Final Turn : final turn

An Incredible Journey - By Jim Williams

Blood-Horse Staff — Tue, 24 Nov 2009 18:19:00 GMT

On the eve of retirement, it hardly seems possible that it’s been 38 years since Ted Bassett welcomed me to Keeneland as the company’s director of publicity. I’ll never forget the first day on the job and Bassett saying, “It’s always ‘we,’ never ‘I,’ ” indicating this would be a team effort. That was the beginning of an incredible journey, providing me with memories of phenomenal people, great horses, historic events, and unbelievable changes.

What a treasured experience to work under the direction of Ted Bassett and next to Bill Greely, Stan Jones, and Rogers Beasley in the early years as Keeneland emerged as a world leader in racing and sales. You always could be assured that Bassett’s stern reprimand would be followed a few days later by a timely compliment. I can’t fail to mention Nick Nicholson, Harvie Wilkinson, Jessica Green, Geoffrey Russell, and G.D. Hieronymus, all of whom have brought innovation to Keeneland in recent years.

To an upstart like me during the 1970s, auctioneer George Swinebroad was a bigger-than-life character who bragged that he “hired, fired, and kicked a _ _ so that I have the best auctioneering team in the world.” That excellence continues today. Then, there were longtime track superintendent Hobert Burton—an artist on the racetrack—and racing secretary Howard Battle, a racetrack-wise man of intellect who always was ready to challenge the status quo.

Publicizing Keeneland never was difficult because of the continuing parade of outstanding horses that competed on the racetrack or passed through the auction ring. Foremost was Spectacular Bid. Purchased for $37,000 in September 1977, he returned two years later to win the Blue Grass Stakes (gr. I) en route to victories in the Kentucky Derby (gr. I) and Preakness (gr. I) and multiple championships. I had the good fortune to witness other outstanding performances, including Alydar’s 13-length gallop in the 1978 Blue Grass, Skip Away’s stakes-record-setting performance in the race 18 years later, and Bayakoa’s 11 1/2-length score in the 1989 Spinster (gr. I), her first of two straight wins in the race. The list of great horses that raced at Keeneland only begins there.

While I wish I could say I remember seeing each of them go through the ring, many outstanding runners and sires graduated from the sales during my stay, including Alleged, Alysheba, A.P. Indy, Curlin, Nureyev, Serena’s Song, Storm Bird, Sunday Silence, Winning Colors, and Zenyatta. And, that’s not to mention the many prominent broodmares sold by Keeneland or the historic dispersals held here.

It’s been my good fortune to take part in many important events at Keeneland. Greely and I were dispatched to the British Embassy in Washington so we could instruct the Keeneland staff on proper etiquette for Queen Elizabeth II’s historic visit in 1984. Who could forget the scene in April 1978 when the aging Admiral and Mrs. Gene Markey stepped out of the Keeneland station wagon long enough to watch Alydar romp to victory in the Blue Grass? And, there were so many historic moments in the sales pavilion—the first $1-million sale in 1976, the world-record $13.1 million paid for Seattle Dancer in 1985, the $10.5 million paid for broodmare Playful Act in 2007, not to mention the bidding wars between Sheikh Mohammed and first Robert Sangster and then John Magnier. The annual distribution of charitable funds to the community always was a much anticipated occasion.

So special at Keeneland were the mornings and the opportunities to interact with such legendary trainers as Wayne Lukas, Mack Miller, Carl Nafzger, Shug McGaughey, Tony Basile, Rusty Arnold, Woody Stephens, and such unforgettable characters as cigar-chomping Joe Bollero, the ebullient Doug Davis Jr., and a special friend, Chuck Werstler, an ageless fedora atop his head and his dog, Hank, at his feet. I’ve always been fascinated by jockeys like Don Brumfield, Pat Day, and Jerry Bailey, who displayed the same tenacity on the golf course that he did on the racetrack.

And, there has been change. Keeneland was one of the first tracks in North America to adopt a system that allowed bettors to buy and cash tickets in any amount and type at any window. Who could have imagined that we would communicate our signal around the world via satellite and more than 80% of wagering dollars would come from off track? Or that Keeneland would install a racing surface containing carpet fibers, jelly cable, rubber particles—all mixed with sand and wax.

I’ll forever cherish the opportunity to work for the Thoroughbred industry leader that is Keeneland. These past 38 years have been a phenomenal experience beyond description.

Jim Williams, Keeneland’s director of communications for 38 years, retires Dec. 31.

More Than Horses - By Lenny Shulman

Blood-Horse Staff — Tue, 17 Nov 2009 17:42:00 GMT

Bobby Frankel was not for everybody. I was crazy about him.

Just months ago a writer for this magazine begged off a story because it entailed calling him. I knew the feeling. One of my first assignments here was calling Bobby after his brilliant trainee Mazel Trick suffered a career-ending injury. His reputation as a man-eater was widespread, and I figured my career might just end before it began. My heart was beating through my chest when I made the call. He picked up right away, gave me a straight-forward description of what happened, and away we went.

There was no better oasis on the backstretch—be it Hollywood Park, Saratoga, Belmont Park, or Churchill Downs—than Frankel’s barn. He was the smartest guy at his job, and whoever completed that exacta was 31 lengths behind. If you wanted to learn something about this game, you dutifully took a seat in his office and watched him handicap a race or fill out a training chart or pour over speed figures or listened to him explain the idiosyncracies of a racetrack or tell a jock’s agent why he’d better go look for another client. If you couldn’t stand a regular barrage of f-bombs or his questioning of why this or that wasn’t done better, you went somewhere else. But you weren’t better served in doing so.

That was the thing about Frankel—a dumb question or badly-timed comment could set him off. Whereas others are inclined to gloss over anything and move on, Frankel could intimidate. But if you made it past that and showed you had something to give back, the rewards were astounding. Each spring he would lead me out of his office at Hollywood Park and walk me through his barn, which was akin to touring the Major League Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, N.Y.

A star peered out from every stall. “This is so-and-so; he’s gonna run in a stakes here next week,” Frankel would say. “This one is going to win the Test at Saratoga; this one’s gonna win the Arlington Million.” Up and down we went. As Muhammad Ali said, “It ain’t braggin’ if you do it.”

As with anyone successful in the training profession, many accused him—none to his face—of taking an edge outside the rulebook. To that I must admit I just don’t know. But go ahead and try gaining the access described above to the shedrow of any other nationwide super-trainer working today. And good luck to you.

It was more than just horses with Frankel. He loved talking politics, and during presidential campaigns he devoured the nightly cable news shows, constantly in wonderment at the foibles of those with whom he disagreed. He delved into human nature, fascinated with the reasons why people thought the way they did. He relished the diversion, after decades of devoting himself to horses, of being able to exercise his brain and expound on his opinions of other things.

