Frankie Dettori - Leap of Faith: The New Autobiography

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First published by HarperCollinsPublishers 2021

FIRST EDITION

Text Frankie Dettori 2021

Cover layout design Claire Ward HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2021

Cover photograph Ben Riggott/Contour by Getty Images

Quotes on pages 184, 257, 258 and 273 previously published by the Guardian.

A catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library

Frankie Dettori asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

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Source ISBN: 9780008465469

Ebook Edition October 2021 ISBN: 9780008465483

Version: 2021-09-20

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To my amazing family and much love to

Catherine, Leo, Ella, Mia, Tallula and Rocco

SATURDAY, 6 JUNE 2015

Derby Day. Theres nothing else like it.

Its our Super Bowl, our Wimbledon, our Monaco Grand Prix. Its the race I dreamed of winning as a young kid on a pony back in Milan. Its the greatest race in the world.

I slept badly, as I always do the night before. Theres something almost reassuring about that now: its how I know Im up for it. The night I get eight hours uninterrupted kip before the Derby is the day I hang up my boots for good. I used to shy away from the nerves, but now Im older and (apparently) wiser, I embrace them: I know theyre what I need to help me perform at my best. If I didnt get nervous for this kind of moment, I wouldnt have a soul. I carry that sense of peoples expectations: I feel that everything I do today, even the smallest thing, will be under the microscope. Its horrible, but its great. I wouldnt swap it for the world.

I make my own coffee, as I always do. Espresso: hot, black, strong and Italian.

The kids have made a banner for me. GOOD LUCK, DADDY, it says, draped across the kitchen window. I fight back the tears. Its not just that theyre old enough now to know what this means Leos 15, Ellas 14, Mias 12, Tallulas 11 and Roccos 10 its that even by Derby standards, this one promises to be special.

Its the first one Ive ridden in four years. For pretty much all my career before that, I rode the Derby every year: 19 out of 20 years, and the one I missed was only because Id almost been killed in an aircraft crash 10 days before. And then it all went to shit. Out of favour at the stables Id been with for so long. Suspended for taking cocaine. And then, when I returned, the forgotten man, the ghost of Derbies past who couldnt beg, steal or borrow a mount on the biggest day of all.

Until now.

I kiss the kids goodbye one by one, followed by my wife Catherine. Last year, when things were so bad I considered walking away from the sport altogether, she sat me down and gave it to me straight. You keep telling me how fucking good you are, she said. Well, nows the time to show it.

Nows the time indeed. I hug her hard. Shes been there for me through all the ups and downs, and weve had more of both than the Big Dipper on Blackpool Beach. She puts up with my moods and my neuroses. When I say that I couldnt have done any of this without her, I mean it from the bottom of my heart.

I drive the short distance to Newmarket, where the helicopters waiting. Its less flash than it sounds. A lot of jockeys are based around here, and traffic on a Saturday can be horrendous, so clubbing together for a helicopter ride is a no-brainer. Its 40 minutes or so to Epsom, and the journey passes largely in silence. Theres usually a lot of chat between jockeys we spend so long together and know each other so well that the banter and in-jokes come thick and fast but today everyone prefers to be alone with their thoughts. I look out of the window at the great sprawl of London below and count the racecourses I can see, the places I know like the back of my hand and which have seen so many of my triumphs and disasters. Ascot, Kempton Park, Sandown and Windsor in the distance out west; Lingfield, Brighton and Goodwood up ahead to the south.

Almost before I know it, were here. Out of the helicopter and into the special hum of Epsom at its finest.

Im riding Golden Horn today, so I look for his trainer, John Gosden. Its not long before I see him, but then again its not hard to spot someone whos 6-foot-5 and wears the most distinctive fedora in racing.

If it werent for John, I wouldnt be here. This is the second time in my career hes backed me when no one else would, and Im determined to repay his faith. We might appear an odd couple hes 20 years older and a foot taller than me for starters, and hes old-school British ice cool whereas Im Italian fire but he totally gets me and understands me. There are few trainers as good as him and even fewer human beings. I love working with him. Were as happy as a pair of old lags doing one last job together.

Come on, he says. Lets walk the course.

I do this every Derby Day. Its partly to get a sense of how firm the ground is, as every horse has its preferred conditions and you have to adjust your race tactics accordingly. Its partly tradition and routine: Ive done it so often now that Id feel unsettled if I didnt. And its partly to soak up the atmosphere, which even a few hours before the big race of the afternoon is already buzzing. I see the funfair, smell barbecues, hear the sizzle of meat and the happy chatter. People cheer when they see me. A chant goes up: Fran-kie! Fran-kie! Fran-kie! I smile, wave at them, perform a mock bow. John smiles. Hes seen it all before. He knows how much of a showman I am its racing, its entertainment, so why shouldnt I be? but he knows too that for me being a jockey comes first and last. To the public, Im Frankie. On the race card and on my racing breeches, Im L. Dettori: L for Lanfranco and, if I win this, L for Lazarus too. Frankies the showman; L. Dettoris the jockey. Two parts of a whole.

The course is a mile and a half long, so it takes us about half an hour to walk it. Its one of the most testing flat-racing tracks on the planet, not least because in the first half mile it rises 150 feet, almost the height of Nelsons Column. From the stalls at the start, its like looking up a mountain. You cant win the race in that first half mile, but you can definitely lose it. I know not to go out too fast or be too far back; I know not to be stuck behind a bad horse or boxed in on the rails. I also know that Golden Horns the favourite, and hes so strong that all I need to do is keep out of trouble and let him do the rest. The ground is good, firm in parts: perfect for him to show his pace.