I’ve always loved horses. Anyone that knows me knows that rugby and racing are my two passions.

Rugby gave me a career, while horses gave me a different kind of buzz – full of small wins and long waits.

Ownership snuck up on me the way these things do: a daft idea, a WhatsApp group, a few good mates saying, “why not?” and suddenly you’re standing by a rail with your heart in your mouth and more than a few quid on your very own racer.

It started at Exeter Chiefs. A few of us – me and Johnny Hill mainly, with a crew that included the Simmons lads, Ollie Devoto, Stu Townsend and others – went in on a horse called Cottonvale with the trainer Christian Williams.

Christian did us a proper turn, placing it on days we could actually get there, Thursdays, days-off, so we’d rock up at Newton Abbot, Exeter, or Wincanton like a little travelling circus. It wasn’t about flash; it was about seeing our horse run, being there, and learning the game together.

From there, it grew. We moved a couple on, then asked the dangerous question: what’s next? The answer was breeding.

I got a mare with Johnny and the Scudamores – Tom and Michael – proper racing folk. Tom’s yard just outside Ledbury is where the foals start their journey into racing.

We’ve had our first three-year-old getting into the circuit, and now there’s a two-year-old and a yearling to follow.

Eighteen months ago, Johnny rings from Doncaster Sales: “Just bought one. Fancy going in on it?” Classic.

Before long we’d roped in a few rugby characters, Ellis Genge among them, and christened it Carrington Lane. He’s five now, broken in by Tom, and with Nick Scholfield, who I’ve known since I was a kid, training down in Lambourne.

Nick had his first winner the other day; watching him graft his way up the ladder makes the whole thing feel full circle. We’re hoping Carrington Lane runs in the next couple of months.

People ask how hands-on I am. Truthfully? Not with the day-to-day. That’s Tom’s job, and the team’s.

We’ve had our days: huddling around one of the boys’ phones after losing the 2019 Premiership final, all of us crowded round watching one of ours finally win. A weird cocktail of hurt and joy.

We’ve had the gut-punches too – the Irish champ you didn’t see coming, the hot favourite from nowhere. Racing keeps you humble.

Maybe that’s why I love it. It stretches time. Rugby is 80 minutes of blood and thunder; horses are seasons of hope, weather, and whispers.

The old Exeter WhatsApp still pings when something new pops up. Pretty much all of us have moved on, but a horse in the right silks will bring the band back together every few months.

That’s ownership for me: mates, small margins, and a gate swinging open to possibility. When Carrington Lane goes, you’ll find me by the rail, trying to stay calm… I won’t be!

Alex’s column can be found in the December 2025 Issue of the Sportin Wales Magazine.

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