American champion

Zenyatta one day after winning 19th consecutive race to remain undefeated



Photo courtesy of C Pell. For more, see my dear friend Joyce's blog Hapless Tigger.

"Ground Zero" mosques and class drops

Shoulda waited 'till 9/11 to post this, but out of respect for those that lost loved ones that day*, I'll jump the gun.

How many blocks must a mosque be from Ground Zero? I dunno. Don't really see any reason why one would have to be a certain distance away. But honestly, I don't really care, either. I'm more interested in tomorrow's card. If I were Muslim, I'd probably ask those that say "2.5 blocks is not far enough", just how far away a mosque need be.

More interesting is the question: how much is too much a class drop?

Perhaps 100k to 3200 is too much. At least it is for those leaving comments on Ray Paulick's blog. That Delta Storm dropped from running for a tag of $100k to $3200 is a non-story turned into a story by Mr. Paulick, and I love him for it. It's what Fox News does, what Drudge does, and what this space has tried to do many times with far less success than those other outfits.

When Steve Miyadi, the trainer that entered the perfectly sound Delta Storm for $3200 at Stockton, mentioned he would be doing so I remember thinking what a huge fucking pussy he'd become for even considering that it might be worthing noting. It seemed a rather boring item to bring up....something akin to a mosque being built two and a half blocks from the World Trade Center.

*Including loved ones of the dozens of innocent Muslims that died in the horrific attack, as well as any horseman that dropped a horse in class.

Kentucky Derby morning lines

The degenerates at Thoroughbred Bloggers Alliance are at it again with a craic morning line tool comparing the produce of a variety of line makers. Cheggit.

A Tote Board Brad tradition: Happy Saint Paddy's Day

The Hanging

I was recently reminded of the first winner of the Thoroughbred Times fiction contest. The inaugural winning story in 1993 entitled The Hanging in the Foaling Barn centers around a kooky night watchman at a breeding farm, the farm's owner, and their interaction one fateful night. It's a good read.

Sadly, an incident that went totally unreported as far as I can tell--something far more tragic than life imitating art--occurred on the Golden Gate Fields backstretch last month. A pretty good guy hung himself in Barn 83. I only knew him as Ricky, but I knew him better than most folks back there, even though that ain't sayin' much.

I was smoking a cheap cigar in Barn 82 and trading barbs with a typically cantankerous trainer when a coupla grooms ran up the shedrow. Guy hung himself, they said. He hung himself from a pipe so his body blocked the door to a tack room. I saw the trainer that found him acoupla minutes after he found him. I'd never seen a person look quite like this. I asked him if it was true. He said nothing. His face was lye on wax.

I don't know too many details. Maybe there was woman trouble. Some folks say drugs. Rumors run rampant on the backstretch, though, and shouldn't sully someone's name. What I do know is that Ricky was a cool motherfucker. He'd lived a hard life and worked his ass off. He had a positive attitude. The worst you could say about him was that he was broke most of the time and bummed too many smokes. On the backstretch, that qualifies for sainthood. He was probably illiterate, was a touch cross eyed, and had a kind word to say every time you encountered him. He was a damn good exercise rider, could muck the living shit out of a stall, and could unload a haytruck quicker than you can say five-minute-bang-with-a-two-dollar-whore, and he'd be equally as joyous to involve himself in any such endeavor.

I doubt anyone wrote an obituary about him, and I'm not claiming to be his best friend. I only knew him a bit, but he seemed to epitomize everything that's right about the backstretch. It's a place that if you work your ass off, you can just barely scrape out an existence that most folk find pitiful, but if you love the game, might just be fabulous. The fella probably had some demons--and most of us back there do--but in my book he's a champion. The cat had a good soul. I pray it's at peace now.

Weights assigned in Grand National

Now that weights have been handed out, who do ya like in the four and one half mile Grand National?

