Racing: Race that sets standard for a generation still gets the pulse racing

On the morning of 3 June, 1964, I bounced into double geog. and demanded of my teacher: "I suppose you know what day it is?" Without missing a beat, Miss Grant answered scornfully: "Of course I do. It's Wednesday. And it's Derby Day. And Santa Claus will win." She was right, on all counts. OK, so I was even then a racing aficionado, and thus obviously aware of the holy significance of that particular dawn. But Miss was not, and yet she still knew, and not only knew but had formed an opinion.

On the morning of 3 June, 1964, I bounced into double geog. and demanded of my teacher: "I suppose you know what day it is?" Without missing a beat, Miss Grant answered scornfully: "Of course I do. It's Wednesday. And it's Derby Day. And Santa Claus will win." She was right, on all counts. OK, so I was even then a racing aficionado, and thus obviously aware of the holy significance of that particular dawn. But Miss was not, and yet she still knew, and not only knew but had formed an opinion.

Forty years on, it would be blinkered to pretend that the Derby remains thus in the consciousness of the wider public. And why should it? Racing itself is these days a minority sport and has been drifting that way for some time, mostly as a result of social change and shifting attitudes. A century ago, when St Amant won his Derby in a thunderstorm, football, cricket and tennis were young, golf was the preserve of strangely attired eccentrics and horses were part of the fabric of life. The Blue Riband was not only the world's greatest race but also its greatest sporting occasion.

Perhaps switching the Derby from its traditional Wednesday slot to a Saturday has helped swell the crowds on the Downs, perhaps not. The change of day coincided with an intensive marketing drive, so who knows? As it is, a pop music concert is seen to be needed to lure a throng to the infield.

Derby Day used to be special because of, not despite, its situation in the calendar. It had the day to itself; the first Wednesday in June, just as Australia has, and stops for, a contest on the first Tuesday in November. If Saturday was supposed to give bigger exposure to an event that is supposed to stand alone, why has today's race - the sport's flagship - been slotted unceremoniously into the late-afternoon half-time interval of a practice football match? The decision will be defended, though, as those running racing often seem, like the current government, impervious to criticism. If we say it is true, it must be - so the argument goes.

Circumstances within the industry, too, have contrived to erode the Epsom tradition. The American breeding revolution, the internationalisation of the sport, the plethora of valuable races later in the year have all played their part. The notion that only in the Derby could a three-year-old truly prove himself has gone. In fact, in the commercial bloodstock world that increasingly wags the racing dog, a mile and a half is considered not to be the optimum distance over which a high-class colt should display his prowess, but the outside limit.

There is a tendency to rubbish the Derby as a race of declining standards, yet in the modern era the venerable contest has produced as many champion runners as it ever has. The field size, though, has undoubtedly declined, a function of the concentration of top horses in fewer hands. And the entry system is a bollix.

Yet despite the negative factors, among the professionals the Derby is still the race valued above all. And a first win today, in the 225th renewal, for Frankie Dettori, one of the names that, like Steve Donoghue and Lester Piggott, has jumped the rails into the wider world, would be a marketing dream.

OK, so the Derby is no longer a championship, but in a way it is more exciting than that. It is the race that sets the standard for a generation. It is a beginning, not an end and the young pretender with the right to wear the crown will not be identified until his pace, balance, stamina, acceleration and resolve pass muster this afternoon. It still makes my heart beat faster. It's a shame it will no longer stop a geography class.