Willie Mullins has long been a walking embodiment of Rudyard Kipling’s If: someone with the preternatural ability to treat whatever the twin impostors of triumph and disaster lob at him with a shrug, a smile and an impeccably judged word.
But everyone has a breaking point. For the legendary Irish trainer it came when little Nick Rockett, an unfancied 33-1 shot, emerged from the pack to take a 177th Grand National here that fizzed with drama and extraordinary storylines.
