It must have been 30 years ago. I jumped excitedly into the back of the car and off we went to Roscommon, to the races. It was my first time going racing. My aunt and uncle had a horse running called New Inn Express. I had five pounds with me. I went for broke and lumped it all on him at odds of 10/1. The horse won. I got £55 back. It was like winning the lotto. I can still remember that feeling of sheer joy.

I didn’t back any other horses that day, happier instead to keep my winnings. It was probably a sure sign I wasn’t going to turn into a gambler.

I was in Punchestown two days at the recent festival. On day one, I didn’t back a winner, losing a few bob. The next day, I had three big winners and picked up a nice few quid. But I wouldn’t claim to be a racing expert. I am sure that, despite the clichéd charge that it is a mug’s sport, there is a science by which you can make money.

During Cheltenham, I bought the racing papers, studied the form and listened closely to the horsey people – and still lost my shirt. Other times, it has actually paid off to just go with a hunch or back the jockey over the horse. And it can be a bit of fun. But I wouldn’t have the patience or the knowledge to become a hardened punter. I am too mean anyway to part so easily with my money.

Last week, a gang of us from work went racing in Leopardstown. Half were into their racing, half not so much – they were there more for the post-racing entertainment. Those of us (and I tentatively include myself here) who were into the racing didn’t have much luck, despite hot tips and marked cards.

As the last race approached, one of the gang not so much into the racing decided he’d better have a bet on it to say that he at least backed one horse while there.

As he scrutinised the list of runners and riders, two horses jumped out at him and he couldn’t decide which of them to chose from: Eight And Bob and Bobabout. Being a big Bob Dylan fan, he wasn’t going to look past these two. Bless. As the horses left the parade ring, there was only one thing he could do: back both of them each way.

Someone joked that Dylan had a song called A fool Such As I. No sooner had we stopped chuckling but he was back, tangled up in his winnings and humming The Times, They Are A Changin’. Eight And Bob won at odds of 50/1. Bobabout was second at a price of 8/1.

The look on his face reminded me of how I felt in Roscommon all those years ago. In racing, sometimes ignorance is indeed bliss. CL

Gavin takes aim as the Dubs shun RTÉ

Two things struck me about Jim Gavin’s strange decision last Sunday to boycott interviews with radio and television stations.

Firstly, Jim Gavin cunningly never says anything of much substance in broadcast interviews anyway. In fact, what he had to say last Sunday was arguably the most controversial thing he has ever proffered to the media. So it is not the end of the world for RTÉ or Sky, to be honest.

Secondly, on the evidence of last Sunday’s hammering of Westmeath, Dublin are doing just fine without Diarmuid Connolly, the media coverage of whose suspension is the cause of Gavin’s ire. Despite his obvious class as a player, Connolly’s forced sabbatical also reduces the risk of Gavin’s team finishing big games with 14 men.

All in all, for such a shrewd manager, Gavin’s outburst is quite bizarre.