The Inside Rail

“Can you come on the show…?”

I would not have become a jockey without Paddy Neilson. 

Before school, my last two years of Unionville High School. Monday to Friday, one set. Eight dollars a horse, plus breakfast. Neilson’s wife, Toinette, toasted cinnamon rolls, I’d run up the steps, take a quick shower, pull on a slightly cleaner set of clothes, eat breakfast and listen to lectures and lessons from my mentors. Toinette, I had known her since she galloped and rode races for my father starting at Delaware Park in the 1970s, a great rider, a great cook, a great friend. She offered subtle points. 

I would not have become a jockey without Paddy Neilson. 

Before school, my last two years of Unionville High School. Monday to Friday, one set. Eight dollars a horse, plus breakfast. Neilson’s wife, Toinette, toasted cinnamon rolls, I’d run up the steps, take a quick shower, pull on a slightly cleaner set of clothes, eat breakfast and listen to lectures and lessons from my mentors. Toinette, I had known her since she galloped and rode races for my father starting at Delaware Park in the 1970s, a great rider, a great cook, a great friend. She offered subtle points. 

It’s 8:32 Friday night. Issue 33. Column 33.

I just drank a double espresso cold brew from High Brew Coffee. Fifty calories. 130-150 mg of caffeine.

“She was a runner.” 

That’s how Randy Romero signed a photo of Personal Ensign winning the 1988 Whitney. That was it, simple and oh so sweet. Just like the man. 

John Wayne Eastwood opened the office door and began to rant. “Hey, I can’t find the paper anywhere this morning.” Tom Law, ever the traffic cop, tempered the situation from the first chair in the office, strategically placed for situations like this (I hid in the back office). “We don’t do Wednesdays,” Law said to … Read more

It’s that time of year. The Travers has come and gone, the downward slide has begun. To celebrate our final print edition (the final four Specials will be digital only), I bring you the annual “I’ll miss. I won’t miss” column.

The first one I remember watching, really watching, was 1982. Joey and I finished watering off at the barn and drove the farm truck to the racing office at Delaware Park. There, we watched the Travers. It was the first time we had watched a race from another track at a track. We walked past shiny white trailers in the parking lot. Somebody said something about simulcast trucks, whatever that meant.

How did you get here?