by @HackedUpRacing
It's not often that I've used the above phrase. In fact, I don't think I ever have before, but the 2015 festival is one I think most of you will remember.
I also think that it's worth remembering at this time as we're fast approaching the biggest racing week of the year, that things don't always go to plan.
For many of you and myself included, this will bring back memories that won't necessarily sit well and I'd not blame you if you decided not to read on, but I'll continue to type through the pain.
I'll set the scene (for those who aren't already having cold sweat flashbacks). As with every Cheltenham festival the excitement had been building for another blockbuster four days of National Hunt racing. The anticipation had been building for the first day's racing since about… October.
The world and his wife had an opinion on which superstar would win the big races.
Twitter was close to meltdown and 1 in 10 people had their life savings on Mullins to get a winner that week.
The curtain raiser. The Supreme Hurdle. One of my favorite races and like all racing enthusiasts, getting a winner in race one always sets the week up nicely.
The wonderful Douvan didn't disappoint.
Ruby was at his best and steered him home in exquisite style. The world rejoiced and the punters collected.
Already you could hear whispers about a 4 timer... He couldn't, Could he?
Many punters, myself included had laid hard earned cash down on this dream, this unimaginable gamble, the likes the festival had never seen before.
Even now, I recall these races like it was yesterday.
Up next was the ever dependable Un De Sceaux who commanded the course, odds-on and deservedly so.
A wonderful specimen of a horse. Lead from flag to finish, barely put a hoof wrong and at this point, you could sense the first day could be a bloodbath for the bookies. Punters collecting cash in wheelbarrows and bookmakers beginning to duck for cover.
Was 2015 our year? God knows there were some punters on twitter who believed.
Some resembled Morpheus, rallying the troops.
"I stand here before you now truly unafraid! Why?! Because I believe something you do not? No! I stand here without fear because I remember. I remember that I am here not because of the path that lay before me.. But because of the path that lies behind me! I remember that for one hundred years we have fought these Bookies! I remember that for one-hundred years they have sent their armies to destroy us and after a century of war I remember that which matters most! We are still here!"
Or something like that… You can't beat Twitter for some high perbly.
I for one woke up that day a not believing that this day would ever come, but I was beginning to gather faith. It was almost as if it was meant to be as the next race was a chance for all those praying for Ruby, to catch a breath or a beer. The next race didn't include the 'chosen one' and gave me a chance to enjoy Barry charge up the hill on The Druids Nephew.
A great race, but many only saw this a chance to Tweet a screenshot of their bet slip or gloat about being part of the gamble that ended the war. I refrained as I know only too well that until the last leg wins you are still just a punter. Up next was The Champion Hurdle. A race I've waited for with bated breath.
The Machine. A chance to show the world what it is to dominate a sport. Surely if the gods were shining on us then this was in the bag. Faugheen, a horse who many believe to be one of the greatest ever seen. A 'monster' of the race track.
Indeed our money was safe, as Faugheen proved to the world what a remarkable horse he truly is.
At this point, it felt like Twitter and indeed the media could go into complete meltdown.
The 4 timer was on. I lost count of the tweets I saw with big stakes and even bigger returns. It felt like nothing could go wrong. The Bookies were on the ropes, punch drunk and at this point, it looked like today would be THAT day.
I don't mind admitting, I had a decent punt on this 4 fold and like many at this point, felt about as smug as you can imagine. If I close my eyes I can recall the race as if it was playing in my head. The commentary, the race, the crowd, I recall it all.
Alas, it wasn't to be. Just for that brief moment, those fleeting seconds I believed.
As Annie charged at the final fence, it's as if the world stood still.
No one could believe their eyes, not even Simon Holt. Punters left bereft, bookies left dazed and wondering how on earth they've managed to dodge this bullet. Speechless, dumbfounded and confused, twitter turned from a world full of believers into one of hostility and anger.
What was a place of joy and excitement turned ugly, fast.
I've never seen tweets like it. Some believing Ruby took a dive to save the bookies. Some claiming it was fixed.
Abuse and fights broke out left right and center.
In the days to come, we saw figures bandied around of 50m 70m 100m pounds was at stake with the bookies had Annie managed just one more Hurdle. I'm not sure we will ever know the true figures but suffice to say it was enough. But, it wasn't to be. That, as they say, is racing.
Whilst it's easy for me to say now, believe me, it wasn't in the hours after it happened, racing isn't about the money (although it wouldn't exist without it).
It's about entertainment and we got that by the bucket full.
If I learned anything from that day and I'm sure I did, it's this.
Never expect to win.
Cheltenham is amazing, for a hundred reasons.
Just because a horse should win, doesn't mean it will.
I should have taken the Blue pill.
So just remember. Cheltenham is, and always will be the best four days of National Hunt racing, regardless of the results.
Win or lose, try to enjoy the festival for what it is.
A showcase of the world's very best horses, doing what they do best.
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