/ Perfect Punter / 18 March 2010 / Leave a Comment

In just 10 minutes on Wednesday Dave Farrar was lucky enough to capture the spirit of the Festival

Until Champion Chase day, the only Phil Williams that I knew was that insincerely irritating bloke on Five Live, who used to go out with a friend of mine, and whose faux friendly style of interviewing makes Alan Carr sound like Sir David Frost.

But on Wednesday I met another Phil Williams, one who appeared from nowhere in answer to a racing prayer, and one who added to the feeling of punting kismet that I've been experiencing lately. Except this time, rather than being robbed by a Brazilian who can't take penalties, or denied by a goal scored by a dolphin with an overhead kick, I could savour a huge slice of luck. Yes, you heard right, the Perfect Punter has had some fortune, although regular readers know that I'm in way too deep to truly believe that all of this is to do with anything as run of the mill as luck.

Before you hear about the miracle of Wednesday, you'll need to reflect on the slowly tolling bell that was Tuesday. Four races, four second placed horses. And not just seconds, but fast finishing seconds. Horses that raised the heartbeat, and then ripped your throat out. Get Me Out of Here, nearly. Somersby, blimey not again. The Package, someone is starting to take the piss. Khyber Kim, is that Binocular in front?

It was improbably irritating, and as my shoulders sagged and face turned to a mixture of laughter and thunder, the work experience girl with whom I'm walking the course at Cheltenham all week started to wonder who on earth was the maniac she was allegedly being tutored by, and what, precisely, she was going to learn. She was kind enough to suggest that something would happen to end my run of seconds, something special, and she was right. As Day Two dawned, she was definitely right.

I should explain that at the Cheltenham Festival I'm lucky enough to present Cheltenham Radio, and part of that job involves walking around the course in the afternoon, swerving bores, drunks and smart alecs, and grabbing hold of people to interview. On Champion Chase Day I was just deciding not to go into the Guinness Village (it was after midday, I was carrying a microphone and I'm not insane) when a small, well turned out punter said to me: "Peddlers Cross will win the next."

"Sorry?" I said.

"I said that 'Peddlers Cross will win the next'", he repeated, and there was something about his air of confidence that made me listen and realise that he might be different from all of the other McCririck wannabes who see my microphone and shout something ever so witty into it.

"Will you tell us that on air?" I asked, and he agreed and off he went. He knows the McCains, he loves to punt, they'd told him that the horse couldn't lose, and so he had a proper bet.

I have a rough idea of the figures that we're talking about here, and trust me, he had a PROPER bet. My kind of punter: his opinion against the bookies', come on then what price will you lay me, and let's see what happens. As Phil himself put it, "If I lose I'll be walking home in my pants, if I win I'll be bathing in champagne." If you can sum up the Cheltenham Festival in a sentence, there it is.

What happened next was highly improbable and whizzed by in a blur. I dragged some more cash out of my pocket, recklessly charged to a bookmaker and chucked the lot on Peddlers Cross. And then watched as the horse travelled like a dream, reeled them in, and won pretty easily. I'd warned the work experience girl of the bedlam that might ensue should the horse win, and by the time the race was over she was elated and slightly scared, by the screams, the hugs, the madness.

I do my best to plot a punting path through the Cheltenham Festival, but it's hard. So much noise, so much to break your concentration. Maybe the Phil Williams way is the best. A whole lot of knowledge, a bit of instinct, and nerves that are tough as teak. I don't know what the lesson is, but I know that strange things are happening in this punting quest, and that I need them to go in my favour. That's why I have to back Dave's Dream today (and you'll know the result once you read this) and why the image of Phil Williams leaving the course yesterday will stay with me for a while, and, indeed, be something at which to aim. Still smart, swaying ever so slightly from side to side, and softly singing: "I see trees of green, clouds of white, the bright blessed day, the dark say goodnight, and I think to myself.....".

Thanks for the memories my friend, and may the road rise with you.

The Perfect Punter was quite scared yesterday to see that someone on Twitter had followed his (losing) tip. You can join in the agony too, by going to www.twitter.com/perfectpunter and signing up. But for goodness sake, laugh, smile, red, enjoy. But don't listen.

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