Opinion

It has been said many times. A statement that turned into a cliché, it’s usually uttered by a jockey trying to balance doubt in his horse and confidence in himself. “He’ll either win or he’ll fall.”

Rarely is this sentiment actually the truth.

And then it was. At the very top of the game.

Off to England. Sandown in the morning, easy day Sunday, Stratford or Taunton Monday, Cheltenham for four roiling days, then a day’s hunting and home for Sunday dinner. Daunting but delicious. I found this in my archives, from a few years back, I don’t think I can do better.

Most of it’s still pertinent, although we did have a runner last year when Valdez finished fifth in the Arkle. No runners this year. Plotting and planning for next year. I’ll send daily reports once I get there and hopefully continue with my Cheltenham Top 14, which was completely derailed by a trip to Florida and the numbing news about our hero Allen Jerkens, who is still in our thoughts and prayers. 

Here goes. 

I typed the words.

“Where the hell is everybody?”

Then I paused, walked around in circles and stared into the abyss of standing water below Allen Jerkens’ barn at Gulfstream Park. It didn’t feel right.

“Did you read this?”

“What?”

“In the Racing Post. It says an unidentified American owner has purchased a German horse. Sait. En. Sohn. It says the three-time hurdle winner will be transferred to Jonjo O’Neill and be pointed at the SunAlliance at Cheltenham…”

My heart skipped. It doesn’t happen too often and I remember every time it has…Annie Kontos in 1990…first Steeplechase Times in 1994…Good Night Shirt in 2004… and a few others I probably shouldn’t mention.

It skipped at Cheltenham March 13, 2007.

With 14 days before the opening roar of the opening day of Cheltenham, I bring you my Festival Fourteen. A countdown to the big day – recaps rather than previews. Not necessarily the best performers or performances since I started going to Cheltenham in 2002, but the ones who left an indelible mark – the ones who changed my day, my mood, my wallet, or my life.

Number 14. Istabraq. 2002.

February’s version of spring came and went here in Saratoga Springs Sunday afternoon, as temperatures finally crept above freezing, people took to the sidewalks and driveways in lighter coats and bright sunshine melted away some of the ice caked inches thick after weeks of accumulation.

Horse racing failed Change Of Command. Not because of drugs or racing surfaces or battery-powered buzzers or any other nefarious scheme on the list of the sport’s problems.

I go to a lot of meetings these days. I guess it’s adulthood, when life becomes an array of community causes and conference calls, charities and challenges. I figure when you critique and criticize – especially in print – then it’s your duty to serve. Right? Please, say right.

“My mind was stronger than their sticks were.”

– Bob Simon