And it helped him to relax. On the day Medaglia d’Oro would contest the Preakness (gr. I), Steve Haskin and I sat on bales of hay in Frankel’s barn outside the horse’s stall—and talked about New York delicatessen food non-stop for hours. A Sports Illustrated reporter happened by in midstream hoping to get a story on the horse and stood there for an hour in amazement, unable to break through the debate of knishes versus blintzes or who had the best pastrami sandwich in the city. No opinions would be changed here, certainly not Frankel’s, whose parents made their living as caterers back in Brooklyn. We were all stunned when the announcement came to bring the Preakness horses out to be saddled, the afternoon having melted away in playful banter that served all of us well,

If Frankel chose not to share that side of him with everyone, well, those of us who are private by nature will understand, and those that aren’t, won’t. He died the way he lived—privately and with dignity.

And he loved his animals—his horses and his dogs. He refused to travel from California to Monmouth Park two years ago to watch Ginger Punch win the Emirates Airline Breeders’ Cup Distaff (gr. I) because one of his dogs was dying, and he wouldn’t leave her. It must have broken his heart to leave them now.

Bobby Frankel wasn’t for everybody. I was crazy about him.

Lenny Shulman is the features editor for The Blood-Horse

A Dig At Dirt - By Mark Popham

Blood-Horse Staff — Tue, 10 Nov 2009 21:05:00 GMT

The best European result, six wins at the 2009 Breeders’ Cup, means euphoria? Not necessarily so.

Santa Anita, with its Pro-Ride synthetic surface, may have evened things up between the Europeans and North Americans—five wins to the transatlantic invaders in 2008 and a record six out of 14 this year, and that was without Coolmore and Godolphin being at their most effective.

But reverting to dirt in 2010 at Churchill Downs and the likelihood of the same at Belmont Park in 2011 is a distinct turn-off.

While turf has always been no problem—except in cases of excessive heat and humidity—dirt is now the big no-no of world racing.

Even Dubai in 2010 will have switched to Tapeta over dirt at the new Meydan, yet many of the major racetracks in the United States have failed to change their traditional surface to an artificial one, which is both safer and more widely accepted worldwide.

The refusal to face up to global trends threatens to leave American racing, still uniquely also heavily dependent on medication, even more isolated than it has been previously.

Despite the Breeders’ Cup’s inability to provide free entry and hospitality to overseas contenders—unlike Dubai, Hong Kong and Singapore—European raiders have flocked to the Breeders’ Cup, with 31 last year and 30 in 2009.

This is because American horses were seen as providing the best opposition, and the Breeders’ Cup therefore lived up to its title of World Championships.

But a World Championships on dirt is a non sequitur. Artificial surfaces, which have provided training for some 30 years in Europe, recently celebrated their 20th anniversary of racing in Britain and have spread to France, Ireland, and beyond.

There are no dirt surfaces in countries with quality racing outside of America and the adherents of such tracks—be they breeders, owners, trainers or racetracks—may have to suffer temporary economic upset if a change is made, but they would be much better off in the long term.

While California has changed to artificial surfaces through mandate, other jurisdictions, most notably Keeneland, have also chosen to do so.

It is time that such iconic venues as Churchill Downs and Belmont Park faced up to their responsibilities to the racing public and the sport in general and take the only possible way forward.

No matter how many diehards there are, those in charge have a duty that transcends narrow mindsets and temporary economic hardship to provide racing surfaces that will both
satisfy public opinion and give horses safer racing.

High levels of fatalities are grist to the mill of increasing vocal animal activists, and artificial surfaces are much safer in this regard.

For this reason alone they should be adopted, but the other big argument in their favor is worldwide acceptance.

Santa Anita hosted the Breeders’ Cup three years prior to 2008 on dirt—in 1986, 1993, and 2003—and the European winning tallies respectively were one, one, and three. The 2003 victories of Six Perfections, High Chaparral, and Islington were all achieved on turf.

This year two of the six wins—Man of Iron (Marathon) and Vale of York (grade I Juvenile)—came on the Pro-Ride surface, with strong contenders from Europe in virtually all the other races on the artificial surface.

The Classic (gr. I) would not have been such a good race without Rip Van Winkle and Twice Over, while the same applied to the Dirt Mile (gr. I) in which European runner Mastercraftsman was sent off as the favorite.

I fear we will see a depleted challenge from Europe in the next two years if the main surface is dirt, with the principal challenges being restricted to the turf races, which have provided the great majority of European victories at the Breeders’ Cup.

Both American and European racing will be poorer for that.

Hopefully, Breeders’ Cup officials will insist the World Championships beyond 2012 are run on an artificial surface or else the title will become meaningless.

European horses have been as good as American horses for years, if not better, but dirt is not a level playing field, whereas Pro-Ride, Polytrack, and Tapeta nearly are.

Mark Popham is the European correspondent for The Blood-Horse.

Still Got Game - By Richard Zwirn

Blood-Horse Staff — Wed, 28 Oct 2009 17:44:00 GMT

Most assert that it’s not fun to get old. Infirmities plague the body, friends fade away, hair too. Stomachs droop, children grow up and move away, while wrinkles appear and some memories disappear.

The two best anti-aging remedies I’ve been fortunate enough to find are running and breeding Thoroughbreds on our small upstate New York farm. Each provides opportunities to remain active and motivated. In order to stave off any potential mid-life crisis and keep my aging in perspective, I decided to run a marathon for my 50th birthday. It was not easy “turning back the clock.” Training consisted of long runs, intervals, and hill repeats for the three months preceding the big event. My legs labored, hamstrings stung, lungs burned…dogs chased, deerflies bit, and heaps of laundry accumulated. I loved every wonderful, horrible minute of it.

On race day I felt invigorated in testing my limits and showed more grit than gift in finishing. I took more of a beating than my 401k but felt satisfaction in the effort and result. Throughout training and the 26.2-mile race itself, I had a great many opportunities to ponder not only my mid-life status, but also racehorses. Specifically, the aging ones.

I have always been a fan of the inspiring “old warhorses” in the sport like Round Table, Kelso, Forego, John Henry, Evening Attire, Better Talk Now, The Tin Man, and others…the grizzled veterans who have faced the starter on 50 or so occasions over a five- or six-year career and have demonstrated not only ability and durability, but mental toughness. These horses love the game. They are happiest at play, and running provides this outlet. There is something left—unfinished—for them to do.

A 9-year-old gelding we bred is still running and winning at Finger Lakes racetrack. This wise elder may lack the speed and strength of his younger counterparts but concedes nothing in terms of enthusiasm and tenacity, regardless of his seniority. This horse thrives while at the track and loves when those gates “clang” open. His handlers will know when it’s the right time for him to greet the starter for the last time…it’ll be when he is glum during the post parade, sour at the barn, discouraged in the test barn, and “hurting” while racing. But for now, he seems as goofy, playful, and competitive as he did when we prepped him as a yearling.