Nashua at Keeneland - 1956

Don't think for one minute you goddam phonies are gonna get off scot-free now

In Memoriam

Take most people, they're crazy about cars. They worry if they get a little scratch on them, and they're always talking about how many miles they get to a gallon, and if they get a brand-new car already they start thinking about trading it in for one that's even newer. I don't even like old cars. I mean they don't even interest me. I'd rather have a goddam horse. A horse is at least human, for God's sake.

Non racing related reminder

This is not Red China. One need not be brave to take a stand.

Homework assignment: find a pic of Presque Isle Downs' Grandstand

Google image search should have one. Nada. Er...Bing does a have a better image search algorithm, so perhaps there. No such luck. Hrrmmmm...maybe flickr. Nope.

Why can't I find a pic of their grandstand? Because they don't have one. Ah, the future of racing.

Non racing related maintenance post - cold war edition

While delivering his Secret Speech, or more properly The Personality Cult and its Consequences, in 1956 for his campaign of de-Stalinization, Soviet leader Nikita Khrushchev was reportedly asked by an unseen audience member why, as an advisor to the dictator, he had never stopped Stalin from committing his atrocities. Khrushchev immediately lashed out, "Who said that?" The room grew quiet. Khrushchev repeated his query to more silence, waited a beat, and then said, "Well, now you understand why."

Some dumb impostor cunt (oooooh, i used the C word! go tell the blogger police!) called me a sexist

I'm no bitch. It's guys like you who never get the better women like me. You sexist fool.

--Anonymous


easy, sugar breeches. but srsly, who called you a bitch? LET ME AT'EM, LET ME AT'EM!


le sigh. escuche, anon...i'm brazenly feminist. i bet i've read a lot more mary daly than you, god rest her soul.


liberty in the tradition of benthem and mill must be a hallmark of any philosophy to which i'll subscribe. part and parcel to the ideal is that one owns their body. those that discount the fickle whims of societal pressures in favor of principle for that in which they believe should be heralded. such folk are the cornerstone of free peoples.


I had never heard of bethenny frankel before this PETA advert, but based on a single data point she's very possibly such a cornerstone. given your presentation of yourself, anon, you're not worthy to schlep her fucking wardrobe to the green room.


furthermore, i ain't calling anyone a bitch, other than perhaps the fools that read this space and take it so seriously as to be offended. and i certainly ain't so labeling anyone brave enough to bare all to further their cause to better the world as they see it, but i have serious reservations that you are such a person.


bethenny deserves kudos. she's a strong woman, secure in her sense of self such that she's not likely to concern herself with such bombastic internet drivel. you could learn a thing or two from her. sadly, those with the air of an uptight publicist are prolly bankrupt of these very traits. she's also prolly smart enough to know there's no such thing as bad press.


while i'm loathe to redact text--a despotic regime's attempt at polemics--i'm going to make an edit here such that there can be no confusion.


lastly, anon: in the immortal words of one of the world's greatest trainers to ever tack up a horse, bobby frankel, go fuck yourself.

Want to see Bobby Frankel's daughter naked?

Yeah yeah, I know: you heard about her PETA endorsement way back when. Whatevs. It's a click garnering headline and a good way for me to plug the top notch blogger over at EquiSpace. Go to his blog for the pic. I don't traffic in such salacious posts because I'm classy. That's right, I'm fucking classy, bitches ya filthy lecherous bastards surfing for skin pics.

Ida Maria redux

About a year go, this blog touted I Like You So Much Better When You're Naked by Ida Maria, an up and coming Norwegian rocker. The song was released in the US several months later. Now, New York Newsday has voted one of her songs from the album best single of the year. Predictions of her taking down the best new artist Grammy are running rampant through the tubes of the interwebs. Stay tuned for more of next year's headlines presently.

Belmont president Alfred Vanderbilt looks like Matthew Broderick, no?

can't even tell'm apart. 4srs.

happy new year, fuckers. now, resolve yourself to read more bukowski this year.