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Opinion

Back to Town

Rajiv Maragh walked out of the Saratoga jocks’ room to ride the second race on Opening Day. Jose Ortiz, last year’s leading jockey, led the way to the paddock for the New York-bred 2-year-old fillies turf maiden.

Driving On

 The trip has changed over the years. For the good and sometimes the bad. Back when I walked out of my parents’ house, Dad would feed the dog and horses, Mom would mind the mail and relay the phone messages (no cell phones), it was free, no worries, people had wings. Then when I rented a room for $150/month, that was easy as well, shut the door, all my worldly possessions were either in that room or in my car heading up the Northway. As my late great friend Jonathan Kiser once said, “I’ve got my credit card and my tack bag, I’m ready.”

Ben at Rest

As my journalism professors told me it would, a pencil saved me as I scribbled down some observations. I’m sure I still have the notebook (because I hardly ever throw those things away), but I’m not sure where it is. The notes would have been difficult to read, and would have gone something like this:

The Road Begins

On the road to Laurel Park today. Back home tonight. Pack Monday. Fair Hill Tuesday morning. Saratoga Tuesday evening. A seven-week blur about to begin. 

Three Decades

The scrap of paper, torn from one of those desk calendars you buy at Staples and jot notes on every month, passes from training log to training log every year.

Go for a run for Jake, Lee Lee, Paddy

“Every year I say I’m running in that thing. One of these years, I’m going to do it.”

Jake Chalfin heard my excuse for not taking part in the annual Chasin for Chalfin trail run, looked me in the eye and said something to the effect of “Well, if you don’t wimp out this year we’d love to have you.” Only he didn’t put it that nicely.

So I signed up.

One Time

The tree blocks my view. The squat tree in the distance, like a curtain pulled in a hurry, hiding what I want to see, what I don’t want to see. I walk, half run, my tie flies up and down, I pick up my binoculars again and see men with hands on their hips. Nothing … Read more

Racing Day

Iroquois morning.

Blacksheep just went for a swim and wrestles with a broken rocking chair. George Baker, in a towel and a dress shirt, looks over the back deck like the lord of the manor. James complains over the American coffee. Brits.