So, let’s not be too eager to rid ourselves of an old runner. In fact, the horse racing community might want to consider showcasing some of these honest, trusted heroes to the public in a Master’s Circuit series—just like there are in human track and field circuits. Examples of races for “Old Timers Day” features might include:

• The Breeders’ Cup Masters Mile (6-year-olds and up)

• The Geezer Gallop (8-year-olds and up)

• The Triple “Sevens” Crown (7 and up–seven furlongs, one mile and 70yds., 1 7/16 miles)

Age does, indeed, diminish performance; therefore, these gallant athletes should no longer always have to compete with the likes of those 3- and 4-year-olds who are in their prime. The greatest competitors in any athletic endeavor have to come to terms with the reality that while the mind is still keen to push as hard as ever, the body is reluctant to respond.

Training regimens certainly need to be tailored (less intensity, moderate mileage, more variety) to meet the changing needs of this equine demographic. The temptation exists to do too much with a horse that’s “long in the tooth.” That is why careful management is so important. Proper diet and rest, massage, and icing/cold water therapy are all potentially valuable conditioning components—as I recently learned.

But the older racehorse also surely enjoys sporadic breaks from training, as it allows for rolling in the sand, plucking alfalfa from mother earth, and gazing at the moonlit distant hills. Easing up in life might be necessary for all, but being put “out to pasture” too soon is not always easy. This is especially true for the steeds that still have a “fire in the belly.”

Let them run…but let’s try to allow for opportunities to compete against their peers. It will help them, as it has helped me, from “feeling our age.”

For future birthdays, however, I think I’ll stick with doing less mileage and more cake.

Richard Zwirn completed his birthday marathon in 3:15…not bad for an old plodder

Queen For A Day - By Mary-Ellen Donovan

Blood-Horse Staff — Tue, 29 Sep 2009 17:25:00 GMT

The stableman whistled. In the pasture below, three horses raised their heads from the lush grass. As they trotted up the tree-lined hill, a long-legged dark bay loped past the others, relentlessly building speed like he did so often in the 1960s on “Race of the Week.” The crowd would erupt as Fred Capposella unleashed his raspy growl, “It’s Kelso, mighty Kelso circling the field…” Arcaro, Shoemaker, or Valenzuela hunched over his neck—lost in a rippling black mane, sweeping to the wire.

Like most other kids, I was in love with horses, especially Thoroughbreds. Family vacations often took us through the Bluegrass. A visit to Man o’ War’s grave at Faraway Farm is etched in memory. In 1964 we all watched Northern Dancer’s quest for the Triple Crown. Despite falling short in the Belmont, his global impact as a sire of sires continues to enhance the breed.

That same year the folks gave in. After building a barn, we found the perfect “backyard horse” and my dreams came true. Recently, we bid farewell to her last offspring.

Thankfully, my husband, Tom, loves horses, too. Mid-September 1983 found us in Wilmington, Del., visiting Tom’s family. There was no Internet then, so it was difficult to locate racing’s retired greats. I’d read, however, that Kelso had retired to Allaire du Pont’s Woodstock Farm in Chesapeake City, Md., and Carl Hanford, his trainer, lived in Wilmington.

Leafing through our Holiday Inn room phone book, common sense told me I was on a fool’s errand. Hanford’s number was probably unlisted. About to give up, his name appeared under my index finger. He answered on the second ring, graciously offered to call Woodstock, provided excellent directions, and, yes, told us to bring apples, carrots, and our camera. After a quick trip to the store, we were on our way.

Leaning on the fence, in awe as my favorite pulled up several yards away, I rattled the bag of carrots and apples. Kelso plunged toward me, warding off his pasture mates. Then, head tucked in my arms, this fierce competitor with the gentle nature gobbled his treats as Tom snapped photo after photo. Before we left, I was surprised when the stableman suggested we see Northern Dancer across the road at Windfields. Not aware he’d been moved from Canada, we couldn’t pass THIS up! Entering the barn, we saw a couple conversing with an older lady at the end of the aisle.

Suddenly, our attention was diverted by a bellowing neigh from the middle stall on the right. A groom strolled toward us, grinned, and said, “Folks, meet the boss!”

The glistening bay ‘King of Windfields’ reared in profile, silky black mane fanning over his neck. Eyes ablaze, he landed gracefully and tossed his head. Pushing his nose against the bars above his doorplate, he snorted. Etched under his name was a decades-long list of years he’d reigned as top stakes-winning sire. To our amazement, the groom offered to bring him out.

Opening the stall door, halter in hand, he invited us closer. Northern Dancer eagerly shoved his white-tipped muzzle through the noseband. As the stableman attached the lead shank, I recounted how Hanford kindly arranged for us to see Kelso and Woodstock. I was astonished when he nodded to the left and replied, “The lady with those people looking at Halo is Mrs. du Pont. We’re good neighbors.”

The trio at the end of the aisle stood back in quiet homage as Northern Dancer pranced past us. Mrs. du Pont nodded and smiled. Less than an hour ago, Kelso had honored us, and now, Northern Dancer. Emboldened in the moment, I addressed racing royalty, “Mrs. du Pont, we were thrilled to see your wonderful Kelso earlier. Your staff were very kind.”

“Thank you, dear,” she smiled back, “I’m sure he enjoyed your visit.”

Walking on air, we were escorted to a paddock behind the barn where Northern Dancer struck pose after pose as we patted his shoulder.

Today, industry Web sites provide global links to farms, tracks, and retired favorites. We’ve met other “greats” since that sparkling autumn day in ’83. Yet, nothing has changed. The unselfish, hard-working human and equine stars of the Sport of Kings still treat fans like kings.

Mary-Ellen Donovan, who resides in Lancaster, Ohio, has recently completed a mystery-thriller surrounding the Breeders’ Cup Classic.

Redemption - By Joe Hickey

Blood-Horse Staff — Tue, 22 Sep 2009 18:01:00 GMT

In 1975, while assaying potential Keeneland July sales purchases with my esteemed employer, E.P. Taylor asked me for my grading of Buckland Farm’s Northern Dancer—Sea Saga yearling filly. After reviewing my notes, I concluded—in rather contradictory terms—“She measures up, sir, but small enough to walk under a garden trellis.”

“Good!” the great visionary breeder explained. “Just goes to prove she’s a Northern Dancer.”

Mr. Taylor bought Tom Evans’ watch fob filly for $260,000. Named Northern Sea, she won a division of the Test (gr. III) at Saratoga, two other stakes, and produced the prolific shuttle stallion Southern Halo, sire of more than 160 stakes winners in South and North America.

I was reminded of that 1975 appraisal while nominating Windfields Farm’s candidates for the 1982 Keeneland July sale. This time my concern was for a small, backward, and timid filly that needed a good friend and lots of time. She, too, came by her petite size naturally as she was by Northern Dancer, compounded by her May 29 foaling date. She had her daddy’s hocks, too. On the plus side, she was out of Pacific Princess, a multiple stakes-winning daughter of Damascus whom Roger Laurin saddled to win the 1976 Delaware Oaks (gr. I). She (and Windfields) would have been much better served selling later at Woodbine in September, but being Maryland-bred, she was not eligible. So, she tagged along to Lexington.

