The Best Ever !!

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The Story that made a legend, Westmead Hawk

Part One

THE letter writer pulled no punches.

"You don't know what you're talking about. Stop writing such rubbish. It's an insult to mention Westmead Hawk in the same breath as Ballyregan Bob and Scurlogue Champ." Opinions. Opinions. They're what this game is all about. The day I come home with splinters from sitting on the fence is the day I'll send Tony Blair an e-mail congratulating him on his attempts to ruin my country.

Peter Meldrum found Westmead Hawk first - trumpeting him at 40-1 to win the 2005 Derby. It wasn't until third-round night that I began to acknowledge not just an extraordinary tipping performance from Peter, but also to fully embrace the greatest greyhound I've ever seen.

I bet on horses and greyhounds' I don't lay them. Never have, never will. And because it's such an alien practice to me, I spend more time than necessary selecting a 'lay of the day' for my Saturday column 'Get It Ready!'. Mentally, it always hurts like hell when they win.

Before the third round, I made Westmead Hawk my 'lay'. I wrote: "It's asking the impossible for Westmead Hawk to win. At some stage he'll have to force his way past strong and determined January Tiger, before he even catches a glimpse of Droopys Marco, the impressive Scottish Derby hero, who seems guaranteed an easy lead."

I normally watch racing at Wimbledon via the television screen facing the winning line. But for some unknown reason I decided to venture out in front of the stewards' box to view Westmead Hawk's race.

Even though I had no financial involvement, my heart was racing madly - it's terribly embarrassing when those 'lays' win in full view of a vociferous public!

As the greyhounds passed me for the first time, I breathed a huge sigh of relief. Droopys Marco was the clear leader' Westmead Hawk only fifth, and well adrift, too.

Down the back, Droopys Marco continued to set a scorching pace. But my eyes were focused sharply on Westmead Hawk. The dog had run a clever second bend and begun to make headway.

Eight lengths behind off the second, he'd halved that deficit as the penultimate bend loomed. What happened next almost defied belief. Westmead Hawk fairly flew up the run-in. I began to shift uneasily even though there was surely no chance of him catching Droopys Marco.

He may have failed by half a length to pull off a 'Tom Cruise' [Mission Impossible] and ultimately, of course, my 'lay of the day' had proved successful. But it was that split-second moment up the home straight which convinced me I'd just seen the greatest greyhound to run Wimbledon in 20 years. The 28.60sec winning time of Droopys Marco provided confirmation.

The 2005 Derby, in terms of quality, was one of the best in memory, and included the most powerful Irish challenge for many a year. Yet during his charge to the title, 'The Hawk' made Droopys Marco, Droopys Maldini, Blue Majestic, Mineola Farloe, Boherduff Light, Ningbo Jack and Geldrops Touch appear pedestrian.

Incredibly, the British-bred May '03 whelp had only recently turned two when coming from last place to land his first Derby. His trackcraft was awesome' his pace sensational' his sense of timing more exquisite than a Federer forehand.

The crowd went mad on final night. Paid fitting, noisy tribute to a champion. The tired old stadium was suddenly overflowing with energy, enthusiasm and vigour once again. As the Union Jack fluttered proudly in the breeze, for the very first time I genuinely felt that here was a dog who could get the sport onto the front and back pages. Marketed properly, peoples' champion 'The Hawk' could open up exciting new avenues for greyhound racing. The gloom and doom of Blair's Britain was forgotten. Here was a hero to worship.

Part Two

THE Derby is the dream that drives an entire sport. Thrillingly, on the first Saturday in June 2006, greyhound racing found itself less than 29 seconds away from embracing a dual Derby champion.

Brilliant in the first round' ruthlessly efficient in the second' dazzling in the next two stages. Westmead Hawk looked invincible. Capable of amazing runs from amazing positions on a regular basis.

And then came the semi. That semi. Find me a person who claims to have seen a better performance on a greyhound track and I'll show you a liar.

'The Hawk' was fully 10 lengths behind Irish hero, Mineola Farloe - a dog who had amassed over e100,000 in prize-money during a career of relentless high-achievement - out of the second bend. I remember thinking the unthinkable. 'The Hawk' was out. The dream over. About 15 seconds later I recall blaspheming loudly. Over and over again. Punching the air. Swearing repeatedly in sheer amazement.

Not only had 'The Hawk' qualified. He'd gunned down Mineola Farloe right on the line. Flown up the straight. Dipped his head at exactly the right time. It was as if he knew.

'The Hawk' limbered past the packed terraces to receive his prize and the congratulations of connections. The crowd started shouting, "easy, easy, easy." A tingle went down my spine. What a sport this was. I joined in, too. "Easy, easy, easy." It was just fantastic.

I started chanting to myself, "England's number one, England's, England's number one." I didn't want the moment to end. My report for the Bank Holiday Monday edition was trailed on the front of the Racing Post. "The Hawk is just awesome" it said. Greyhounds rarely made the front page. I felt I'd done 'The Hawk' justice.

