Keeneland September Yearling Sale

Jamey Thomas, a trainer based at Golden Gate Fields in Northern California, called me in mid September. He was headed to Keeneland in Lexington, Kentucky for the sale. Of course I wanted to go.

Jamey has trained a few horses in which I've had an ownership interest before, which is to say I owned about a hoof's worth, or a handful of mane. A neighbor and good friend of mine, Allison, even went in on an old gelding with me in the spring. These horses were all claimers, and I was more of an also ran than a principle owner. Nonetheless, Jamey acts like you're Bob Lewis or the Ramseys, even when you only own ten percent of a $4,000 maiden claimer.

We touched down in Kentucky late afternoon Thursday September 22 with plans to hotfoot it over to Florence, KY for the twilight card at Turfway Park, a track I hadn't visited, but desperately wanted to scratch off my list in a quest to visit all black type tracks in North America.

Plans change. Brian Koriner, a NorCal trainer and good friend of Jamey's, invited us to hit Taylor Made Farm with him to eye some buybacks and private purchase stock. Taylor Made is the real deal. They stand the likes of Tiznow, the only horse to win back to back Breeder's Cup Classics, and Northern Afleet, sire of Afleet Alex. We couldn't pass that up. Brian apparently had clients with a budget and critiqued the confirmation on fifteen or twenty colts, and a couple fillies ranging in price form twenty grand upward to three hundred large. He was workman like in his evaluations. "Walk him down and back. Turn. Other side. Again. Put him away." He exuded professionalism and it was clear he was at work. He was in the office.

Afterward, the three of us went to the Taylor's steak house in Lexington for bourbon and red meat. Now I was with horsemen I recognized again. Recounting exploits, on the track, at the windows, in bed. Swilling booze. Cursing stewards. Telling lies.

Frank Taylor, one of the brothers that jointly own Taylor Made Farm and the establishment in which we sat, was there glad handing and talking breed. He spent a few minutes at our table asking how the steaks were, whether we liked the quarter of a million dollar War Chant colt we looked at earlier, if we knew where the titty bars were. He was charming, vivacious, but mostly an unpretentious horseman.

We concluded the evening at the hotel bar where I delighted in more chatter from buyers and breeders. One fella with a small farm in Florida recounted a hungover morning at the Ocala sale when he mistakenly bought a colt for 40 grand, thinking he was by Tale of the Cat. Turns out he was by Cat Tail or some such no name sire. Never ran a lick. He ordered another whiskey and chided us, "careful with the sauce, boys." Horsemen are legendary for deadpan humor. Whether this cowboy was, we never determined.