Too Many Crooks

Chapter 8 – A day at the races

After beating off The Sun in a vicious bidding war, The Gaffer is proud to announce our serialisation of Ian Crook’s autobiography, ‘Too Many Crooks’. The ex-Norwich hero’s book promises to lift the lid on a tumultuous career, and a much-anticipated chapter will reveal the truth behind Bryan Gunn’s spoon phobia. This week, Ian recalls a day at the races.

Ian Crook Races mainNewmarket races may not be the Kentucky Derby but they know how to serve a kegged ale and that makes them all right by me. When we weren’t putting in the hard yards for the Gaffer, a few of the lads liked a flutter – we may not have been the Saddlers but we knew a thing or two about horses. Ruel Fox claimed that the first time he ever went to the races, he won a pony, though I’ve always doubted whether they actually let him keep it.

Myself, Gossy, Butters and Mark Robins were up in the grandstand keeping a weather eye on the action down below. Chris Sutton, who doesn’t like the taste of smoothflow, had ordered a Babycham and was getting ribbed mercilessly by Ian Culverhouse and Rob Ullathorne. It didn’t help that he’d forgotten to unstitch the pockets on his new C&A suit jacket, so he had to stand there with his hands by his sides like a right plum.

I’d put some money on a runner in the 2.30 called Yellow Submarine, hoping that the name would bring us luck. Plus, I’ve always rated The Beatles. The bookie mentioned that the going was good but I told him I’d be the judge of that. Anyway as they came round the bend, Yellow Submarine was in front by a nose ,but he faded like an overhit cross from Foxy to come in fourth.

“Looks like your submarine took a dive!” cracked Ian Butterworth. “Torpedoed, more like!” yelled Gossy. Needless to say, I was livid, but I held it together and decided to go to the bar for the next round of Tetley’s. Gossy came with me to help with the carrying – he was always a team player, despite what the pundits said – but he nipped off to find the loos on the way.

Well, Gossy only went AWOL, didn’t he, leaving me as the berk who has to ask for a tray. That didn’t stop me ‘dropping’ Chris’s can of Lucozade Sport, mind. Back in my seat I was flicking through the programme, looking for the manager’s notes – always my favourite bit – when Mark tapped me on the shoulder and asked: “Where did you say Gossy went?” He pointed out at the track, squinting like he was trying to pick up a high ball under the Carrow Road floodlights. The rider of the horse out in front was wearing a flipping Canaries shirt! As he passed the post, he stood up in his stirrups, arms aloft – there was no mistaking that celebration (Olympic Stadium, October ‘93). Somehow Gossy had just won the 2,000 Guineas!

He didn’t last long in the winners’ enclosure. They sussed something was amiss when Gossy got off his horse and asked which end the fuel went in. He scarpered and was soon sitting with us again, smirking like Des Lynam just before the start of a highlights segment. It turned out he’d got lost on the way back from the khazi and ended up in the weighing room. I’ve often wondered if the Shitswich boys were involved somehow but if they were, you’d have to say the plan backfired. Gossy had played a blinder.

It was a good job I’d set the video for Telly Addicts because after that stunt, none of us wanted to call it a night. The next morning at training I still had Ace of Base ringing in my ears as Mike Walker was running through the tactics ahead of a tricky weekend trip to The Dell. “Looks like we’re on to a winner, Gaffer,” said Rob Newman, ever the optimist. “What do you think, Gossy, odds on?” piped up Butters. It was at that moment John Deehan walked in clutching a copy of the Racing Post.

Needless to say, the Gaffer was livid.

Next time Ian tells the story of Mark Walton’s conversion to Islam …

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