THE news of Liam Treadwell’s death – and the implied manner of it – at the age of 34 has hit the racing world hard this week.

Liam was a man who had lived his lifelong dream of winning the Grand National, and he was an extremely talented jockey, albeit one who didn’t find great self-assurance as a result of his talent, or his success. The many who knew him found his gentle humility endearing, his kindness genuine, and his friendship true.

He was one of that peculiar brotherhood of jump jockeys, those within that echelon of riders who possess the talent but lack the security of a big retainer or first-jockey status, fighting for a foothold on the slippery pole of fashion.

All are competing to survive in a job where the rewards for most do not match the commitment given, and not all of them will find enough crumbs to sustain them; competition is fierce, and jealously and resentment ought to be constantly simmering.

In truth, the closer the competition between such jockeys, the stronger the bond, and Liam Treadwell was typical of that band of brothers, riding as he did as back-up to Venetia Williams’s preferred jockeys Sam Thomas, and then Aidan Coleman.

It’s a precarious life as a second-choice rider for a medium-sized stable, or a journeyman jockey who is only as good as his last ride.

Such riders are always just one bad fall away from the scrapheap, one misjudgement away from ridicule, but also one lucky spare away from making the big time, and the prospect of getting – to paraphrase Glen Campbell – cards and letters from people you don’t even know, and offers coming over the phone.

Spotlight

Many of us live that Rhinestone Cowboy fantasy – keeping our dreams alive with a metaphorical dollar tucked in our shoe, in the hope that one day the spotlight will find us.

Liam Treadwell fulfilled that dream, picking up the ride on 100/1 outsider Mon Mome to win the 2009 Grand National only because Aidan Coleman had rejected him.

For a lad who had to graft to keep his dream of being a successful jockey alive, it was his star-spangled rodeo moment. The moment everything changed. Except, it didn’t really change.

There were a lot more interviews and lots of people knew his name, but none of them were owners and trainers offering him a retainer, or the chance to ride their Gold Cup hope.

The flip side of the dream for Liam, and others like him, is that the number and quality of the rides didn’t improve, but the expectation grew. What was once a tough but fun way of life got a little bit tougher, and a little bit less fun, with diminishing returns – slogging through the winter mud to ride just nine winners in 2011/12 represented a career nadir, and I can hear Glenn again: “I really don’t mind the rain, and a smile can hide all the pain, but you’re down when you’re ridin’ the train that’s takin’ the long way”.

Carrickboy’s 50/1 win at the Cheltenham Festival in 2013 gave him a big boost, with the next two seasons his best numerically, but a head injury sustained in a fall from Market Option at Bangor in March 2016 had repercussions on his health, both mentally and physically.

He found himself obsessing about rather than enjoying his job, and as he said in a TV interview in 2018: “when it starts getting hold of you like that, it’s time to walk away”.

Walking away is never simple, and a return to the saddle last year saw Liam forging a successful partnership with trainer Alastair Ralph, who supplied all 10 of the jockey’s wins last term. It’s hard to accept that his winning ride on 25/1 shot Little Brian at Hereford in March is to be his last.

In an era where the top riders have been all-action figures, Treadwell’s innately natural and sympathetic style was unfashionable, and his reputation as a proper horseman was not helped by the unfortunate debasement of that once complimentary term.

As well as winning the National, he finished third in the race on board the notoriously sketchy jumper Monbeg Dude, and also rode a winner of the Grand Sefton Chase over Aintree’s famous fences.

He might have gained greater success if he had changed his style to suit the prevailing wind, but if I can contradict Glenn Campbell for once, there was “no compromisin’ on the road to his horizon”.