Best Mate
A call to arms, upon us fast,
that week in March now looms
When thousands gather for the craic,
when spring smites winter’s gloom
When stories get wheeled out again,
those great Gold Cups of old
It’s minus two without the gale,
yet no-one feels the cold
And so this year we’ll celebrate,
a recent hero’s past
A horse whose place in Cheltenham lore
not just in bronze we’ve cast
A horse who proudly holds his own
with legends of this track
A kindly horse with looks and style
and quality to match
Now factor in his entourage,
a most unlikely team
Led by a former school mistress
and harnessed by her dream
A dream she shared with Biddlecombe,
More fondly known as Terry
A dream they lived to realize,
once they’d put aside the sherry
The Owner, good Jim Lewis,
vintage Brummie through & through
His songs the only downside,
his silks Claret & Blue
The colours worn by Villa
when they last brought home The Cup
Engrained in racing folklore now,
with Jim Culloty up
They played an almost comic role,
when camera’s stopped to call
But mark me now and mark me well,
for him they gave their all
They taught Best Mate that what he had
was handed to the few
They honed his power, they understood,
they showed him what to do
And when unleashed in combat,
though she couldn’t bear to look
Preferring racecourse car parks,
where with head in hands she shook
He always brought her running
from behind the heaving stands
To welcome him, victorious,
clinging tight to Terry’s hand
Step forward Henrietta,
Racing’s first reluctant Knight
And take a bow with Terry now
for getting it so right
For giving us the memories
of a truly noble horse
Whose early death remains
the only reason for remorse
A death that robbed a nation,
but upon it we won’t dwell
Let’s celebrate the life of one
who served his sport so well
Best Mate, you never let us down,
you lived up to your name
You ran your rivals ragged,
showed ’em how to play this game
He won with ease and nonchalance;
he won with craft and style
He won the hearts of England
and the mighty Emerald Isle
He gave us what we’d waited for,
a Gold Cup crown retained
An undisputed Champion,
a King who proudly reigned
Don’t judge him upsides Arkle,
if you don’t judge man by God
But see him as a Winter King,
who never spared the Rod
Who poured it on at Prestbury Park,
with smiling Jim aboard
And left this world with three Gold Cups,
Best Mate by all adored
...anyone else got good racing related poems or songs 