The only way Westmead Hawk could surpass that performance in the final was to produce perfection. Canine perfection. Typically, he delivered.

I'd backed six greyhounds ante-post. Tipped them up in my Get It Ready! column, and invested £100 on each. Going into the decider, Mineola Farloe would win me £4,000' Westmead Hawk £1,600.

Who did I want to win? 'The Hawk', of course. Money didn't come into it by this stage. I was in the presence of a legend. Privileged to write about him.

Do you know I'd never even stroked his face or neck. There were plenty of opportunities. I just felt in awe of him. That I'd never see another like him. Couldn't risk touching him in case something went wrong.

I stood out in front of the stewards' box to watch the final next to John Hayes and his wife. I remember warning them that I was liable to go absolutely mad when 'The Hawk' won. I don't think I disappointed! Mineola Farloe was comfortably in front at halfway. I should have been thinking about £4,000' should have been shouting 'stay there'. But I didn't.

I could see 'The Hawk' powering through the field. I could see he was going to win. I started jumping up and down against the rail in front of me.

Westmead Hawk ran the third bend as fast as he'd run the back-straight. No hesitation. Just a dip of those black shoulders, and round he went.

Surged up the run-in to win in 28.44sec - the fastest time clocked during the competition. Time-wise, he'd saved the best for last.

"Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes." I just kept shouting. I ran across the track to the back-straight in totally unrestrained joy, just about resisting the temptation to jump on Nick Savva's back.

"He did it. He did it. He did it." I kept shouting. Nick looked amused. He looked cited. He looked happy. He looked proud. All at the same time. It was a great moment. I felt honoured to share it.

Part Three

THE savage news came less than a month after Westmead Hawk's imperious success in the 2006 William Hill Derby' a bolt from the blue that rocked an entire sport to its unstable foundations.

It was Tuesday, June 27. A lovely hot, sunny day. I was sitting in my favourite seafood/steak bar, gazing out across The Solent, with the top of the Goodwood grandstand gloriously visible in the distance.

Totally refreshed after a fortnight's holiday of highly successful punting, my pockets were bulging, my memory full of the sheer majesty and excitement of 'The Hawk' in full flow during his Classic campaign.

Marketed with just the tiniest hint of professionalism, I felt Westmead Hawk could open up exciting new avenues for greyhound racing and give it the future so many people who work in it deserve.

At just after 6.30pm my mobile rang. It was Derek Hope. "Have you heard about Westmead Hawk?"

"No." I continued munching on trout and french fries. Delicious. "What's he done?"

"He's supposed to have broken a hock at Hall Green." I started spluttering. I phoned Jim Cremin. "Something terrible's happened to the Hawk."

"Yes, we know. Peter [Meldrum] is doing the story. It doesn't sound good."

I didn't sleep a wink that night. Yes, I know it sounds stupid. But it's true. I was gutted. For Nick [Savva], the owners, myself, the sport. But more importantly, 'The Hawk' himself. He didn't deserve that. Him above all others. It just wasn't fair.

"Hawk breaks hock in trial," screamed the Racing Post the next morning. I'd wanted to ring Savva the moment I'd heard the news, but had resisted. He had more important things to do.

Later that afternoon I did speak to him. It was a sombre conversation. "It's over for flying Hawk" was the following day's headline. The super-hound, never previously injured, had smashed his hock' broken a bone in at least three places. What a waste. The most remarkable of careers brought to a sickeningly premature end. It wasn't fair.

A couple of weeks later, myself and Cremin visited Nick's kennels to present the trainer with a framed front page of the Racing Post Derby final pullout issue.

'The Hawk' was hobbling about, his hock covered in plaster. Hard to believe that just a few weeks ago this most supreme of athletes with the sat-nav tracking had performed wonders on the track. Now it looked as if he'd never walk properly - let alone run - again.

There was something in Savva's body language' something in his words' something in the focus of his eyes that morning which prompted me to ask the unthinkable.

I sensed it' guessed it. "You think he's going to run again, don't you?" Nick smiled. He shrugged. "Westmead Hawk is a miracle dog, but please don't print it yet."

It seemed incomprehensible to me, having seen Westmead Hawk struggle to put one leg in front of the other that morning, that his trainer could even consider the possibility of a track comeback. However, I'd seen the glint in his eye. That glint meant, "there's unfinished business' a third Greyhound Derby is what we want' to make history."

A week later, Savva told me that he considered the operation to fix Westmead Hawk's hock had been a complete success. "If all goes well, I will give him a trial somewhere in the New Year and see how he does. But he'll only race again if I consider he's as good as he was before the injury."

"Can I write that?"

"Yes, you can."

Reproduced by kind permission of the Racing Post . Westmead Hawk

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The Legend