David Mullins retired last week, his cousin looks back on a short but sparkling career
“Time is a valuable thing, Watch it fly by as the pendulum swings” Linkin Park, In The End
DAVID MULLINS looked destined for the top as a jumps jockey before retiring, aged just 24, last week. His cousin Patrick looks back on the highs and lows of a short but brilliant career, which peaked with Aintree Grand National glory in 2016 aboard Rule The World.
20/2/2013
A 16-year-old kid flashes past the red-and-white lollipop stick in front for the first time, on just his sixth go. Rathvawn Belle comes from the rear in Punchestown, at odds of 33/1, for Mr DJ Mullins. Being a teenager, he thinks to himself: “About bloody time!”
21/12/2014
No longer a ‘Mr’, DJ Mullins drives home from Thurles reflecting on the ups and downs of the day that was. He’s not sure whether to be mortified at falling off on his first ride as a pro, or to be delighted after riding a winner on his first day as a professional jockey.
Fosters Cross belied his 12 years to carry his 17-year-old jockey to an important victory for his father Tom, who’s only instructions were: “Ride him like Davy Russell would.”
15/11/2015
Two hooves stretch out in front of DJ as they jump the second last. He’s still leading the race. There’s no sign of Faugheen. Not yet, anyway.
He has a peek and sees Faugheen’s white blaze stuck on his tail. He lets out another inch of rein and squeezes Nichols Canyon forward. The speed increases as they come around the home bend.
Now he gets into the saddle and asks for everything. He changes his stick into his right hand but still doesn’t go for it. He knows Ruby Walsh will come on strong. The last jump is in sight and this is no time to stride. He sits and gets the bit up in Nichols Canyon’s mouth. They flick and fly over it.
He can feel Faugheen but not see him. Now he goes for his stick. That white blaze gets into the corner of his vision, but no closer. They streak over the line in front. David Mullins loses his Grade One virginity. And Faugheen is unbeaten no more.
9/04/2016
Seventeen runners whirl around in the merry-go-round style of a competitive handicap. The jockey in brown and beige watches on and follows at his leisure. The adrenaline of winning the Aintree Grand National two hours before is still pumping around his body. The youngest winner of the race since the 1960s, he has his mind on this race now.
Ivan Grozny is keen and brave at his hurdles. Willie has instructed DJ to drop out, follow away and appear late. Everyone else has instructions for directly the opposite, it would seem.
He thinks about the instructions Mouse Morris gave him the day before: “Go out, have a drink, find a girl and I’ll see you in the parade ring tomorrow.” He’d laughed at the time.
The starter is calling them forward, so he calmly follows the jig-jogging bobble of helmets ahead of him.
Funny how Mouse’s instructions turned out to work perfectly. The starter drops his flag and the field burst into a gallop. Hopefully Willie’s instructions work just as well.
14/4/2018
He’s sure he hasn’t won. But the wait for the photo is dragging on. Did we? Maybe. Hardly, though. The race appeared to be all over, but Pleasant Company had lunged late at a wilting Tiger Roll.
Jesus, to win a second one would be really cool. We might just have, but it was so close. Please God. David is number 21. The microphone starts up.
“First, number 13.” Lucky for some.
26/4/2018
The spectators are jumping and running and throwing things and shouting more things. John Codd is laughing as he leads Faugheen down through the middle of it.
People are roaring congrats and smiling loudly as the pink and green spots go past. They walk under the red Punchestown arch and turn Faugheen toward the winners’ enclosure.
Rich Ricci is beaming like a lighthouse at the centre of it all. The noise comes to a crescendo as they stop before the No 1 spot. Hats, papers, race cards fly through the air. He pats the old boy and thinks, ‘there’ll never be another reception like this’.
15/3/2019
Thud! Grass. Rolling. He sits up, muttering profanities. The rest of the Gold Cup field gallop down to the second fence.
But Kemboy goes ahead loose. They’d jumped the fence fine, but a clipped heel at the back of it brought them tumbling to earth.
After winning the Savills Chase together at Christmas, he thought they’d have a great chance to win at Cheltenham. But it’s not to be. He picks up his stick. Maybe next year.
24/10/2019
The door of the helicopter snaps close and the vibrating noise surrounds everything. Strapped into the stretcher, he can’t see the course shrink as they lift off into the air.
His cousin Danny, and Mikey Fogarty, had been walking the course and helped out as they filled him full of painkillers and waited for the air ambulance to arrive.
The sharp, hot pain in his back has gone under with the drugs. I’ve never been in a helicopter before, he thinks, as they speed high toward the hospital.
29/12/2020
Driving home after nearly winning the biggest race at Leopardstown over Christmas, the realisation hits.
The kick wasn’t what it should have been. He feels an overwhelming sense of disappointment, as it would have been nice to go out on a Grade One winner. This feeling isn’t what he wants it to be. This isn’t a future.
13/1/2021
“That’s me done Willie.”
“Yeah, sure you’ve nothing else for me today.”
“No, I’m done. Retired.”
Willie looks at him. Waits for the smile or the laugh. Neither comes.
DJ feels lighter suddenly. Happier. “I’m going to leave it at that.”
Willie waits again. “OK, let’s talk about it after you weigh in.”
David Mullins – no longer DJ – walks back in for the final time to the scales. A weight has been lifted. Like a burning comet, his time in the saddle was brief, but oh so bright.
Time depends on perspective. It flies when you’re having fun, but boy does it drag when the fun ends. David Mullins did more with his time than most jockeys ever will. And he will do plenty more.