The following is just an observation rather than a boast – when working around racing as close as is the case here, very quickly jockeys, trainers and owners names become instantly recognisable. And then, every so often, a new name will appear that will necessitate a bit of research. Now read on…
The most recent iterations of the latter being Mr J. H. (Josh) Williamson and Dylan Kidd and Nicola Burns. There are probably more which just won’t come to mind presently.
I’m honestly not sure at what point M. J. M. O’Sullivan was first encountered, but, whenever it was, it very quickly became apparent he was a step above the ordinary.
It scarcely needs re-stating here that as long as there’s a drop of red stuff floating around in here, P. Carberry will remain enshrined as one’s favourite equine pilot of all time.
Contrary to what would be unsurprising popular opinion, fondness for the artist formerly known as ‘Alice’ wasn’t totally down to the great man’s association with Noel Meade. Or even that he was Tommy’s son. A lot of it had to do with the ice-in-the-veins, balls-of-steel manner in which he went about exhibiting his duties. For reference, see Bellvano, Crackaway Jack, Monbeg Dude, or Harchibald on a good day.
What might raise an eyebrow or three is the admission that in terms of the actual best, ergo most successful, jockey the one seeing eye has ever scanned across, that has to be Ruby Walsh. And, you see, if one were to ask me to summarise the gushing, natural, burgeoning talent bubbling in Michael O’Sullivan which was so cruelly, devastatingly snuffed out with his passing this past Sunday from injuries sustained in a fall at Thurles on February 6th, it would be that he represented a hybrid of the best of Carberry and Walsh. Not a bad template to be working off!
Obviously, any death is difficult to digest and deal with. As has been said here on far too many occasions in recent years, there’s no set menu for dealing with the subject matter. Especially when the deceased is a young person and particularly when their passing occurs in the midst of what for most people is a sporting interest but for them is a way of life and their livelihood.
So, the next time you’re about to talk through your pocket and about to have a cut at a jockey for what you consider to be a bad ride – be honest, we’ve all done it at some stage – just remember those brave men and women are quite literally putting their lives at risk for our entertainment.
Now, there may be a school of thought which, while understandable, would be overly simplistic, that would assert that Messrs Carberry and Walsh were always destined for stardom – as indeed were their siblings – due to their blue blooded lineage. Inference being that there were no such expectations attached to O’Sullivan. Though that would be both incorrect and unfair given the fact that Michael’s father William is a former winning rider in the Foxhunters Chase at the Cheltenham Festival. Where his uncle Eugene and cousin Maxine have also enjoyed glory days.
Having said all of the above, the fact is that Michael, like any young rider or anybody starting out in a new role in any line of business, have to make their own mark in whatever world they are attempting to conquer. Not to mention the necessity to have the cajones to self promote, but not overcook that, when the need arose.
Michael was well stocked with it all. Yet do not mistake self surety for arrogance, coolness foe cockiness. If I hadn’t started submitting unsolicited underage match reports to various branches of the local press, I may not be in the position I am fortunate to occupy today. Likewise, if Mikey wasn’t self assured enough to have rang Barry Connell and ask for the ride on what turned out to be Marine Nationale in a Punchestown Bumper, who knows where the careers of horse, trainer or rider would have gone.
Then again, how is it that old ditty goes “If ifs and buts were candy and nuts…” The fact is he did and the two – or three if you count the excellent equine – went on to form quite the triumvirate. Moreover, even leaving Marine Nationale out of the equation, Barry and Mikey had formed quite the alliance. Via horses such as Good Land and William Munny and Slane Hill and Esponito Bello.
What is poignantly ironic now, though, is that the pair had actually had something of a parting of the ways not all that long before Mikey’s death as it emerged the young Cork lad had been in big demand from those offering ‘outside’ work – i. e. not Connell’s.
I must admit to being more than a little miffed at the Kildare-based D4 head’s attitude when jettisoning the man from the Rebel County. But, in fairness to he of the yellow jacket, navy sash, navy cap and yellow star, he spoke genuinely and movingly about the fallen hero. To such an extent that a relaying of bridges would have almost certainly have been an inevitability.
The other angle to his no longer being Barry’s retained rider meant that his talents were in big demand far and wide.
All one needed to do was look at the calibre of trainers and owners who were acquiring his services. Willie Mullins, Gordon Elliott, Noel Meade and, more recently, Noel George and Amanda Zetorholm in France.
Mind you, perhaps the greatest endorsement of his talents was to observe those other than the man to whom he had been retained who had been acquiring his services.
Witness Gordon Elliott putting him up on Jazzy Mattie, giving the rider a double on Day 1 of a Cheltenham Festival (after Marine Nationale had won the Supreme Novices) or the manner in which he had quite obviously gone up the pecking order in Closutton when it came to getting spare rides.
Sadly, now, his mesmeric performance in steering Embassy Gardens to win Tramore will serve as the epitaph to his supreme horsemanship and inate ability which, as the respected commentator Richard Hoiles pointed out:
“ Aside from unspeakable tragedy and loss it obviously is for Michael’s family and loved ones and colleagues, the great tragedy now is might have been but what will never be”.
May you rest in peace young man.
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