to be flying too high when the going got serious, with the tank flicking to empty as the pace lifted from the top of the hill.
Coming over 3 out and down the hill towards home, those in the stands with their bets still valid began to smell the dawn of the race we had yearned to see, a bright spark to an otherwise cloudy, overcast day. A roar that would have woken King Arthur went up, spurring on the gallant warriors doing battle in the amphitheatre before them.
Packed to the rafters, and rows 10 deep from the stands. Hospitality, local produce and burger vans aside. Nowhere was absent to the titanic tussle playing out in front of their eyes, cries of baleful clamour filling the air and roaring the two powerhouses towards the final obstacles.
Unlike years before, Envoi Allen had no Conflated to worry about, the mighty nemesis of then forcing him into the car park the last two renewals of this fine contest.
As Hewick poured on the taps of pressure and cracked his rivals one by one, it seemed that the horse his trainer had declared “wouldn’t win” due to overwatering the course only moments before the off would pull off the unthinkable. More unthinkable than flying home from Hampton Court Palace to steal the King George on Boxing Day last year, punters throwing leftover turkey sandwiches in dismay as the horse came from a different parish to be the Grinch who stole the Christmas cracker.
But stalking him all the way down the hill was the enigmatic son of Muhtathir, who back on his happy hunting ground would not let victory be prized from him like last year. The 3 time Cheltenham Festival winner ground away at the gap between him and his valiant adversary, scything past the deflated Gerri Colombe and taking aim at his remaining foe.
Whereas all bar one of his rivals had cracked, Hewick would not be pushed aside. What he may lack in stature, he makes up in heart and guts. Calling it quits was not on either’s mind, with the better leap at the last coming from the leader, who simply would not lie down and accept defeat.
Roars that would have blasted down the Walls Of Jericho or set off earthquakes bellowed across the County Down air, pulsating and piercing the stillness of the autumnal air. The two met the last together, they jumped it together, and began to slug it out at round 12 of the fight for the Champion Chase, a slugfest even Madison Square Gardens would be proud to call.
Two talented chasers in full cry. Sinews stretching on horse and rider, each breath gasped and lusted for, each stride purposefully trodden on the turf and up the hill towards eclectic victory or painful defeat.
Two hundred yards felt like two hundred seconds, each gladiator refusing to bow to one another. Maximal effort, one Maximus Decimus Meridius would have been proud of, as if fearful of eternal damnation should they give even an inch of parity to the other.
No quarter given, no quarter taken. Thick and fast, wrought iron and steel willed they went, for all their finesse and fervour it needed something special to separate the titans. Both riders asked for their all, both horses wilfully answered with no stagger or hesitance.
With one final effort, a candle flickered to light and shone for the near side goliath. The home town hero. The one who has been to Down Royal 5 times and only been nudged out by a neck once. Defeat was not on his agenda, and he clamoured the stamina he has become known for, pulling a half length up on his determined rival to score when it mattered most, the assembled crowd saluting him as if they had rode the horse themselves.
Youth may be declining from him, but he would not be denied again at his happy hunting ground. Envoi Allen has always been about heart, and now it appears guts too as he would not lie down and accept defeat again. Not when this is his fortress, his castle, his palace of prestige.
He gallantly fought on and at the end of an epic three mile contest, valour was all that could separate the two. Envoi Allen got up by half a length under a resolute drive from Darragh O’Keefe, the indomitable Hewick defeated to the despair of Jordan Gainford, valiant but vanquished.
It was his second victory in the Champion Chase, with it becoming his 5th victory out of 6 from his visits to Down Royal, the only blot being when Gerri Colombe snatched the prize from under his eyes 12 months earlier.
Befitting it was then with an almost 14 lengths gap to his conqueror of 12 months ago, who quite simply never looked threatening to land a knockout blow, fading tamely as if accepting that this dance was not his tango.
The winning jockey however appeared grateful for the opportunity, despite the ill fortune that had befallen his mount’s regular partner.
“It’s great to get the chance to ride him, though it’s unfortunate that Rachael (Blackmore) is out injured, but I’m very grateful to her”
“Her advice, it was brilliant!”
Referring to his gallant steed, he reflected to say he was “delighted” on his performance, and “grateful” that connections gave him the chance to take the ride.
“He loves this place”. “He’s been some horse for connections!”
“I planned to follow Sam ( Ewing, aboard Gerri Colombe ), but at four out I saw he was going as fast as he could….. he missed a couple of fences”.
“I then came to Hewick with a run, but missed the last”.
“My lad showed a good attitude to put his head down…. It was brilliant”.
Victory was Darragh’s first top level victory since he rode future Gold Cup winner A Plus Tard to victory in the 2020 Savills Chase at Leopardstown, running down Kemboy in the finals strides.
Winning trainer Henry De Bromhead was equally thrilled with victory after being narrowly denied last year, perhaps feeling vindicated that he was half a length to the good this year, rather than half a length short.
“It was brilliant, he is just a class horse!”
“Darragh gave him a super ride, he has really stepped up. Fair play to him!”
His years may be advancing, but De Bromhead was confident he had seen the finest performance from his charge to date, even more so than his 8 other Grade 1 victories, including at Cheltenham in 2023 when he landed the Ryanair.
“He was brilliant and jumped great. He travelled so well!”
“Better ground than last year helped us. When we got under the last, I though we were going to get done again, but he battled really well!”
