Opinion

The first notes of the National Anthem blare. You stand. Then they come again. You rise, pause, look around. Then they come again. You sit.

Kentucky Oaks morning. The sun rose over the quarter pole, now it’s high in the sky, ricocheting off white tents in the infield.

Welcome to Little League. Coach pitch, Kansas City Royals, ages 6-8.

We bought a glove, baseball pants and a bat a few days before the first practice. I threw the ball for Miles, he watched it fall to the grass and then told me about Greek mythology. I picked up the ball, threw it again, he told me more about Greek mythology. I handed him the bat and threw him a pitch, he pirouetted and fell in a heap and, yes, told me more about Greek mythology.

So you want to be a horse trainer…

Jerry Hollendorfer, winner of 6,870 races, Hall of Famer, California legend saddles his horse in the paddock at Charles Town, signs autographs, poses for iPhone photos, wishes his owner luck and starts walking.

Today marks the end of a good run, an era if you will, in our household.

“Where are you going?”

Well, let’s start with where I’m not going.

I’m not going to the Atlanta Steeplechase to see Riverdee’s Yellow Mountain make his reappearance. He gets champion jockey Willie McCarthy for his third start over jumps. I’ll wait for a text. Well, let’s be more accurate, I will stare at my phone as post time nears, boring a hole into the screen waiting to hear how he runs, hoping for a safe trip. 

Fun weekend in Monkton. My Lady’s Manor, like going back in time, 3 miles over timber, they never jump the same fence twice. Mark Beecher and Connor Hankin conducting riding clinics for free. Great to see Bethany Baumgardner win her first race, a local celebration, a breath of fresh air, a twinkle in the eye of a girl who had her day.

It’s the first thing you think about in the morning. And the last thing you think about at night. Like carrying an anvil on your shoulder, it’s impossible to ignore. A black cloud of burden – heavier through the day, through the week.

We said goodbye to Steve Graham today. He was a neighbor, a friend, a husband, a father, an uncle, a brother and oh so much more. Today, a “celebration of life” filled a local fire hall and included people he touched from all corners of his life. Two weeks ago, when he was still alive, I wrote this. His wife Denise read it to him and posted it on a table at the memorial service today. She said it was OK to let everyone else read it too.

Hard week. 

My phone vibrated at 5:51 Wednesday evening. I was in the kitchen, stacking dill chips on water crackers for Miles. I looked down and saw “Rog,” on my screen. Roger Horgan, my old friend who rode races with me back in the 90’s. He never calls, but I didn’t pick up on anything when I saw his name. I slid a plate to Miles and walked into the living room, answered with ease, “Hey, Rog, what’s happening?” Then I heard his voice, it quavered, “We lost a legend today…” I slumped onto the living room couch. “I just knew how close you were to him. He liked you…”

Fourteen days ago, this was going to be my Cheltenham 14. My favorite stories, horses, personalities, degenerates I’ve met at Cheltenham over the years, one per day leading up to the Festival, I started out bullish, regaling the likes of Istabraq, Junior and Saitensohn. And then I derailed.