Originally, there were 14 yearlings in the consignment. One filly, on being stall-cast, was scratched; a second was RNA’d. For promise fulfilled, the remaining 12 yearlings composed one of the most gifted consignments to pass through the auction ring in living memory. Take a look:

Devil’s Bag (c., Halo—Ballade, $325,000, Hickory Tree Farm). Brilliant Eclipse champion at 2. Syndicated for $36 million at 3. Prominent sire.
Secreto (c., Northern Dancer—Betty’s Secret, $340,000, Luigi Miglietti). Ever Ready Epsom Derby (Eng-I). Half-interest sold to Calumet Farm for $20 million.
Love Smitten (f., Key to the Mint—Square Angel, $225,000, J.K. Rafsky). Multiple graded stakes winner. Re-sold in training for $2.6 million. Dam of 3 stakes winners, including Swain ($3,797,566).
South Sea Dancer (f., Northern Dancer—South Ocean, $1.8 million, William S. Farish). Commanded short-lived world-record price for a yearling filly. Stakes-placed, she produced foals that sold exceptionally well for Lane’s End, and included the multiple stakes winner Signal Tap.
Other stakes winners from Windfields’ Keeneland Class of ’82 were Born a Lady, a half-sister to Northern Dancer who became a revered member of Betty Moran’s Brushwood Stable broodmare band; Mike Rutherford’s Dance Flower; and Dogwood’s Nagurski, a graded stakes winner in the U.S. who was sold to Japan as a stallion prospect for $1 million. The Nijinsky horse made a name for himself as the sire of Hokuto Vega, who for a time reigned as the world’s leading money-winning female with earnings of $8,300,301.

As for the tiny Pacific Princess filly, she was purchased for $200,000 by J. McNaught and shipped abroad. The following May owner Peter G. Goulandris wrote from London to report the filly, now named Pacificus, was in training with P.T. Walwyn at Lambourn.

“I am pleased to say she has grown a little and thickened out. Her curved hocks are not bothering her at all,” he wrote, adding, “Mr. Walwyn is satisfied with her progress…but she will take time.”

As far as I could tell, she went on to win a couple of races and simply dropped off the radar screen.

Decades passed. Hair turned gray; eyesight dimmed.

Several weeks ago, fed up with the Baltimore Orioles’ relentless pursuit of ignominy, I zapped the remote and picked up the 2007 Racing Almanac, a Guinness-like compendium of I-didn’t-know-that facts and figures that I tend to binge on.

There, on page 827, in a section titled “Leading Broodmares by Progeny Earnings,” I found my little Maryland-bred friend. Pacificus, now pearl of the Orient, is credited with progeny earnings of a whopping $18,135,348. Her first two foals in Japan, Biwa Hayahide (by Sharrood) and Triple Crown winner Narita Brian (by Brian’s Time), were back-to-back Horses of the Year in 1993-94. Between them they won $16,852,032.

All Pacificus needed was time. Lots of time.

Let's Move Forward - By Graeme Beaton

Blood-Horse Staff — Wed, 09 Sep 2009 19:29:00 GMT

I was training a weanling filly the other day and was struck by how she had shaped herself into a metaphor for racing. She will go sideways and backward, but, stubbornly to the point of frustration, never forward.

This metaphor has come to mind often since it hit me between the ears. Everywhere one looks, it seems, we are struck by wrong-headedness, arrogance even, as we thumb our noses at the rest of the world. “We know what we are doing. We have a better way,” we seem to be saying, even while our racing industry appears to be declining faster than just about any other country’s.

The rejection of a ban on race-day furosemide (Salix) in this country is but one example. We are the only major racing jurisdiction in the world to allow it, if you count Canada as part or “our” circuit. Why is that?

Yes, it stops bleeding in somewhere between 20% and 80% of horses racing in this country, the experts tell us. If that is so, why aren’t 20% to 80% of foreign runners “ruled off” for bleeding? The answer appears to be that the bleeding in all but a very few cases is not serious enough to warrant such action. In fact, other experts tell us, almost all athletes, equine and human, suffer some degree of bleeding during stressful exercise.

What is generally accepted is that it is a performance enhancement drug (which is why foreign horses use it when they race in the Breeders’ Cup). Also conceded by even the staunchest of furosemide fans is that it dilutes urine so that it becomes more difficult to detect other legal and illegal medications, which is only part of the reason foreign regulators do not allow it. It also strips away electrolytes, including potassium, sodium, chloride, calcium, and magnesium. Replacing those vital electrolytes cannot be achieved overnight, which means our horses race less because they require a longer recovery time. Also, there is a significantly increased risk to the health of the animal if furosemide is administered at the same time as corticosteroids, according to my veterinary texts.

And yet, when a foreign regulator striving to establish an international medication standard suggested recently that the U.S. ban race-day furosemide, his advice was promptly rejected by state racing commissioners and some leading horsemen.

We have also disdained calls for disallowing race-day phenylbutazone, which masks injuries and increases risks to animals and their riders. In addition, the universal finding is that Bute causes stomach and mouth ulcers, but this seems to carry little weight with regulators and veterinarians who regularly insist they have the best interests of the animal at heart.

Another practice found in this country and universally avoided overseas is the use of ponies in warm-ups. As well as being another monetary tax on the owner, ponies restrict the ability of the athlete to stretch out and, well, warm up. In other countries, it is common to see un-ponied starters gallop out vigorously before a race. In this country, most starters barely reach more than a gentle trot before approaching the starting gate. Can this be good for the athlete?

And that brings me to the general sense of denial in the U.S. racing establishment that anything can be done nationally to solve racing’s most pressing problem, according to its fans: race-day medication. The repetitive finding that fans, existing and potential, are turned off by the perception that cheating and doping are widespread is universally offered lip service, if not ignored, by those charged with guiding this sport.

The defeatist argument that 38 different racing jurisdictions will never agree on uniform, consistent medication testing and penalties for rule violations seems to nullify the very reason for the existence of the Association of Racing Commissioners International, which lists as its mission statement and vision: “To protect and uphold the integrity of the pari-mutuel sports of horse racing, dog racing, and jai-alai through an informed membership, by encouraging forceful and uniform regulation, by promoting the health and welfare of the industry through various programs and projects.”

Doesn’t that sound like it should cover most of what ails racing when it comes to medication? Apparently not.

As my weanling filly is teaching me, going forward can be a scary thing. Much easier to shake your head and go sideways and backward. Even if it is the path of frustration and failure.

Graeme Beaton, a retired international business journalist, breeds and races from his farm in Pennsylvania

Death of a Champion - By Jessica Yeargin

Blood-Horse Staff — Tue, 18 Aug 2009 17:52:00 GMT

A few months ago the Thoroughbred world lost a champion. Rare Menace, a foal of 1977 and a chestnut gelding by Rare Rice out of Ullage, by Monty Ayr Menace, was euthanized due to infirmities of old age. Rare Menace was bred by Dr. Hugo John Cole of North Dakota. He raced six times at ages 2 and 3 at Suffolk Downs and Meadowlands, in six-furlong maiden-claiming races, never finishing better than eighth.

