It's not the horses in the ring that are on parade at the Irish Derby, it's the people in the park, writes Brian O'Connor
No one, except maybe the Emmas and Kyles of the PR world, knows how it happened, but Irish Derby day appears to have turned into one of the social events of the year. Of course, when one speaks of social, one doesn't mean people (God forbid any of those hardy little men who actually work with horses should manage to sneak into one of those exclusive freebie tents). No, one speaks of faces. The carefully plucked, tucked and sucked faces that peer out at the rest of us from magazines, diary pages and scandal sheets.
And, in their wake have come other once-a-year merchants who haven't enough pull to wangle the freebie tent, but are still determined to have a larf and a right few scoops, yeah? Normally, the Curragh's bald plain is spacious in the way that Siberia is empty. But Derby day is a crush of silly hats, spilt beer and fake tan; certainly not the type of day that the regular racegoer would recognise.
For the first time, your reporter has heard some such hardy types declare they are not going to be bothered going to the Derby this year. These are men who wear ties at blood funerals and weddings only, but can identify each horse on the Curragh from a mile away through haze.
"All they're doing is turning it into some sort of Irish Ascot," complained one. And it's true, there is an impression that most of the faces would just fatten on that sort of Ascot pomp, maybe leaning over the rail to cheer Bertie as the Government Merc squelches up the straight.
The comforting thought, however, is that there will always be a non-face barging through to hang over the rail and deliver a blast to such affectation. It's one of the saving graces of racing in this country that the great, the good and the rest of us usually have to squeeze in and tolerate each other. Reserved enclosures do exist, but only to create jobs for those qualified to wear white coats and scowl menacingly. They usually have the restrictive strength of a burst condom.
Which is perhaps why there is a certain ambivalence towards the Derby. The security types there actually believe they should try to stop people. But it's that hint of exclusivity that seems to attract the faces and, as is their way, the horses will probably just get in the way of the bloodstock they really want to ogle.
In a very first name kind of way, there will be a lot of people-watching going on. It will be JP (McManus) this and Dermot (Desmond) that and Michael (Smurfit) the other. But the really big players tomorrow will come from very different backgrounds.
John Magnier, who emerged from milking cows in Fermoy, Co Cork, to become the most powerful force in world racing and breeding, will have a huge and expensive team from his Ballydoyle empire. Some of the horses will perform under the rather grandiose handles of Handel, The Great Gatsby and Brian Bórú, but even that won't stop them from probably playing second-fiddle to the hot favourite Dalakhani.
In this Derby at least, even Magnier is likely to play second-fiddle to the Aga Khan, who owns Dalakhani and what the bookies rate as his biggest danger, Alamshar. It's a pretty awesome array of firepower as the Aga tries to win the race for a fifth time. It also means the French-based religious leader will be No 1 on the face list.
It's probably a vain hope, but as well as spotting the owner, it might not do them any harm to have a peep at his horses. And what better way to fit in than to pretend you are going to the races to actually watch horses? A novel concept I know, but try it. It might even be fun, yeah?