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Sean Clancy 52 degrees and showers.
Steady rain this morning. Dictina’s Boy and Border Agent huddle near the front gate, wet, heads down, ears back. Kissin Conquest and Eagle Poise huddle near the back gate, wet, heads down, ears back. Dry, pristine sheds stand on the other sides of both fields, untouched. Perhaps, I’ll convert them to something else…office, chicken coop, cabana bar.
I’ve begun to read Kim Bailey’s blog most mornings. The British trainer offers updates on his horses, changes in handicap marks, a few comments, thoughts, observations, photos and a joke. Oh, and the lede, he’s mastered this, leading with the weather every day. Now, in journalism school (if I actually went…), the professors always said the weather is not your lede. Well, times change.
I read once that writing is 10 percent talent and 90 percent not getting distracted by the Internet. Or something like that. There are mornings when I wonder what happened to my morning. Some flitter away, distracted by the Internet.
I got distracted this morning, thinking and Googling Jeff Lukas.
Lukas died last week. Before my time as a journalist, Jeff worked for his dad, Hall of Fame trainer, D. Wayne Lukas. I know all his other assistants – Dallas, Pletcher, Hennig, Kiaran – and know that Jeff Lukas was right there with them. A horse trainer. Simply a horse trainer.
Counting down the days. In 18 days, Many Clouds will try to become the first back-to-back winner of the Crabbie’s Grand National since Red Rum in 1974.
A maximum of 40 runners can line up for the 169th running of the world’s most famous jump race Saturday, April 9.
Gold Cup Day.
By this time, most years, I have an empty pocket and a full heart. This year, it’s a little bit of both. Just a little bit, though. My friends keep sending me photos and videos of Cheltenham, I can almost taste the Guinness, almost sense the moment when Sprinter Sacre rolled down the hill, almost feel the Racing Post flutter out of my hand when Thistlecrack ran past. Almost.
This from my friend George Baker, who serves as my eyes – the words – from Cheltenham this year. So good.
Last year, I wrote…
Sprinter Sacre turned right, veins bulging, blowing, beaten. Sire De Grugy walked straight, tired but typical, then he turned left. Dodging Bullets walked straight. Then stopped.
“The place was silent as she came to the last…”
That’s how Gary Murray described Tuesday at Cheltenham, when Annie Power and Ruby Walsh turned for home with the Stan James Champion Hurdle at her mercy. Last year, she turned for home with the OLBG Mares Hurdle at her mercy, then launched when she should have staunched. This time, she launched again, long and strong, landed running and earned redemption.
Well, this is a little different. Since 2002, we’ve filed Cheltenham reports from the trenches – flags flying, grenades landing, shrapnel, a lot of shrapnel.
I broke my neck.
Well, that sounds cooler than saying I’ve got an “acutely herniated C6-C7” disc in my neck.
Acupuncture, massage, two methylprednisone dose packs, corticosteroid injection, chiropractor, rest – nothing. Doctor’s visits, X-rays, MRI, CT scan – at least a diagnosis.
“See that there, it’s either bone or disc lying on your nerve,” Dr. Rush Fisher said as I squinted at what looked like a black jellybean in a cloud of smoke on a computer screen. “That’s what’s causing your pain.”
“How did it happen?” I asked.
