If it is hard enough choosing the winner of the Grand National, no one could have predicted the outcome of the afternoon at Aintree on Saturday April 5 1997.
The day had begun with such excitement, such anticipation, such disbelief that it was really happening. Ever since a child, watching Red Rum soar over the most famous fences in the world to the sounds of the voice of Peter Sullevan, it was the one sporting event I had wanted to go to more than any.
And that in a career where I have been privileged to attend six Olympic Games, football’s World Cup and have a front row seat for all but one of Usain Bolt’s world records.
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