Cheltenham craic galore as Walshes win all round them

TV VIEW:IT'S ALWAYS a tricky one when you're asked to plump for your very favourite sporting spectacle of this or any other age, the choice being a bit on the abundant side. Usually memories of Zinedine Zidane in action – lacing up his boots, scratching his ear, blinking, anything at all – prevail, but ZZ was well and truly topped last week.

Watching an enraptured Ted Walsh Jr watching two jockeys battle it out in the closing stages of the National Hunt Chase at Cheltenham on Wednesday was good enough craic, but the realisation that we were watching an enraptured Ted Walsh Jr watching his sister and his fiancée battle it out in the closing stages of the National Hunt Chase . . . well, Zinedine who?

If you were to look at it negatively you’d deem Ted Jr’s predicament to be of the perilous no-win kind, a bit like what the sumptuously named Neville Neville endures when his two lads, Gary and Phil, contest a 50-50 ball in a Manchester United v Everton collision.

More positively, of course, you could look upon it as a no-lose situation, which is how Ted Jr, happily, regarded it. His sister, Katie, hadn’t, after all, won at Cheltenham before, his fiancée, Nina Carberry, had – four times. So he was sort of rooting for Katie.

Nina, we’re certain, was understanding about it all, significantly more so than those of us who would have popped the engagement ring in to the nearest food mixer, along with the wedding invitations, and posted the resulting mush to himself.

Magnanimous people, though, are more forgiving, and Nina looked as exhilarated about Katie’s win as Katie herself.

Ted Snr? Well, Ted Snr isn’t often lost for words . . . and, quite gloriously, he found a few more last week when asked for a comment on John McCririck: “He wouldn’t be safe on a bicycle, let alone on a horse . . . he goes on with that auld baloney and bullshit all the time” . . . but, as a startled Johnny Francome noted, the man was left very nearly speechless by his daughter’s triumph. It was all a bit on the magical side.

“Two consecutive winners, Ruby last night and Katie today, Ted is the leading sire at Cheltenham,” trainer Willie Mullins told Channel 4’s Lesley Graham, which left us worried that he’d be taken off to stud, never to be heard from again.

Mercifully he was still on duty – in the commentary box, lest you think he’s now chatting up mares in a Kildare field – when Katie did it again.

“Is it going to be two for Katie,” Francome had asked him before the Vincent O’Brien County Hurdle. “Well, she’ll have a good spin off him any way,” he’d said.

A fair old winning spin it was too.

“What a little star! She’s a little topper! Imagine, two of them,” he howled as we watched Ruby hugging Katie. “A phalanx of Walshes,” laughed Francome.

If that was all a bit lovely then rugby’s farewell to Croke Park was a teeny bit of a let-down, but the nation’s howls of frustration at the telly reminded us of Dylan Moran’s splendid observation about chubby armchair sports fans balancing their beers on their ninth bellies while shouting advice at the some of the finest athletes in the world.

“24-20 to Scotland,” predicted Scott Hastings, leading ourselves and the panel to go for a roll in the aisles.

“25-16 to Ireland,” said Conor O’Shea. “28-9 to Ireland,” said Brent Pope. “21-12 to Ireland,” said George Hook. It should be said, though, George was nervous, predicting we’d all be worried at half-time.

Half-time. “I said we’d be worried at half-time and I’m wetting myself,” he declared, leaving Conor and Brent with squirmy ‘Ah, Jesus’ kind of faces.

Full-time. Scotland had well and truly watered Ireland. Hastings was beaming, the proud clump of heather pinned to his lapel having trebled in size, his team’s triumph forcing the RTÉ panel tae think again.

“This is not a wake-up call, this is a nightmare – the worst team in the Championship came and hammered us,” said a somewhat downcast Tom McGurk. George begged to differ, reminding us he’d tipped Scotland as Six Nations dark horses months ago.

“When did they last beat someone?!,” asked a flabbergasted Tom. “Today!,” declared George.

Over on the BBC they bid adieu to Croke Park with a rousing rendition of Green Green Grass of Home, which nearly left us in floods. Back on RTÉ Tom thanked the GAA “for the loan of the hall”, packing his bags for the little health insurance stadium on the southside.

Safe journey.

“Ted Snr isn’t often lost for words . . . and, quite gloriously, he found a few more last week when asked for a comment on John McCririck. ‘He wouldn’t be safe on a bicycle, let alone on a horse . . . he goes on with that auld baloney and bullshit all the time’