The Inside Rail

It’s cold up here.

Jockeys are wearing down jackets under their silks. As for silks, I had to pull out the Mrs. Joseph P. Clancy silks I wore in pony races, wrapping them around my neck as a scarf as we walked into Woodbine Sunday. Last day of the meet, a frozen tundra. 

Motivational went for a nice gallop, lagging in last throughout the 14 furlongs of the Valedictory and passing a few horses late. He came back without taking a deep breath, looked at us like, 'Not sure why we crossed the border for that but whatever.' A complete waste of time, effort and money. I’d like to be able to find the black hole that swallows instructions from the time the horse leaves the paddock until he leaves the gate. It must be pretty full. No sense complaining, as Dad says, “It’s the game we play.”

Back to Virginia, where it’s warm.

– Disgruntled

P. S. Brent Harris says hello