Well okay then, some of those statistics are made up, but here are some more real ones. Last year at the Galway festival twenty four races began from starting stalls.

Over three hundred excitable beasts were loaded, often reluctantly, into a strange and unfamiliar narrow space.

Twenty one of those races began exactly on time, and the delay on the other three was insignificant.

If this sounds run of the mill or unimpressive, then the next time you are in a shopping centre take a closer look when some poor sleep deprived parent tries to coax a reluctant two-year-old into a pram that the wee brat has decided not to enter. Watch as passive resistance tactics such as wriggling, twisting, bending and grabbing give way to an ear-splitting yelp and ultimately to unrestrained, vindictive violence.

This is what John Jeffers and his team of starting stalls handlers do for a living. Their skill and perseverance will be a critical element in the success of this week's meeting at Ballybritt. The difference of course is that the dangerous young animals they deal with are hundreds of times heavier and a few thousand times thicker than their human counterparts. Happily for Jeffers and his emerald-shirted band of brothers, the horses are generally more compliant or there could be a lot more souls missing in action next week than those lost to the beer and whiskey.

It's a dangerous job and the stalls handlers are in many ways the unsung heroes of this and every other week of flat racing, small figures in the distance that shove and push behind the stalls while you anxiously await the fate of your hard-earned cash.

Employed by Horse Racing Ireland, there is a standing pool of twenty two handlers that support all race meetings on the island from the beginning of the flat season in March until the chilly finale in November. Most have other jobs in the racing or farming industries to keep things ticking over during the winter months, although next year the season will be expanded to twelve months when the new all-weather track opens in Dundalk. "I suppose it's dangerous enough but you have to remember that everybody on the team is first and foremost an expert horseman. The trick is to get in close to the horses so they can't get at you. A bit like a boxer does, " says Jeffers.

He is speaking after the seamless and timely dispatch of another race at Naas last Wednesday night. It's a relatively handy meeting, the stalls are permanent and don't have to be muscled on and off a lorry and there are only four flat races with small fields. "We get paid by the day, so our ideal night is two flat races with two runners in each of them." Galway will be a long way from this ideal.

Despite a studied nonchalance between races regarding the risks of the job, as soon as the horses arrive for the next event the game faces re-appear and a cohesive ecosystem kicks in between starter, jockey and stall handler. It is an intuitive camaraderie and mutual dependency based on an understanding of what needs to happen and how it should be done.

Each of the stalls handlers has one of three clearly defined roles - pushing, leading and jumping. The 'pushers' are the prop forwards of the team, chosen for their bulk as well as for their obvious beauty. The 'leaders' need a bit more agility and speed.

Their job is to guide the horse into the stall and then get out the other side as if the hounds of hell were snapping at their heels. The 'jumpers' job is to be ready to leap up into the stalls and grab the head of any horse that is misbehaving and likely to be a danger to the jockey or himself.

The only player unaware of their part in the choreography is the horse itself.

Before the start of the third race on Wednesday, Conclave, a two year old on his first trip to the races, decides that the stalls are not quite to his liking and barnacles himself to the turf. Before he even considers any further mischief he is surrounded by what looks like an army of green ants converging on a dropped crumb and heaved, cursed and lifted into his stall.

Whether he likes it or not.

"Our job is easy or hard depending on the horses, " according to Jeffers . He ponders the question as to why the loading process in Ireland seems to be much more controlled and efficient than that in Britain. "I put a lot of it down to the certification system. Over here a horse must be certified for the stalls before he races, in England they only get certified if they refuse to go in at the course."

He has the slightly modest look of a man who is thinking there might be more to it than that, but would rather not say.

One of his colleagues helps him out. "We're much better.

In England if you don't go in, the horse can be suspended.

So sometimes they bring them over here if they have refused a couple of times. We had one of them at Leopardstown and we got him to walk in like a baby." Jeffers elaborates. "We just have to make sure we do three things right.

Get them in fast, get them in quiet and get them in safe.

Safety for the jockeys, the lads and the horses is the most important thing of all."

Despite this, it would be a rare season that did not include a few broken bones or bruised limbs.

The atmosphere and buzz of the big festival meetings like Galway and Listowel are eagerly anticipated by the team, but there are still some concerns. Jeffers admits to getting "a bit stressed" through the week as the meeting is now so big and under such scrutiny that the need for perfection is huge. Matt Whyte, who drives the mobile stalls around the country and who doubles up as the 'jumper' at Naas, calls it the 'Big Brother' factor. "With all the cameras around you are always being watched. If something goes wrong it'll be there for all to see and will be shown again and again." With the explosion in satellite racing coverage has come the 'steady cam' . . . effectively a man with a camera strapped to his body prowling around at the start transmitting all the sights . . .

and sounds . . . to millions of TV viewers. "We have to mind our language now, " Jeffers explains, sounding a bit regretful, "all we can say to the horse these days is 'excuse me sir, can I trouble you to enter the stalls when you are ready, please'." A glint in the eye suggests that this one may be a teeny-weeny little white lie.

The teams of stalls handlers are contractually forbidden to gamble while they are working, so even if they are tempted to act on something they hear down at the gate they know they shouldn't. John Jeffers has no difficulty with this rule. "Sure jockeys are the worst tipsters in the world. If you were to listen to them you'd go broke working." So with no gambling allowed at Galway will the team find any other ways to amuse themselves and pass the time during the long lonely week?

"Jesus, we wouldn't be in to any of that other stuff. We bring our own Minister with us to take care of our spiritual needs. We like to get to bed early so that we can be fresh for work the next day."

Another glint. Another possible teeny-weeny little white lie.