The Cheltenham Festival remains one of horse racing’s most colourful spectacles and for those who like a punt or two, it is sport at its stirring best. It is all beer, bonhomie and barmy betting - there can be few events quite like it.

Every March, thousands of horsey aficionados gather on a Gloucestershire field hoping to blow in their hard-earned wages. Among the marauding hordes are half  the Irish population and bookmakers with a point to prove. But for the jockeys, trainers and stable hands, Cheltenham holds a strange fascination that can’t be explained. They crowd the stands, knock back the Guinness by the gallon and generally cheer themselves hoarse. It reminds you of a huge cattle market in the middle of nowhere as hardened tipsters mingle with noisy tic-tac men.

Cheltenham has and will always been a wonderful excuse for a convivial knees-up. From every corner of the course, a diverse range of classes and binoculars make one hell of a racket. As winter turns to spring, this quintessentially British sporting event burns a huge hole in the public’s pocket.

For those with no knowledge of horse racing’s finer points, it’s hard to know why thousands of people gamble away their precious spending money on our four-legged friends. Gambling is one of Britain’s ever thriving industries but surely there must come a time when a harmless flutter turns to a full-blooded obsession?

Even so, we continue to shell out our coppers on sleek greys and beautifully-groomed thoroughbreds. For as long as I can remember, shrewd businessmen from deepest County Cork have shouted the odds with dustmen and lawyers from Dublin. Truly it is a cross between the Stock Exchange in London and a country fair.

But the truth of the matter for this writer is that the jury is out on Cheltenham’s popularity. It is still an extraordinary sporting tradition but how does one week in March grip the nation in a magnetic spell? The sight of horses thundering across Gloucester’s loveliest acres is still a stunning one.

Jump jockeys are some of the finest and most dedicated sportsmen and women. The names are a celebration of the sport and carved indelibly on the mind. Tony McCoy, Richard Dunwoody, Paul Carberry and Ruby Walsh are the living legends. They’ve powered over the jumps with the panache and character we’ve come to expect from the Sport of Kings.

The mystery, though, is why every jockey worth his or her salt is willing to go through the most punishing of daily routines. How on earth do their bodies survive the endless diets and starvation? After a gruelling morning on the gallops, you’d think the likes of McCoy would give anything for a Cornish pasty.

Still, this is the Cheltenham, one of the great social of sporting occasions and, although lacking the charm of the Aintree Grand National, a large slice of Ireland has a riotous time. It may be bizarre and amusing to some but the next time a bookie loses his shirt you could tell him that it was Cheltenham’s fault. Long may it continue!

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