Denis Walsh - TheTimes
This week Paul Carberry is the story. The issues have a resonance far beyond his personal circumstances but the value of a high-profile incident is the broader questions raised.
Last Saturday at Naas Carberry failed a breath test and was stood down for the meeting. Since the Turf Club started this testing in 2007, 1,953 jockeys have been breathalysed and only Carberry has failed. Twice. To suggest that this was simply bad luck would be a glib and thoughtless response.
Later on Saturday, Carberry issued a contrite statement that was carefully designed to press all the right buttons. At the time this seemed to be the key line: “This is my second time being in this situation and I will have to address this problem immediately.”
When Carberry failed a breath test at the Galway Festival in 2007 Noel Meade, his principal employer, was interviewed on the racing channel, attheraces. Meade and Carberry have a long professional relationship and over that time have become good friends. In the interview Meade was loyal and diplomatic, not making excuses for his stable jockey and not condemning him either. On Saturday at Naas, though, Meade’s public reaction leaned towards exasperation.
“Naturally, I am very annoyed and upset at what’s happened,” he said. “Paul obviously has a problem that he must address. He cannot expect me or the owners in my yard to put up with this situation.”
On Monday, however, an interview with Carberry appeared in the Irish Sun, the paper for which he writes a tipping column. In tone and content it represented a surprising departure from Saturday’s statement. Earlier intimations of a “problem” were scratched.
“I am not in any way a problem drinker or anything of the sort,” he said. “Never was and never will be. Like most people I like a pint or two socially if I’m out with friends at night time. But that’s it, absolutely. Nothing more and nothing less. There is no question of rehab, counselling or anything of that kind... I am now going to cut it out completely — or at the very least severely curtail any more boozing until my career is over.”
But if drink is not a problem why does he feel compelled to give it up or “severely” cut it back? He said he “couldn’t believe” that he failed the test at Naas because he “only had a drink or two on Friday night.” How could that be? The thresholds employed by The Turf Club are the same that apply for drink-driving on the road. The first test at Naas wasn’t conducted until 11.43am. Nobody who has “a drink or two” on Friday night will fail a breath test at noon on Saturday. Why did Carberry feel the need to make such a groundless claim?
For Carberry this is an issue of personal conscience but for the sport there are wider questions. Racing’s relationship with alcohol is as normalised and intimate as its relationship with gambling. At every racecourse, the bar is a central part of the entertainment package, just like at a concert venue.
At the big summer festivals such as Galway and Listowel legendary tales of excess are inseparable from the status of those meetings. It is an accepted and touted part of their appeal. When Cheltenham Racecourse issues its pre-Festival publicity next March it will include — boastfully — estimates of how much Guinness and champagne they expect will be consumed on the track that week. For every track the bars are a critical part of their economy. Before racing, during racing, after racing.
This culture of consumption, though, doesn’t stop at the track. In racing’s micro-world it is an integral part of life. In his brilliant autobiography Timmy Murphy describes what it was like as a stable lad on the Curragh in the early 1990s: “Work hard during the week, get paid on Friday, go out all weekend. That was what you did, what everybody did. Work, get locked for the weekend, work. That was the scene . . . everybody drank.”
Years later, when he was an established jockey and living in a racing community in the south of England, his mother used to pay an annual visit and stay at his house for a week. “She loved looking after all the lads [neighbouring jockeys],” Murphy wrote, “but she just couldn’t get over the amount we drank. I didn’t know this at the time but she used to go home quite upset...”
Paul McGuinness is an addiction therapist based in Kildare and bestselling author of I’ll Stop Tomorrow. Over the last 18 months alone half-a-dozen of his new clients have either been jockeys or recently retired jockeys. “If you walk into AA in Newbridge,” he says, “there are a lot of jockeys in there — a lot of horsey people. Jockeys have come into me and said, ‘Can you teach me to be a social drinker?’ ”
Why should that be? Statistically, one in 10 people who drink alcohol will go on to develop alcoholism and there is no data to suggest that the rate is any higher among jockeys or racing people. Yet, the roll-call of high-profile Irish jockeys who have received addiction treatment in recent years is extraordinary: Kieren Fallon, Robert Winston, Timmy Murphy, Dean Gallagher, Paddy Flood, Johnny Murtagh. With the exception of Gallagher all of them are still in the elite of their profession. Could you name six current Irish soccer players or rugby players in that position?
Clearly, the life of a jockey is unlike any other top sportsman. Reducing their bodies to unnatural weights and living with hunger and dehydration is a daily stress. Performing an inherently dangerous job is not just a weekend occupation either: it is every day in England and three or four times a week here. With it, though, comes an adrenalin rush that jockeys often talk about: the speed, the vulnerability at every fence for a jump jockey, the thrill of winning. For some jockeys the desire to replicate that buzz away from the track is where temptation meets weakness.
