By the time you read this, I will have well and truly fallen from the ‘wagon’ of sensibility, financial acumen and thrift.

I will be wandering, wide eyed, forlorn, penniless and without hope. I will be immersed in a mass of revelry, noise and celebration, but I will be all alone, soul-searching and asking myself the most obvious yet most difficult of questions: Why?

Yes folks, I am going to Cheltenham.

It’s basically an Irish birthright to attend this hallowed place, and particularly so if it clashes with St Patrick’s Day celebrations.

Cheltenham = Ireland = Hope.

= Heavy financial losses.

And we never learn.

Of the 200,000 people expected to attend this brilliant occasion, 50,000 are Irish, we will drink 250,000 pints of Guinness and we will gamble in 27 races.

Dear God, where is the sense in all of that? Of course many people will say if Dunguib wins on Tuesday and Kauto Star wins on Friday, then ‘sure it’ll make perfect sense!’

And I am there in all my finery, sporting my emerald green scarf, my tasteful green beret which I rescued from the rugby World Cup in France, and a clump of shamrock tethered to my lapel which will start to droop helplessly by late evening in the hostelries of downtown Cheltenham.

This year in advance of the annual Irish Invasion, I decided to do some proper ‘research.’ So I attended one of the famous ‘Cheltenham Preview Nights.’ My plan was to bring my trusty pen and notepad, to listen attentively to the expert opinions of a famous trainer, a famous jockey, a famous owner and a famous tipster, and to effectively head for home with the ‘Golden Ticket.’

I expected perhaps a crowd of 100-200 ‘punters’ and fans to show up to listen to the sages of the Sport of Kings. There are over 500 people (or to be more accurate…heaving red faced desperados!) in attendance. Not everyone can get into the function room. People have traveled here from far and wide for one reason only: What horses will win what races? Simple.

Sadly, it turns out to be far from simple. What we get instead is what can only be termed as well-intentioned confusion, with each of the ‘experts’ on stage regularly contradicting each other. It seems to be a remarkably stage-managed affair. If I had a tenner for every time an expert said, “I’ll tell you this much for nothing, she’ll be there or thereabouts at the finish,” then I would be a very wealthy man.

The night was not quite in the order of a farce, but certainly I had a sense that some of the ‘heated exchanges’ and disagreements over various horses’ prospects may well have been pre-planned. Much puzzled looks and scratching of heads as everyone leaves none the wiser. Sport of Kings or Sport of Mugs?

When it is in the best interests of the trainer, the jockey and the owner, that a multitude of horses have a ‘huge chance’ or ‘won’t be far away,’well then we, the naïve punters, will keep betting, keep attending and keep coming back for more. So why on earth would they wish to share what they really really think with us? It is simply not in their best interests.

I have been poring over transcripts of a few of these ‘preview nights’ and lo and behold, these celebrity experts have been caught out on more than one occasion. The names shall remain anonymous to protect the, ehm, well to protect me I suppose! On one night, a rather famous jockey stated emphatically that a favourite on the first day was basically unbackable. That is to say, the horse would win on three legs.

In another preview night the following week in a different part of the country, the same expert said that there were some question marks over the horse’s jumping ability. Make up your mind, friend! Yes, the Sport of Mugs more like.

Anyway, back to the ‘now’, and my own private Cheltenham:

As you read this, I will be glumly tearing up a betting slip on that 4/1 sure thing which fell at the last, whilst simultaneously I am struggling to force out a smile as one of my racing buddies gleefully announces that he just had a £25 each way on the 25/1 shot. Then he will helpfully add, “Joe, I think it’s your round for the beers, mate.”

Oh but that is merely the tip of the financial iceberg. There are the three chaotic nights of revelry to contend with. Then there are the hotel lodgings to fork out for. Not forgetting the car rental from Birmingham airport, and then finally the gentle reminder of, "Joe, I think you still owe me 200 ‘lids’ for the flights, mate.”

So, dear reader, do as I say, not as I do!

Keep your money in your pocket, don’t watch one race at Cheltenham, and instead switch over to the other side and watch a few episodes of Cash in the Attic!

Thanks for reading, folks, and feedback is always welcome.