Brent has come and gone. A quick but quaint visit from our friend Brent Harris as he works his way north on his annual road trip from Canada to Florida and back to Canada. A breath of fresh air in the dead of winter.
Nothing has changed in our 30-year relationship. From rooming together in a hotbox of a top-floor apartment on Circular Street in Saratoga in 1994, to Ballyhoo fishing in Barbados, to Super Bowl XXXVI, to the Chieftains at Saanger Theatre, to the Hobacks of Jackson Hole, to Alexander Keith’s deliveries, to Annie and my wedding in Birmingham, to Eagle Poise’s Valedictory at Woodbine, to his annual stops at our in Virginia farm.
Brent, longtime assistant trainer for Mike Doyle, has kept our friendship intact over the years, always calling, always checking in along the way, always being there in a foundational, resolute kind of way that only he has perfected.
We met when he was galloping horses for Holly Robinson, assistant to Hall of Fame trainer Roger Attfield, in Maryland back in the early 90’s. Soft hands, low back, tidy as a Tiffany giftbox on the likes of Adoryphar, Alywow and St. Elias. Nobody did it better. I worked for Holly a few summers later at Delaware Park. She referenced Brent one day, actually, she referenced him all day, every day. I said, “Seems like you like Brent more than me…” She turned and glared, “Of course I like Brent more than you. He’s reliable. He’s loyal. He can ride. He’s smart. He’s funny. He’s a good person…” The list went on. And on. And on. I laughed. But didn’t disagree.
He and Miles are the same height now.
Time flies. Friends last.
Sean is trying to write every day, for more from the Inside Rail, check out the blog’s main page.