“You ride a winner,” says McGuinness, “that rush could last 24 hours. But if you have an addictive personality you want to keep it going for longer. You want the extra buzz, the extra hit. ”
For jockeys on a strict intake of between 1,200 and 1,400 calories a day, drink should be anathema. One pint contains about 200 calories. But as McGuinness points out, alcohol also has the effect of suppressing hunger and so does cocaine. Fallon and Gallagher have both served two suspensions each for testing positive for cocaine in France; since drug testing started here in 2003, Warren O’Connor has been the only positive, three years ago.
There is no suggestion that cocaine is a serious issue in the racing community but there is no such certainty about alcohol. Dr Adrian McGoldrick has been involved with the Turf Club for the last 27 years and in that time he says he has seen a hugely positive change in attitudes. But you must remember how permissive attitudes were to begin with.
Barry Brogan was a leading Irish jockey in England during the 1970s and his explosive autobiography was published in 1981, just a year before Dr McGoldrick took up his position. Brogan had accepted and addressed his alcoholism by then but the stories he told of hell-raising by him and other jockeys were stunning at the time and even more so at this remove.
Brough Scott, the former jockey and eminent racing commentator, tells a story of travelling with the champion jockey Terry Biddlecombe to the Midlands Grand National in the early 1960s. Because they were riding light they started the day in a Turkish baths in Stoke to shed a few pounds, drinking a glass of Guinness and champagne on the premise that it would aid the sweating process. En route to the track, Biddlecombe pulled over at a pub “for a quick one” where both men drank a Babycham and brandy and thought absolutely nothing of it.
For any modern jockey such a casual, race-day intercourse with drink would be unimaginable. And yet the temptations are all around them because it is so ingrained in the culture of the industry. At the moment drug tests are carried out at 12 meetings a year in Ireland, where eight jockeys are selected randomly; breath tests are carried out at 14 race meetings where every jockey present is tested. The Turf Club are serious about the issue but McGuiness believes passionately that the frequency of testing is not nearly high enough.
“Anyone connected with racing knows that there is an underlying alcohol problem for many jockeys,” he says. “It would be in the interests of everyone if breath testing was extended considerably to act as a deterrent, just as it is on the roads in Ireland.”
A sobering thought.
This week Paul Carberry is the story. The issues have a resonance far beyond his personal circumstances but the value of a high-profile incident is the broader questions raised.
Last Saturday at Naas Carberry failed a breath test and was stood down for the meeting. Since the Turf Club started this testing in 2007, 1,953 jockeys have been breathalysed and only Carberry has failed. Twice. To suggest that this was simply bad luck would be a glib and thoughtless response.
Later on Saturday, Carberry issued a contrite statement that was carefully designed to press all the right buttons. At the time this seemed to be the key line: “This is my second time being in this situation and I will have to address this problem immediately.”
When Carberry failed a breath test at the Galway Festival in 2007 Noel Meade, his principal employer, was interviewed on the racing channel, attheraces. Meade and Carberry have a long professional relationship and over that time have become good friends. In the interview Meade was loyal and diplomatic, not making excuses for his stable jockey and not condemning him either. On Saturday at Naas, though, Meade’s public reaction leaned towards exasperation.
“Naturally, I am very annoyed and upset at what’s happened,” he said. “Paul obviously has a problem that he must address. He cannot expect me or the owners in my yard to put up with this situation.”
On Monday, however, an interview with Carberry appeared in the Irish Sun, the paper for which he writes a tipping column. In tone and content it represented a surprising departure from Saturday’s statement. Earlier intimations of a “problem” were scratched.
“I am not in any way a problem drinker or anything of the sort,” he said. “Never was and never will be. Like most people I like a pint or two socially if I’m out with friends at night time. But that’s it, absolutely. Nothing more and nothing less. There is no question of rehab, counselling or anything of that kind... I am now going to cut it out completely — or at the very least severely curtail any more boozing until my career is over.”
But if drink is not a problem why does he feel compelled to give it up or “severely” cut it back? He said he “couldn’t believe” that he failed the test at Naas because he “only had a drink or two on Friday night.” How could that be? The thresholds employed by The Turf Club are the same that apply for drink-driving on the road. The first test at Naas wasn’t conducted until 11.43am. Nobody who has “a drink or two” on Friday night will fail a breath test at noon on Saturday. Why did Carberry feel the need to make such a groundless claim?
For Carberry this is an issue of personal conscience but for the sport there are wider questions. Racing’s relationship with alcohol is as normalised and intimate as its relationship with gambling. At every racecourse, the bar is a central part of the entertainment package, just like at a concert venue.
