Newsbreak
The news – from the flat to the family.
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.
Winning at Losing
The emails arrived in my in-box about an hour apart, three days before the Kentucky Derby. One was about artificial intelligence to help handicap the race and the other was about applied sports psychology.
Rain on the Parade
In an ideal world, it would rain every Thursday and the sun would shine every Saturday. A drum-beat rain – steady, soaking, settling, soothing. And a guitar-solo sun – just enough to keep the rhythm.
Going Racing
I wonder about the disconnect, the distance often. I wonder how it happened, why it happened. I’ve spent my life in both, actually it doesn’t feel like both, it’s one for me. Racing. Not flat racing or jump racing – just racing.
Time will Tell
And so it begins. The travel season. Up early this morning for a trip to Monkton to see some jumpers and flat horses train. Then to Aiken. Then to Camden. Then home. The Orange County Point-to-Point Sunday, hopefully, a showing of Two Gentlemen of Verona at the Hill School Theatre in between. At least, that’s what Miles expects. It is simply that time of year, when horses disperse and weekends are overbooked. I like it.
Worlds Apart
What a difference a week makes. Cheltenham Festival. Piedmont Point-to-Point. Although, looking at the overnight for our local meet, field sizes are comparable – 17, 14, 20, 19…the times have changed, the world has changed but still the interest in country sport continues. Long may it continue. Miles and I share the Saturday couch. The Dubai … Read more
Goodbye Cheltenham
Homeward bound. Four days have come and gone. Defining moments. Lifetime memories. Seems like a long time ago when Mullins and Walsh were on the floor. They rallied. Sizing John rallied, closing an open Gold Cup. Cue Card crashing out again, again at the same fence. Douvan has a broken pelvis. That explains that. Horses, … Read more
Bittersweet Gold Cup memories
The doors swing open with the breeze. The butter and eggs sit on the counter. The horses rustle from below and beyond thick windows. The birds wake you, different songs, but the same tunes. The dogs lounge like they were here first, the house built around them. The Racing Post is open on the table. The racing show is on the background. That’s life here. Racing life.