No, Rare Menace, affectionately known as “Dennis,” was not a champion racehorse. It was what he did after his race career that made him a champion.

When I met Dennis, he was 12 years old and had been through 10 owners. His papers amazingly stayed with him. He was the third horse my family purchased, and the first Thoroughbred. We were taking care of Dennis for a cousin while her family moved. I fell in love and my cousin decided to sell him. I begged my parents to buy him and cried every time they mentioned listing him for sale instead. We needed a riding horse for 4-H events, so Dennis was purchased and became part of the family.

We had a blast together in 4-H. We competed in everything from western pleasure and gymkhana to jumping, dressage, and 30-mile competitive trail rides. We also raced our friends through fields and on abandoned railroad beds. I was always a bit of an outcast at school, so the unconditional love and partnership from Dennis gave me an area of life I was confident about. He also kept me too busy to get into trouble and was there to cry on during heartbreaks.

Many of my favorite childhood memories include Dennis. We were once the last hunt seat pair in a “break your gait” class (you have two strides to change to the gait called). We were hand-galloping; then the judge asked for a halt; Dennis stopped on a dime and stood perfectly still. At another show a western trainer approached us after a western horsemanship class. He told me we had been the best horse and rider team. Then there was the time I overestimated a jump on a hunt pace, went over Dennis’ head, and fell directly in front of him. He contorted himself to protect me.

As much as my life was affected by Dennis, everyone else who came in contact with him was also affected. He loved children and actually would pout if a child did not take a pony ride on him. While he was hyper when I saddled him up for gymkhana, he was perfectly calm and steady when a child was on him. When showing at the New Jersey State Fair, he always drew spectators. He wore baseball caps or my riding helmet for many photo ops. He was the first horse my eldest niece ever met. She is now a confirmed Thoroughbred lover, even though her mom still has the Arab we had growing up. Through our ability to communicate without any obvious cues, we amazed younger 4-H’ers on how close of a relationship could be had with an equine partner. Many of them have become interested in Thoroughbreds instead of the stock breeds they grew up with.

Dennis wasn’t a champion racehorse by any stretch of the imagination; however, what he did for the image of Thoroughbreds after he retired from racing made him a champion for the breed. I want to thank those that were involved with the decision to re-home Dennis after his racing career. I also would like to encourage all owners and trainers currently racing less-than-stellar Thoroughbreds to look into the many options available to re-home them. While not every Thoroughbred can be a champion racehorse, they all have the possibility to be a champion in the life of a child. I can’t imagine what my life would have been like without Dennis. I am now in the process of locating my next Thoroughbred ex-racehorse partner and hope to one day have my own breed-to-race/show program.

Jessica Yeargin has a B.S. degree in Animal Science from Virginia Tech and is a self-taught student of Thoroughbred racing.

Storm Song - By Linda Dougherty

Blood-Horse Staff — Tue, 11 Aug 2009 16:41:00 GMT

Aug. 4 started out innocently enough, as my two daughters and I planned to drive to Churchill Downs to see the Kentucky Derby Museum, part of our week-long vacation in the Bluegrass.

It turned out to be an adventure that could have been featured as an episode on the Weather Channel’s Storm Stories, and will no doubt be vividly remembered by all three of us for years to come.

As we got in the car to drive from our Lexington hotel to Louisville, Ky., about 7 a.m., I looked up at an overcast sky and asked my older daughter, Kaitlyn, what the television forecast was.

“They said to bring your umbrella,” she said.

That turned out to be the understatement of the year. About halfway to the Derby City on I-64, a light rain began falling. Suddenly, the skies turned from gray to nearly black, illuminated by jagged bolts of lightning striking around us. As the rain’s intensity increased, it became more difficult to see the road and the cars in front of us.

After we finally reached Louisville at 9 a.m., pea-sized hail pelted the windshield. Cars were pulling off to the side of the road, but I was so close to Churchill I decided to keep moving. Turning onto Central Avenue, I passed through some large puddles, but never did I imagine they were just the precursor of the flood to come.

Once in the Derby Museum’s parking lot, I told Katie and my younger daughter, Devon, that we were going to sit and wait until the rain subsided before we dashed inside. But about 9:30, I noticed that cars attempting to navigate Central Avenue were getting stuck in high water, and the water was quickly rising to where we were parked.

“I’m moving to higher ground,” I said, and started to drive back toward Gate 17. As the water sloshed up on the hood of my car, I thought maybe I had waited too long. The covered entranceway in front of Gate 17 was completely underwater, so I steered past and found an elevated spot in the next lot.

With cars and trucks unable to get through the rising tide at both ends of the parking area, and the torrential rain continuing, we decided to make a run for the building. We sloshed through shin-deep water; drenched and inside Gate 17, a Churchill Downs employee informed us the roads surrounding the track were flooded and barricaded by Louisville police.

As my daughters had never been to Churchill before, we wandered into the grandstand and saw an amazing sight—the entire main track had been transformed into a raging red river, complete with a current that flowed clockwise. The water was halfway up the inner rail; the turf course was also partially underwater. The water had risen past the first two rows of seats. Down at the betting windows near the Gate 17 entrance, water seeped into the grandstand, and the paddock was submerged.

Linda Dougherty Photo

Soon after, we met a security guard named Laurie whose own car was flooded in the parking lot. She escorted us to the employee cafeteria, where we met a stranded taxi driver and watched TVG. Laurie later returned and said management wanted us, and about 15 patrons left in the Derby Museum, to stay in the jockeys’ room, where they planned to serve us lunch.

To my daughters’ delight, Laurie led us through the old catacombs of the Churchill grandstand, past the management offices, and up into the jocks' room. There, she brought the sodden museum patrons dry clothes (Derby 135 shirts!) and blankets, and put our wet socks and shoes in a dryer. Within minutes, a large group of Churchill employees—including members of management, office staff, and maintenance workers—set up tables and brought in enough food and soda to feed an army, an amazing display of teamwork and cooperation. Hours later, when several streets reopened, a police officer led us back to Taylor Boulevard.

It goes without saying that those Churchill employees treated us like royalty in the face of very difficult circumstances. While my daughters never got to visit the Derby Museum, they did get to see a part of the historic facility few people are privy to and no doubt learned an important lesson about the importance of compassion—and extraordinary customer service.

Linda Dougherty is a Blood-Horse correspondent who lives in Philadelphia, Pa.

Common Ground - By Jay Hickey

Blood-Horse Staff — Tue, 04 Aug 2009 17:28:00 GMT

The horse community has been at odds for nearly a decade over the issue of slaughtering/processing horses for human consumption. Neither side has been willing to acknowledge that the position of the other may be well-thought-out and heartfelt.

Indeed the various sides cannot even agree on what to call this activity. “Slaughter” identifies those who support a federal ban; “processing” identifies those opposed.

Central to the debate is the issue of “unwanted horses.” And even the scope of the problem of unwanted horses is hotly debated. Some declare there are no unwanted horses. Others retort the problem is growing dramatically and the horse industry is headed for a disaster.