Missing the last certainly did not help, but one thing the son of Muhtathir has is bundles of class and indomitable spirit.
That spirit was tested when Hewick ran the gauntlet and threw it down to him, but whereas others would crack, a chink in their armour exposed for the painful spear of defeat to sting them in the coldest of fashions, the enigmatic 10 year old kept his guard, his cool and his mettle to forge on and reject any idea that his advancing eras would belittle him or leave him exposed to a hammer blow from Mjolnir.
The manner of his victory left connections wondering if they should run him next at Kempton on Boxing Day, Henry De Bromhead mentioning that he feels that the King George is “unfinished business” for his stable star.
Speaking of that Christmas cracker, the party pooper in-waiting almost had the final say on how the contest would be run.
Hewick, the Loki of the saga, made life difficult for all his rivals, in a race his trainer said moments beforehand that “he wont win, it’s too soft”.
Beggars cannot be choosers, but for all the race was set against him, it was as if he had not reads the script. Again. Much like December when he almost missed his flight from Heathrow and sprinted across London to catch it, getting there just in time.
Gallant in gracious defeat, he was the final part of a tremendous story, a race that befit the ages and stirred the emotion of all who made the pilgrimage to Mazetown on that cold November day.
Perhaps not as emotion as his trained, who was left despairing at what could have been, had the taps not been turned on.
“If they hadn’t watered the track he would have won!”
“I was very near not running him!”
Very glad you did Shark. After all, every story needs the villain to befit the hero.
“I’m glad I ran him, but I know nobody wants firm ground, but I wish they would just leave the tracks alone!”
“He ran an absolute cracker… I couldn’t be happier with him.
“He is a better horse this year, and we will take on the big boys again at Kempton at Christmas!”
On reflection of his charge’s performance, he said he was “disappointed” but “thrilled” at the same time.
Probably not as disappointed as his jockey, Jordan Gainford picking up a 9 day suspension for overuse of the whip.
Gordon Elliott stated of the vindicated Gerri Colombe that he was always never able to find the bridle, further detailing that in the first few fences he knew the race was never his, and that he appeared to be going flat out all the way.
He did state that he will get him back home, run some tests, and get him ready for Christmas, which would appear to be the Savills Chase at Leopardstown, rather than a big turkey dinner.
As the warriors returned to the parade ring, there was a fair amount of applause for beaten ones, the ones who would lick their wounds and return to fight another day. The side characters, castings necessary for the story to unfold, the unravelling of the tapestry.
The winner came back however to rapturous clamour and tremendous acclaim, a chorus of ovation for the triumphant champion, fans of the winter game ringing in their hero after witnessing a titanic battle, one that warmed the souls of them faster than the famous stout these parts are renowned for.
The old guard. Defiant. Dauntless. Daring. Of all the heroic moments he has put forward in his career, many would acclaim that this was his most significant. His Finest Hour.
The horse, the race, the occasion. All have tugged at the heart strings of those present. Including myself, who admits to have become a part of the flurry of emotion that day and shed more than a tear.
They say “never meet your heroes”. Clearly the people at the course felt that was nonsense, the crowd 3-4 rows deep around the winners enclosure, all clambering to get a glimpse at the victor, the one who had once again stamped his name on the Champion Chase roll of honour.
In doing so, he became the first horse in the race’s history to have won the race, lost it, and then regained it.
Beef or Salmon won the race in 2004 and 2006, while Kauto Star did so in 2008 and 2010. However, in the year sandwiched between their victories, they had not run in the race.
Quite a feat. But then again, this is not your average run of the mill athlete.
Talent of the highest calibre, there is no question about it. Nobody would call him an unwanted guest. A party pooper. The quiet attendee who overstayed his welcome, or faded away without so much as an au revoir.
There was no Irish goodbye to him, more adept to being the opposite. He made sure the course was packed to the rafters, the stands fit to burst like trousers at a buffet, the raw emotion ready to be painted onto the biggest canvas there is.
If you could have framed this moment and put it in a gallery, it would surely end up in the Louvre. Tate Modern just wouldn’t cut the mustard. It would be akin to hanging the Mona Lisa in a greasy spoon café. Unimaginable.
It was a juncture that delivered everything you wished for, right before your scarcely believing eyes. The daring warrior going for a crack at immortality. The young pretender ready to upset the apple cart. The reigning monarch watching his crown slip away, the noble squire flying higher than anyone expected and the chivalrous elder watching from afar.
Even Chaucer couldn’t write a tale as powerful as this. And not even Hollywood could grasp the sense of occasion better than the crowd, all a part of the drama that unfolded on this crisp, cloudy day in County Down.
As the winning connections assembled for the customary post race photographs, minus the owners who have been otherwise absent at a reunion, there was a sense of swagger about the victor. A true foreboding that he knew he was good, a real whiff of excellence about him, parfum rather than eau de toilette.
The world can be a scary place. This race showed that there are valiant moments of escapism that are here to be treasured. To talk about. To decipher. To repeat to those less fortunate than ourselves, as the tales of Arkle and Desert Orchid, Golden Miller and Red Rum are told to those who learn about the sport this day.
I sit here, grateful to have been in attendance. The honour of seeing the drama with my own eyes. Treasured to have seen a hero rise into pure ascendancy, a true all time great of the sport. Happy to have shed a few tears as a warrior cemented immortality, reverent but remorseless.
The only question that remains, surely is this.
Down Royal, when is his statue going up?
