Frankie: The Autobiography of Frankie Dettori. Frankie Dettori

      

      Frankie

      The Autobiography of

      FRANKIE DETTORI with JONATHAN POWELL

       To my dad Gianfrancowho never doubted that I would make itas a jockey, even when I was not sure.A thousand thanks.

      Table of Contents

       Cover Page

       Title Page

       Dedication

One: I Knew I Was Going to Die

Two: Against the Odds

Three: Lost in My Father’s Shadow

Four: Growing Up Fast

Five: I Used to Cry Myself to Sleep

Six: Riding Like an Italian

Seven: Priceless Lessons in California

Eight: Give the Kid a Chance

       Nine: A Job Made in Heaven

       Ten: Too Big For My Boots

       Eleven: Giving in to Temptation

       Twelve: Throwing it All Away

       Thirteen: Arrested with Cocaine in My Pocket

       Fourteen: Sheikh Mohammed Offers a Lifeline

       Fifteen: Champion Jockey

       Sixteen: A Lion in Paris

       Seventeen: Godolphin Comes Calling

       Eighteen: The Bookies Were Crying for Mercy

       Nineteen: Nobody Had Done It Before

       Twenty: A Brief Encounter at Epsom

       Twenty-one: Nightmare in Kentucky

       Twenty-two: A Horse in a Million

       Twenty-three: A Miraculous Escape

       Twenty-four: In the Grip of Lester

       Twenty-five: An Emotional Night in New York

       Twenty-six: A Question of Sport

       Twenty-seven: Slow Boat to China

       Twenty-eight: Summer of Despair

       Twenty-nine: Top Dog Again

       Career Record

       Index

       Acknowledgments

       About the Author

       Praise

       Copyright

       About the Publisher

       One I Knew I Was Going to Die

      Death came calling with terrifying suddenness on a bleak summer’s day in 2000. It happened as Ray Cochrane and I were taking off in a small plane from Newmarket racecourse on the sort of routine flight to the races that had been part of my daily schedule for the past fifteen years.

      One moment we were sitting side by side in the rear seats as our Piper Seneca bumped alarmingly along the grass runway on that wet and windy June morning. The next I knew with horrible certainty that I was about to die as our little plane, fatally damaged on take-off, struggled to reach a height of perhaps 100 feet before plunging towards Devil’s Dyke, a huge ancient bank and ditch that lies between the July track and the main course at Newmarket.

      White smoke was already streaming from a crippled engine, and there were the first signs of flickering flames as our doomed aircraft tilted crazily onto its right side, hampered from the lack of full power when we needed it most. In front of us our pilot Patrick Mackey was fighting manfully at the controls to keep us in the air long enough to avoid the dyke on our way down, but his task was impossible from the moment the right-wing engine propeller gouged into the ground just before lift-off.

      Not too many people in full health know beyond doubt that they have only a few seconds to live. Ray was icy calm as we waited for the impact that would end it all. Next to him I wasn’t so controlled.

      ‘We’re going to die mate, we’ve had it!’ I screamed.

      So many people have asked me what it was like to stare death in the face. It’s impossible to explain because it all seemed to happen so quickly. I was certain that it was all over, finished, as if somebody had pressed a button to end my life. I was also terrified that it was going to hurt like hell, but my main feeling was one of disappointment at the waste of it all, that I would never see my wife Catherine and little boy Leo again.

      The left wing tip was just about vertically above the other wing as we dived towards the bank and the ground rushed up to meet us. If we’d crashed nose first onto the dyke we would all have been killed instantly, no question—smashed to pieces like flies on a car windscreen.

      By some miracle Patrick nearly managed