World economies continue to waver in the face of the international security crisis, while at home the Irish property market is sliding and the economy, particularly agriculture and tourism, has yet to recover fully from the spectre of the foot-and-mouth threat. Caution is the current watchword. But judging by the buying witnessed this week at Goffs Orby Sale at Kill, Co Kildare, the bloodstock industry is more than buoyant. Perhaps this testifies to the gambling instincts that underlie every stage of the process that begins with careful breeding and culminates, at least in theory, with the emergence of a champion.
A marathon procession of magnificent creatures graced the ring of one of the world's most famous horse sales arenas on Tuesday and Wednesday. Just under 500 elite yearlings were sold - elite not through anything they have yet achieved bar being born and surviving their first year. Further selling went on yesterday in the Challenge sale. With an average sales figure for the two first days estimated at about £83,343, many horses went well over £100,000, but there were also some "bargains" - beauts for £18,000 or £35,000. Suddenly, even £50,000 or £75,000 sounded ordinary. Very few of these horses looked ordinary. But throughout the two days, everything kept coming back to one factor, pedigree.
Near the end of Tuesday's session, a good-looking US chestnut colt sauntered in. The son of Kingmambo had a small problem, only one testicle.
But hey, with a dad like that, what's a missing testicle? He was sold for £420,000. Earlier, an auctioneer with a flair for the dramatic announced, "There's something special in the ring". He was right. The powerful bay colt with the easy rolling gait was a son of Danehill and he left the ring with a £520,000 endorsement of quality.
Goffs is not a sports event. Purpose and deliberation dominate the atmosphere. There are no loud voices. It is difficult to determine exactly who are the buyers. Valerie Obsborne of John Obsborne stables is in partnership with her husband. Both are vets. She is an expert who also seems to understand the ordinary non-business people like me who see a beautiful horse as a work of art. "And that's how you judge them," she says, "like paintings."
They had nine horses at the sales and did well. She stood outside by the stables. The various breeders have been allocated stable space for the event. There, it is possible to observe and contrast the demeanour of a man who has just paid several hundred thousand pounds for a colt on behalf of a syndicate, with the joy of a group of Midland farmers celebrating as one of them buys a nice filly for £26,000. A bewildered man confessed "then I got her for only £30,000 - what's wrong with her?" Pretty soon you realise this is not the place where you admit to kissing and hugging your daughter's classic Connemara. You don't show off the photographs or brag about her intelligence, lovely movement or sweet nature - not here. Nor is it the place where you come looking for a sturdy hunter or a kind pleasure horse to ride out through the woods or canter along the beach.
It is difficult not to see beauty in a horse, any horse, such are their charms, kindness and loyalty as well as the ease of their amble, the power of their gallop. But the thoroughbreds that get to Goffs inhabit a different realm. It is called awesome physical perfection, a place where a capped hock, a routine cosmetic blemish, is a rarity - we only noticed one.
These yearlings are the future as well as the sum of glorious dynasties. Aside from the staggering figures paid for many of them this week, these gorgeous fillies and colts, bred for flat racing, who have never been ridden and are yet to be broken, whose fortunes are literally written in their pedigrees, will always be commodities.
Vulnerable and graceful, as yet without the stoic patience that comes with years of service and discipline, these young horses are unspoilt miracles of God, nature and genetics. Of course, there is another element, the skill of the breeders or perhaps, it's all down to luck, a good eye and a gambler's daring. But at such sales it is above all, the pedigree. The sons and daughters of famous, prolific stud fathers such as US stallions Sadler's Wells and Danehill have a head start. Danehill's "good-looking son" (Lot 397) fetched a record £2.1 million, while two other of his sons sold for £620,000, and £360,000. A daughter of Sadler's Wells, an alluring bay filly whom I'd noticed some hours before while visiting the various stable yards, was bought for £155,000, which by then seemed a bargain. Within the hour, another of Danehill's offspring - a filly most accurately described as fabulous - was secured for £450,000. Of course, none of the beauties sold and bought this week as yet have a name, only a lot number and the all-important family tree.
Led round and round a small ring, to the sound of the auctioneer and calls from Goffs staff stationed around the arena with the purpose of spotting bids, the horses look aware; some are calm, some are edgy. They all look splendid, but even in this exalted company, it is possible to spot a colt or filly with the extra touch of genius that horse people refer to as class. They represent bloodlines and a great history, the now mythic names from the recent past whose names bring a lump to the throat. The serious people watch impassively as breathtakingly spectacular creatures, many with fine faces evoking the delicate, haunted beauty of Russian ballerinas, are paraded, bid for and sold.
After a while you become immune to the auctioneer's patter: "Now here's a racer"; he or she "looks a race horse" or "now here's an athlete". Often stressing the low sterling equivalent of Irish pound prices, the auctioneers, for all their sales rhetoric, also proved masters of understatement, at times introducing yet another majestic looking animal with "well, here's a nice filly" or "this is an interesting individual".
Judging by the number of mobile phones, many buyers are not physically present - they've already done their research or their agents and trainers have. This is a multi-million pound industry. Many of the buyers probably don't even ride. They will certainly never ride these gorgeous investments - jockeys will be paid for that privilege. There is also the irony that about 70 per cent of these marvels will never even race. Many will be sold off again in disappointment - promise, or should I say, investment, unfulfilled.
Not even beauty and pedigree can guarantee a champion. I have to confess I spent much of my time at Goffs on the verge of tears. Aside from the envy - and it has to be said that many, most, all of the horses are so seductive you have to fight the urge to touch them - you see them as innocents, dazzling offspring doomed to unhappy marriages, failure and destined to be always assessed in terms of money. Low or relatively low prices suggest a personal insult to the horse. Dark bays looking like ebony, the predominant mid-bays, chestnuts, the few greys all shining under the lights - from now on their worth will not be decided by beauty or parentage, but performance and financial returns.
The audience at Goffs is restrained, too knowledgeable perhaps, to display much excitement. The response to the £2.1 million sale was an intense silence. With that level of control prevailing, the Englishman, who eyed yet another glorious filly, puffed out his cheeks and announced, "by God, I'd marry her myself" caused several people around him, women included, to smile and agree.
