Féilim Mac An Iomaire | Midnight Chaser
The Paddy Power Blog needed a man on the ground at Cheltenham. This week, loose-trousered PR manager Féilim Mac An Iomaire is that man. Pick him up if you see him, please, he’s supposed to be working. Yes, among other things, Feilim has been tasked with filing a report before midnight each day. Here’s his first drunken dispatch which we have refused to edit.
Paddy Power’s clothing policy is pretty lax, which means I don’t buy fancy clothes while my diet of monster munch and Malteasers have left the fancy clothes I do have obsolete.
This led to me indulging in the clothing equivalent of buying Ade Akinbiyi on the final day of the transfer window as I indulged myself in some panic buying which led to me becoming the worst dressed man at Cheltenham.
That aside, the inconsiderate pricks in the Catholic Church had to schedule Conclave at the same time which meant I had to cover for the most handsome man in Paddy Power, Rory Scott (google him ladies), who has flown to Rome, watch this space! Rory was tasked with entertaining a bunch of guests on a bus which had more booze than Pogues afterparty something that I achieved, just as Rory would have done but with a chunkier BMI index.
When we arrive at the course I sit through Ruby Walsh’s mystic meg impression (3 winners!) before having to do my actual job and head to the Press box.
En route I lump every cent I have on Ruby in the Arkle and hope for a miracle (like buying a ticket for lotto with Derren Brown!). Just as I enter the press room Simonsig wins: balls!
Despite backing Walsh you do get mixed emotions when the punters bend you over backwards and do a Paris Hilton job on you. Worse was to come when Hurricane Fly won the Champion Hurdle.
To say Ruby screwed us would be understatement. Ruby well and truly grabbed a chainsaw dosed it in vinegar and shoved it where the sun don’t shine while singing One Direction.
Ruby Ruby Ruby Ruby (it goes through your head) cost us more than €2.5m thanks to us being stupid enough to offer money back if he won. Cue many a journalist asking me exactly how deep the shafting went… dirk diggler proportions for those asking! So as I lay there beaten and hurt I had to endure questions on the pasting we had taken like the gobshite who smashed his balls while attempting to tightrope a pipe.
To make matters worse Quevega wins her fifth Mare’s hurdle leading to every tom, dick and Harry who googled Cheltenham in the past week clicking their accumulator. It’s only round one but we’re on the ropes!