Regardless, something is happening out there with our horses, and we need to pay attention.

The Unwanted Horse Coalition (UHC) was organized to reduce the number of unwanted horses and improve their welfare through education and the efforts of organizations committed to the health, safety, and responsible care and disposition of these horses.

But even the motives of the UHC, which includes many of the major horse associations and operates under the umbrella of the American Horse Council, are questioned. Some supporters of a ban maintain that the UHC is simply a “front” for pro-slaughter groups, even though the coalition includes organizations that support a federal ban.

In fact, the UHC was organized to educate horse owners and encourage them to “own responsibly.” From the outset all member organizations agreed the UHC would not take a position on federal legislation or get involved in lobbying.

As the late actor Strother Martin said in Cool Hand Luke, “What we’ve got here is failure to communicate.” And while we fail to communicate, our horses suffer.

Too many people on both sides of this issue believe that “if you aren’t with me, then you are against me” and there is no common ground.

Well, the recently released 2009 Unwanted Horses Survey may have identified some common ground. The survey, commissioned by the UHC and available at www.unwantedhorsecoalition.org, documents the disparate opinions on the causes of the problem, but it also provides an opportunity for discussions by people of goodwill that could guide the industry in dealing with these horses.

Honest and thoughtful dialogue is needed between those at the center of this debate. Neither side can meet the challenges alone.

While we may reach different conclusions on a federal ban, we can also work together in a common effort to help these horses. Both sides want to improve the welfare of horses. That is the common ground.

We can agree that the decision about what to do with an unwanted horse is not an easy one. We can agree that if we can educate people before they get into that position and give them more alternatives when they do, then we can keep horses from becoming unwanted.

The UHC survey suggests there are common areas to explore. With more than 23,000 participants, the survey documented the disparity in the industry regarding a federal ban. But it also found that the overwhelming majority perceive the problem of unwanted horses is escalating, that there is common ground on the need for more owner education, on increasing the ability of private facilities to care for unwanted horses, and on increasing the options and resources available to euthanize and dispose of horses.

Indeed many owners indicated they would be willing to donate funds to facilities to care for horses, funds that the many facilities already laboring at the front of this issue need.

We must remember that as members of the horse community, we all share a common concern—the welfare and safety of the horse.

While the debate continues on a federal ban in Congress, in the states, and in the public forum, we can put aside our differences long enough to work together on the common goal of improving the lot of these horses. No one should believe that the challenges will be easy, or the solutions come quickly, or that differences will disappear, because they won’t.

But we should acknowledge that all are concerned about the welfare of horses and work together to ensure their well being.

Jay Hickey is president of the American Horse Council. The Unwanted Horse Coalition operates within the AHC.

Efficiency Isn't Everything - By Roberta Smodin

Blood-Horse Staff — Tue, 28 Jul 2009 16:26:00 GMT

A businessman friend insists that the way I run my horse business is inefficient. He doesn’t deal with living creatures, but with the commerce of the inanimate, and the basis of his success has to do with the realm of efficiency. Getting things done as rapidly as possible, saving time, moving forward in a straight line—all these things make his business work.

Having visited my farm, he has plans for me that he insists would improve my efficiency, make it possible for me to spend less time working, and increase my profit.

First, procure a specially outfitted golf cart, on which I could load all of my feed, medication, and other supplies, which I would drive around the farm, dropping off the necessary items without having to return to the barn. The feeding and medicating that now take me about two hours twice daily could be done in half the time.

Second, build more fences, creating chutes to and from the paddocks and barns, so that a horse that is difficult to catch or lead could be moved easily, minimizing all of the time I spend catching mares for the vet every morning.

What I argue is, that though this would indeed save time, in any business dealing with the care of live animals, efficiency is not the paramount concern. Thoroughbred horses are perhaps the most sensitive and delicate of creatures dependent upon the husbandry of man. My feeding times, twice daily, are not about efficiency, but about paying attention to each horse.

As I deliver food and medicine to every paddock, I walk slowly, greet the horses by name, and examine them carefully. I watch each one walk, to see if any lameness is present. I note if any mare that is usually hungry is lagging behind, less interested in food—this could signal an impending colic or other illness. I watch every foal for any sign of illness—any unusual sweating, lagging, reluctance to get up, or a mare that doesn’t appear to have been nursed recently by her foal tells me I might need the vet. I scan my fence lines, noting any boards that might be broken, down, or in any way in need of repair, or that may have fallen into the paddock, because they may have protruding nails that could injure a horse badly. My feeding times are not about efficiency; they are about meditative concern for every horse in my care.

In haste, I might miss something of critical importance. Frankly, I don’t give a damn about efficiency. In efficiency, pleasure is lost—think about anything that gives you pleasure…do you want to do it efficiently? Working with Thoroughbreds is not simply a job; it is a lifestyle, and a calling. Those who are in business just to make money may not understand that.

Now about those chutes. I argue that these would block access to the barns for trailers and vans coming to my farm, and that’s true. The drivers have varying skills, and some can back a semi-truck through the eye of a needle; others can’t back a two-horse trailer into Texas. So that is a very real issue.

More than that, though, is the issue of horsemanship. Confidence, trust, patience, and partnership all enter into the Zen exercise of moving horses. If my horses don’t trust me enough to let me catch them and walk them into the barn, then they won’t trust me enough to hold them safely for the vet or the farrier.

We must establish a bond, which is begun, certainly, with feeding them twice a day, on time, no matter what, and continued with their willingness to cooperate with me when I need them to do something. Chutes might simplify my business, and make it more efficient, but the bonds I have with my horses—the partnership I enter into with each of them, the social contract that states that I feed them and care for them and safeguard their health and well being, and they in turn cooperate with me, knowing that I wouldn’t endanger them for anything—are diminished.

Perhaps my business model is inefficient. In fact, I’m sure it is. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Roberta Smoodin owns Thunder Run Stables near Cynthiana, Ky., and teaches courses in horse, dog, and cat care.

Safety Net - By Helen Alexander

Blood-Horse Staff — Tue, 21 Jul 2009 18:53:00 GMT

As traditions go, it is one of the youngest in Thoroughbred racing. But it is also one of the best.

I’m talking about the sponsorship program involving NetJets, Richard Santulli, Bill Casner, and a slew of jockeys.

Starting with the 2008 Kentucky Derby Presented by Yum! Brands (gr. I) and counting each Triple Crown race through the 2009 Belmont Stakes (with the 2008 Jockey Club Gold Cup, both gr. I, thrown in for good measure), they have donated more than $1 million to equine charities and the Susan G. Komen for the Cure foundation, according to the Jockeys’ Guild.

They are to be commended for their generosity, which is particularly welcome and encouraged by charitable organizations in the current economic climate.

One of those beneficiaries has been The Jockey Club Foundation, which I serve as one of three trustees (along with D.G. Van Clief Jr. and Steve Duncker). We are immensely grateful not only for the donation but for the awareness this program brings to our foundation.

