Periodic columns from our staff and the occasional guest.

Rain on the Parade

In an ideal world, it would rain every Thursday and the sun would shine every Saturday. A drum-beat rain – steady, soaking, settling, soothing. And a guitar-solo sun – just enough to keep the rhythm.

Going Racing

I wonder about the disconnect, the distance often. I wonder how it happened, why it happened. I’ve spent my life in both, actually it doesn’t feel like both, it’s one for me. Racing. Not flat racing or jump racing – just racing.

Irish War Cry delivers an answer in Wood

I know Graham Motion well enough to know when he doesn’t want to answer a question, or when he can't really conjure a 566th answer to a question he’s been asked 565 times. But I usually ask anyway.

Last Tuesday, I asked. “So why was that last race so bad?”

Time will Tell

And so it begins. The travel season. Up early this morning for a trip to Monkton to see some jumpers and flat horses train. Then to Aiken. Then to Camden. Then home. The Orange County Point-to-Point Sunday, hopefully, a showing of Two Gentlemen of Verona at the Hill School Theatre in between. At least, that’s what Miles expects. It is simply that time of year, when horses disperse and weekends are overbooked. I like it.

Worlds Apart

What a difference a week makes.

Cheltenham Festival. Piedmont Point-to-Point.

Although, looking at the overnight for our local meet, field sizes are comparable – 17, 14, 20, 19…the times have changed, the world has changed but still the interest in country sport continues. Long may it continue.

Miles and I share the Saturday couch. The Dubai World Cup plays on the big screen, Miles spinning his globe, looking for the United Arab Emirates. He found it – quickly. Hopefully, world geography will be one of the categories when he’s on Jeopardy! Presidents, Greek mythology, world geography, Shakespeare…and hopefully no Thoroughbred racing.

“It’s entertaining, I guess,” Miles says about the wallpaper of his life.

That’s the most ringing endorsement he’s ever offered.

We just watched Chad Summers win his first career race as a trainer, taking the Grade 1 Golden Shaheen at Meydan with Mind Your Biscuits. Crazy game. Summers has come a long way from when we analyzed Orb's Kentucky Derby, Chad and I soaked to the bone while sloshing through the mud below the Twin Spires. We called him Poncho after he rung out his suit in the HRRN studio at the top of Churchill Downs. A racetracker to the core, many bumps along the road, he can buy a Gore-Tex suit now. 


Goodbye Cheltenham

Homeward bound. Four days have come and gone. Defining moments. Lifetime memories. Seems like a long time ago when Mullins and Walsh were on the floor. They rallied.

Sizing John rallied, closing an open Gold Cup. Cue Card crashing out again, again at the same fence. 

Douvan has a broken pelvis. That explains that. Horses, fragile, mercurial creatures holding man’s silly dreams with every stride, every footfall.

See you in America.

Stopping by the farm

Mostly, I had time to kill. What I got was a great morning and a reminder of a few things. One, horses are cool creatures. Two, horse people work hard. And three, I need to get out of the office more often.

And snow it begins

The buzz started before the weekend was through. Snow was on the way to upstate New York, a surprising revelation to some even though we live in, ahem, upstate New York.

Bittersweet Gold Cup memories

The doors swing open with the breeze. The butter and eggs sit on the counter. The horses rustle from below and beyond thick windows. The birds wake you, different songs, but the same tunes. The dogs lounge like they were here first, the house built around them. The Racing Post is open on the table. The racing show is on the background. That’s life here. Racing life.

Plane ride

Airplanes. They used to be mean freedom. Now, they mean consequence. Well, they represent consequence. They used to mean escape. Back when I lived with my parents, back when I rented a room for $150 a month, back when I could touch everything I owned from my bed. Now, well, a plane doesn’t bring freedom, it brings dread and stress and worry and concern. I fly, but I’m not flying.