At the big summer festivals such as Galway and Listowel legendary tales of excess are inseparable from the status of those meetings. It is an accepted and touted part of their appeal. When Cheltenham Racecourse issues its pre-Festival publicity next March it will include — boastfully — estimates of how much Guinness and champagne they expect will be consumed on the track that week. For every track the bars are a critical part of their economy. Before racing, during racing, after racing.
This culture of consumption, though, doesn’t stop at the track. In racing’s micro-world it is an integral part of life. In his brilliant autobiography Timmy Murphy describes what it was like as a stable lad on the Curragh in the early 1990s: “Work hard during the week, get paid on Friday, go out all weekend. That was what you did, what everybody did. Work, get locked for the weekend, work. That was the scene . . . everybody drank.”
Years later, when he was an established jockey and living in a racing community in the south of England, his mother used to pay an annual visit and stay at his house for a week. “She loved looking after all the lads [neighbouring jockeys],” Murphy wrote, “but she just couldn’t get over the amount we drank. I didn’t know this at the time but she used to go home quite upset...”
Paul McGuinness is an addiction therapist based in Kildare and bestselling author of I’ll Stop Tomorrow. Over the last 18 months alone half-a-dozen of his new clients have either been jockeys or recently retired jockeys. “If you walk into AA in Newbridge,” he says, “there are a lot of jockeys in there — a lot of horsey people. Jockeys have come into me and said, ‘Can you teach me to be a social drinker?’ ”
Why should that be? Statistically, one in 10 people who drink alcohol will go on to develop alcoholism and there is no data to suggest that the rate is any higher among jockeys or racing people. Yet, the roll-call of high-profile Irish jockeys who have received addiction treatment in recent years is extraordinary: Kieren Fallon, Robert Winston, Timmy Murphy, Dean Gallagher, Paddy Flood, Johnny Murtagh. With the exception of Gallagher all of them are still in the elite of their profession. Could you name six current Irish soccer players or rugby players in that position?
Clearly, the life of a jockey is unlike any other top sportsman. Reducing their bodies to unnatural weights and living with hunger and dehydration is a daily stress. Performing an inherently dangerous job is not just a weekend occupation either: it is every day in England and three or four times a week here. With it, though, comes an adrenalin rush that jockeys often talk about: the speed, the vulnerability at every fence for a jump jockey, the thrill of winning. For some jockeys the desire to replicate that buzz away from the track is where temptation meets weakness.
“You ride a winner,” says McGuinness, “that rush could last 24 hours. But if you have an addictive personality you want to keep it going for longer. You want the extra buzz, the extra hit. ”
For jockeys on a strict intake of between 1,200 and 1,400 calories a day, drink should be anathema. One pint contains about 200 calories. But as McGuinness points out, alcohol also has the effect of suppressing hunger and so does cocaine. Fallon and Gallagher have both served two suspensions each for testing positive for cocaine in France; since drug testing started here in 2003, Warren O’Connor has been the only positive, three years ago.
There is no suggestion that cocaine is a serious issue in the racing community but there is no such certainty about alcohol. Dr Adrian McGoldrick has been involved with the Turf Club for the last 27 years and in that time he says he has seen a hugely positive change in attitudes. But you must remember how permissive attitudes were to begin with.
Barry Brogan was a leading Irish jockey in England during the 1970s and his explosive autobiography was published in 1981, just a year before Dr McGoldrick took up his position. Brogan had accepted and addressed his alcoholism by then but the stories he told of hell-raising by him and other jockeys were stunning at the time and even more so at this remove.
Brough Scott, the former jockey and eminent racing commentator, tells a story of travelling with the champion jockey Terry Biddlecombe to the Midlands Grand National in the early 1960s. Because they were riding light they started the day in a Turkish baths in Stoke to shed a few pounds, drinking a glass of Guinness and champagne on the premise that it would aid the sweating process. En route to the track, Biddlecombe pulled over at a pub “for a quick one” where both men drank a Babycham and brandy and thought absolutely nothing of it.
For any modern jockey such a casual, race-day intercourse with drink would be unimaginable. And yet the temptations are all around them because it is so ingrained in the culture of the industry. At the moment drug tests are carried out at 12 meetings a year in Ireland, where eight jockeys are selected randomly; breath tests are carried out at 14 race meetings where every jockey present is tested. The Turf Club are serious about the issue but McGuiness believes passionately that the frequency of testing is not nearly high enough.
“Anyone connected with racing knows that there is an underlying alcohol problem for many jockeys,” he says. “It would be in the interests of everyone if breath testing was extended considerably to act as a deterrent, just as it is on the roads in Ireland.”
A sobering thought.