Formed in 1943, The Jockey Club Foundation is a charitable trust that provides financial relief and assistance to needy members of the Thoroughbred industry and their families.

Because all assistance is provided confidentially, you hear very little about this foundation. In fact, most of those who are helped often tell Nancy Kelly, the foundation’s longtime executive director, that they never knew such a foundation existed. Assistance can come in any number of forms, including financial aid, medication, surgical and hospital costs, therapeutic equipment, voice-recognition computers for quadriplegics, and wheelchair-accessible vans.

One-time, lump-sum grants are paid directly to an individual or to the provider of a service, and assistance program recipients receive grants on a monthly basis.

Working in concert with similarly chartered organizations and chaplains located at tracks throughout the country often helps these providers fulfill their respective missions.

Chaplains often are the first to hear about and assist those in need, and the ongoing dialogue has enabled the foundation to be apprised of and respond to unfortunate circumstances in an efficient manner.

But assistance isn’t limited to backstretch personnel. Front-side workers and farm employees facing medical or financial issues are also eligible.

Through the years the foundation has relied heavily on the generosity of the members of The Jockey Club, and an occasional fundraising event, such as the Old Bags Luncheon in Saratoga Springs, N.Y., or the Belmont Bash that precedes the Belmont Stakes.

It is worth noting that in the case of The Jockey Club Foundation (and the Grayson-Jockey Club Research Foundation), The Jockey Club absorbs all administrative costs.

While stand-alone charitable organizations must cover overhead costs before they can provide the first dollar of support, The Jockey Club Foundation does not incur such expenses directly, and thus a larger percentage of donors’ contributions are used to help people in need.

Since 1985 the foundation has helped more than 1,000 individuals and their families with nearly $13 million in support.

In almost all cases, these people have given their entire working lives to support our industry. And when illness or injury strikes, there is often no safety net for them.

We have paid for therapy for stroke victims and children with autism; we have paid home heating bills and rent for a former jockey, whose wife had to quit her job to care for him; and we have even paid outstanding debts to funeral homes.

In one way or another, assistance from the foundation has improved the quality of life for an individual and his or her family. That is reflected in a steady stream of thank-you letters to The Jockey Club Foundation office in New York City. A recent one: “I want to give thanks for your generous gift when I needed it the most. It’s a comfort to know that you are there for needy horsemen. God bless you and all those who support this foundation.”

It is uplifting to see organizations and individuals like those previously mentioned coming together to help those who are less fortunate. We are honored and grateful they appreciate the work of The Jockey Club Foundation enough to include it among their designated beneficiaries.

It is my hope their example inspires others within the Thoroughbred industry to show their own generosity and contribute to our foundation or any other charity that helps people and/or horses.

Helen Alexander owns Middlebrook Farm near Lexington and is a trustee of The Jockey Club Foundation.

Good Sense - By Martin Stiles

Blood-Horse Staff — Tue, 14 Jul 2009 17:36:00 GMT

"That ’ampstead, ’e’ll never ’urt ’imself!”

The speaker, an Englishman from the class that drop their aitches, was doing time in the United States breaking yearlings. Hampstead, the yearling just then cantering past us on the training track, was my first racehorse, having been foaled from my first broodmare.

What was the real meaning behind the trainer’s remark? He was clearly passing judgment on the colt’s potential, which he did not rate very high. (Hampstead, by Beau Prince—Sun Miracle, by Heather Broom, was gelded soon thereafter, and eventually won several claiming races.) I took the trainer’s remark to mean that he felt the colt lacked the competitive fire that characterizes the best runners, and which is generally believed to make horses more subject to break down. I also detected a note of admiration for the colt who had the good sense to keep well within himself, to “take care of himself” while performing. Many times during the subsequent 40 years, I have asked myself whether the goal of breeders shouldn’t be to produce horses with good conformation, good speed, and good sense.

It seems likely that one reason speed has become such a dominant ingredient in the recipe followed by Thoroughbred breeders is that it is so readily quantified. At a sale of 2-year olds in training, workout times like :20 or :21 for a quarter-mile attached to an entry will virtually guarantee a good price but provide no assurance the individual will ever want to run farther than a quarter-mile, or remain sound long enough to earn back his purchase price. It would be of some help to buyers and sellers of young horses if there were a numerical scale that rated certain of the horse’s other qualities in the same way the speed figure does.

One small step that could be taken to provide some indication of stamina in a pedigree would be to make greater use of the statistic “average winning distance.” AWD is seldom encountered in the American horse literature (it can be found on bloodhorse.com’s Stallion Register Online), never in sale catalogs.

Similarly, the number of starts made by each of the runners in the first two or three generations of a pedigree could help to identify the families that turn out tough runners. Horses that fail to earn black type nonetheless contribute soundness (or unsoundness) to a pedigree, and that important fact ought to be recognized.

Federico Tesio, the brilliant Italian student of pedigrees, who more than anyone else put his ideas to practical use (he was the breeder of both Nearco and Ribot), considered that the aim of the breeder was to produce a racehorse that “over any distance could carry the heaviest weight in the shortest time.” Success in meeting this standard could be measured by the use of tools no more complicated than a stopwatch and a set of scales. But the horse is a complex machine, and his performance is likely to be influenced by factors that these simple tools cannot measure.

Since Tesio’s time (he died in 1954), it has become almost routine to use the laryngoscope, radiographs, and ultrasound to check sale horses for abnormalities. However, to date, these diagnostic techniques serve merely to locate animals whose sale may be voided. No scale has been developed by which objective scores that are generally accepted can be assigned. Many experienced horsemen feel the links between racing performance and the data from these sophisticated instruments are not fully established. More research is evidently needed before some of these powerful tools can be used to a breeder’s best advantage.

More daunting still is the challenge posed by the “good sense” factor. It has long been recognized that a balance between brilliance and toughness is desirable in a racing animal. The theory of dosage as developed by Franco Varola and others is an outgrowth of that idea.

Dosage theory has been useful in planning matings and focusing attention on the need for balance in a pedigree. The temptation to use dosage as a handicapping tool proved irresistible, which led to some undeserved loss of credibility. However, the basic principles of the theory remain valid.

Keeping always in mind that the racecourse is the proper venue for testing Thoroughbreds, breeders should aim at the production of runners whose performances reflect the right balance among toughness, speed, and good sense.

Martin Stiles, and his wife, Martha, bred group winners Hardgreen, Castle Green, and Canadian champion Buckys Solution at Stockwell Farm in Bourbon County, Ky.

Mountain High, River Deep - By Nick Ben-Meir

Blood-Horse Staff — Tue, 30 Jun 2009 18:46:00 GMT

At 1:46 p.m. June 14, my 7-year-old golden retriever, Harley, was looking for cover between the couch and an ottoman in our family room. It’s what he always does when there’s yelling in our house.

