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Ah, the horses in training sale at Tattersalls. Long lists become short lists. Short lists become very short lists. Vet lists become no lists. Wish lists become fit lists…we begin day two. Brought one home so far, a 2-year-old son of Munnings. Yes, Munnings, in England. Hello, dirt. We shall bring more home today. In … Read more
Ouch.
Valdez fell at the second-to-last while traveling strongly in the feature chase at Chepstow Saturday. Unsure to go short or long, he and jockey Tom Bellamy clouted the fence, slid, flipped over. That’s the facts. The emotions, well, they run deeper.
Tea’s brewed. Racing Post at the doorstep and downloaded), car is ordered, passes waiting. Newmarket, Heathrow, Chepstow (just over the bridge) and back to Newmarket. My kind of day. Luca Cumani’s horses walk and graze just outside my window. My kind of town. A doorstop of a catalog for the Tattersalls Horses-in-Training Sale, mostly 3 and 4-year-old turf horses with pedigrees which would make Federico Tesio salivate. My kind of sale.
“What did you think of Far Hills?”
The question has been asked many times since Saturday. The best day of steeplechasing has come and gone. What did I think?
Time for Far Hills. The biggest day in American steeplechasing racing. Seven races worth $580,000. Talented horses. Beautiful course. Ground should be fair. Race chairman Guy Torsilieri sent a photo to me, taken from the bottom of the turn, showing the sweeping uphill finish, the amphitheatre in the cold light of day. Saturday, it will be in the searing heat of race day. Not necessarily the temperature. Torsilieri texted, “Must bring back memories.”
How about this for juxtaposition? The riding horse for visitors at Jonathan Sheppard’s barn is three years younger than the Grade 1-winning champion the visitors want to see.
Fresh off the New York State Thruway and I’m still having a tough time determining the best thing about the semi annual trek to Lexington.
Wednesday morning, I went to Lizzie Merryman’s barn at Fair Hill Training Center to check on Maryland Million runner Roadhog. I know the drill. Say hello, give him a pat on the nose, rub his ear, ask Merryman how he’s doing, get a feel for the situation and watch him train.
“If there wasn’t a horse race, I’m not sure I would have ever ridden a horse.”
I say it nonchalantly, offhandedly, at a hunt ball in a dairy barn Saturday night. Well, a converted dairy barn, yes, a hunt ball in a dairy barn…that’s another story for another day.
I’ve said it before, same style, a throw-away line to answer why I don’t go fox hunting five days a week like many of my contemporaries, here in Middleburg, Va. Having a job is part of it as well, but I like to think of it as the lack of desire rather than the burden of necessity.
The news started trickling in via racing websites and social media early Wednesday morning as I sat in the waiting area while the car got the all-important oil change and tire rotation before the trek down to Lexington.