In fact, my wife and I were yelling at our TV, watching as Sailor’s Cap cruised past the eighth pole, the 2009 renewal of the Poker Handicap (gr. IIIT) well in hand. I was holding the receiver of our phone up to the TV speakers, so our longtime friend, horse guru, and partner, Barry Irwin, could hear the call of the race. When you manage around 150 Thoroughbreds, it’s a certainty you aren’t going to see all of them run all the time, or you wouldn’t have much of a life, and this was one of those times for him. Race over, I asked him if he got Tom Durkin’s call. “No, I didn’t hear a thing; you guys were yelling so loud,” was his response.

The ensuing 48 hours were like (my idea of) being in heaven. Family and friends called with congratulations, and all the promise of the previous year had been fulfilled.

It had been more than six months since “Sailor” went to the farm, worn out by a tough 3-year-old campaign. We had last seen him here in our backyard, when he contested last year’s Hollywood Derby (gr. IT). It was during that Thanksgiving holiday we got to know his assistant trainer and exercise rider, Dana Antoncyzk, who proved to be as much enamored of her charge as we were...perhaps even more so.

Then he was training brilliantly and being nurtured and prepared for his first start at 4 by trainer Jimmy Toner, Dana, and the staff. The excitement was growing with each workout, but you never know, after a long layoff, what’s in store. The Poker confirmed our hopes: He was a real racehorse, and his future was in front of him, and us…mountain high.

At approximately 6:30 a.m. June 17, my wife handed me the phone as I stepped out of the shower. “Barry,” was all she said. The hairs on my neck stood up. As close as we’ve been all these years, a phone call at that hour couldn’t be good. Sailor’s Cap had collapsed and died earlier that morning, cause, as of then, unknown. As tough a pro as I know Barry is, I could hear and feel the pain. He had bred this colt, from a family that he had owned and cherished for more than 20 years.

I got through the day in a virtual fog, attending a conference I couldn’t miss, answering the condolence e-mails with my BlackBerry as word spread. And, of course, questioning myself about why I, and, for that matter, every other racehorse owner, although captivated by the majesty and beauty of the game, put themselves through the risk of feeling this kind of emotion…river deep.

The clichéd answers are many, and obvious. You can’t really appreciate the high from this game if you don’t ever feel the low…yeah. And then I started thinking about all the others…Barbaro, Eight Belles, Ruffian, Swale. Some so famous they made headlines; others, like Sailor’s Cap, not so famous, but their passing still tore holes in the hearts of their owners. Like Tony, from Florida. Sailor’s Cap was his first racehorse. I’ll never forget the smile on his face when we were in the winner’s circle in Virginia last year. Nor will I forget his heartfelt text message the morning we got the news.

There are those who think the game, or sport, is cruel and should be banned. But truth is, for the most part, the Thoroughbred racehorse is the most beloved and pampered animal on the planet. And if you don’t believe they carry inside of them the desire to run and compete, you haven’t spent much time around them at all.

While I hardly believe they’d solve the world’s myriad problems, the love of the racehorse crosses all boundaries of race and faith and brings people together that otherwise wouldn’t be in the same time zone with each other.

Here’s one more cliché, probably my favorite one as I approach Social Security and beyond: “Nobody, no matter how sick or old, ever died if they had a good 2-year-old in their barn.” Well, I’ve got a 2-year-old, but I won’t forget Sailor’s Cap.

In the words of the Beach Boys…”Sail On, Sail On, Sailor…”

Nick Ben-Meir lives in Los Angeles, where he is the business manager for various rock ’n roll artists.

Get in the 'Zone' - By Bobby Jones

Blood-Horse Staff — Tue, 23 Jun 2009 18:43:00 GMT

One of my favorite sayings is, “When you hear hoof beats, look for horses, not zebras.” In almost every publication pertaining to our industry, the number-one concern is what to do with the dying fan base at our racetracks—the handle, attendance, VLTs, OTW, ADWs, etc… Not that these concerns are not real problems, I just don’t think they need to be so exotic. My suggestion is not a new one, just another look at the problem. It certainly won’t fix all of the internal problems, but it might help the industry have a better chance at survival.

In times of trouble, and in times of tragedy, in a time when you are seeking comfort, whom do you run to? Family.

Tampa hosted Super Bowl XLIII and did a beautiful job. What I enjoyed watching, besides the game, half-time shows, and commercials, was a show called the “NFL Experience,” a week-long promotion that aired on both ESPN and our local news station. They had fans interacting with NFL activities, like throwing a football through tires and kicking field goals. Some of the folks were competitive, but most of them looked like ordinary people having fun.

I took my 12-year-old son to the 51st running of the Daytona 500. We took off from the farm about 7 a.m., and on our way to the race, my son said, “You know, Dad, I don’t know much about NASCAR.”

To be honest, I didn’t either, but I said, “Well, it’s like the Kentucky Derby for stock cars, and I’m sure we’re gonna have fun!” And fun we had. I think the only thing we didn’t do was drive ’em. We parked, unloaded with cooler in hand, a couple of subs and snacks, a pair of headphones, two ponchos (chance of rain), and after a brisk 45-minute walk, we were in the gate.

I soon learned they had a “NASCAR Experience” located in the infield called the “Fan Zone.” You could buy a pass for $90, so we got two. I wasn’t going to say, “OK, son, let’s go to our seats and sit for three hours before the race.” We took a trolley ride and bang, we were in the “Zone,” and we had a blast!

Much like the paddock area at the racetrack, the back of each garage in the “Zone” horseshoes around the outside of the “Zone.” The backside of every garage had a big plate-glass window where fans could watch each race team get its car ready. There was even an opening at the bottom of the window to get autographs if you were lucky. We weren’t. We got there too late and the cars had already been moved, but I did get two lug nuts from a guy who was cleaning up Mark Martin’s garage. Cool, huh? Besides that, they had a rock band, a food court, beer, lemonade, ice cream, bungee jumping, and a rock climbing wall.

On big racing days with media coverage, wouldn’t it be great to have a “Fan Zone?” Build a couple of stalls and have retired horses with a groom. Show different parts of the horse; maybe have one tacked up with a jockey. Get a big screen TV and show some great races from the past. Have someone demonstrate how to bet, so newcomers are more comfortable doing this for the first time. Maybe invest in a simulator like the ones in the jocks’ room that the kids could ride with a big screen in front of them as if they were in the race. And why not clean up some used horse shoes to give out, or have autographed posters from a jockey or trainer?

The Daytona 500 was won by Matt Kenseth; he got the lead for 15 seconds and had 48 laps to go when the race was called for rain. Were we disappointed? Maybe, only because our driver, Dale Earnhardt Jr., didn’t win. But so what? Eight hours earlier we didn’t even have a horse in the race. We do now and have the hat and shirt to prove it!

Walking 45 minutes back to our truck, in the rain, ponchos draped over our bodies, headphones still on my son’s head, he looked up at me and said, “Thanks, Dad.”

The Thoroughbred industry has always been rich in family tradition, with generation upon generation of horsemen. Family matters all the time, especially in these times.

When you hear hoof beats, look for fans, not just gamblers.

Bobby Jones is the manager of BryLynn Farm near Reddick, Fla.