Pic of the day - repost from 2 years ago

A Christmas Eve lawl just for you

Happy merry, and such!



Shamelessly stolen from Fuck Yeah Cyanide and Happiness.

Legendary d-bag, Jerry Hollendorfer, still not in the hall of fame

nonetheless, this jackass should be in the hall

To say Jerry Hollendorfer is a fierce competitor is to employ a euphemism suited for respectable print publications and has no place here. He's an enormous asshole. Of course he's competitive, like most that attain his level of success in any endeavor. Often, in sports or business or what have you, the rules of polite discourse require one to refer to highly successful people that discard accepted behavioral norms as they scratch and claw to the top as "fierce competitors". They're really assholes. Jerry Hollendorfer is no different, he's just perfected being an asshole.

He'd fuck over his own grandmother and sell tickets to it if it lopped another win into his column. While at another track when he had the favorite in a graded stakes race, he has been known to call norcal to rip into anyone he felt was responsible for the maiden 8 he just lost by a nose with, and barring that, he'll have his tantrum for anyone that will listen. Whether the genisis of his motivation is classic small man's syndrome, or that his mother never hugged him, I know not. But make no mistake, he wants to win.

Even though he is completely classless, He's made himself a world class trainer through hard work. He didn't grow up in a racing family and never had a barn turned over to him. He drove a truck to pay the bills when training didn't cover the feed bill. He did it with hard work and an insatiable drive to win. Not to make money or be popular, mind you. No. To win.

Recently this asshole called Portland Meadows--YES PORTLAND FUCKING MEADOWS--while in socal saddling a stakes horse to listen to the call of his $2500 maiden running for peanuts. I believe he finished 3rd and called the jockey's mother a whore.

You know his stats: he's chipping away at 6,000 wins, won the Kentucky Oaks acoupla times, a shitload of graded stakes including two million dollar races last year alone, trained Hysterical Lady, Heatseeker, Chocolate Candy (finished 4th in the Derby this year), and.....whatevs, I wrote about it last year.

The point is, sure, he's a d-bag of biblical proportions (probably even uses some leeching horse betting system), but this motherfucker should still be in the horse racing hall of fame, and the fact that he isn't is just further proof that the turf writers that vote are even more stupid than he is an asshole.

Best soy latte I ever had maintenence post

Medley from Riki Lindhome on Vimeo.

I love these ladies. If you dig on this, be sure to get a beed on their hit song Pregnant Women are Smug.

Photographic reminiscing of racing's history in Cuba

Cuba is in the news as the United States makes overtures toward normalization. Before the revolution Cuba was quite the adult playground, complete with a pretty good horse racing operation, I'm told.

Golden Gate Fields packs grandstand for Sunday card

wiener dogs and ostriches and dwarves game's savior?

Fans came out in droves Sunday April 5th for the 9 race card a Golden Gate. 11,462 in paid attendance availed themselves to the popular dollar day promotion, which constituted the biggest on hand crowd since at least 1995 when 11,087 fans took in the presidents day program. No attendance surpassing Sundays mark was released by the track, although it is likely larger crowds had flocked to the east bay track in the pre-simulcast era. "I've been here since 1980" said second leading trainer at the current meet Steve Sherman, "and I can't recall a single day when it was this packed." Trainer Steve Miyadi, when asked the last time he had seen so many people ontrack responded with his trademarked brassiness: "Santa Anita".

Considerably more than this stated ~11k were on hand, however, as kids are admitted free and the track also experienced a marked increase in attendance of non-paying horsemen and their guests.

The weather couldn't have been better and a freshly conceived promotion also attracted much new blood. The Dachshund Derby, a race for qualifying wiener dogs, seemed to be a much bigger draw than the horses. While my hat is off to the marketing department for putting it together with such unprecedented success, I was initially embarrassed at the prospect of people's canine pets racing to an unfurled toilet paper roll finish line is a greater draw than the actual equine athletes competing for purse money well in excess of a hundred grand.

That was when i noticed the Hawthorne Park feed on the monitors. Weiner dog racing didn't seem so farcical any longer as i watched jockeys in Chicago mount ostriches and spring from the starting gate in a racing spectacle worthy of PT Barnum. The cheers heard via simulcast seemed much louder during the ostrich races than they did during the actual horse races.

I still found this disheartening that fans would have far more appreciation for such silliness than the grandness of the game in itself. Solving the puzzle of a race through analytical handicapping is not so enticing nor is the pageantry of this sport of kings nor the powerful athletic performances nor the split second jockey descions made on the back of an animal traveling at 40mph. I understand horse racing has a much steeper learning curve than most other sports, and learning to decipher the hieroglyphics in a racing form is a daunting task for many neophytes of the game. Nonetheless, I felt humanity had slipped yet another notch toward complete Paris Hiltonization.

Then I remembered another sport facing declining attendance and nearing obscurity. Baseball. Yes, the great American pastime itself stared down a similar fate after World War II when changing preferences marginalized the sport in much of the country. Even in the great baseball town of St. Louis, things were so bad, Browns owner Bill Veeck (and later Suffolk Downs frontman) resorted to legendary promotions intended to put butts in seats when the sporting product did not.

The most famous of these was adding a dwarf to the teams roster who was summarily walked on four straight pitches to the delight of the St. Louis fans. Veeck's coup caused an immediate rule change requiring commissioner approval of new contracts, so to preserve the integrity of the game.

He was giving the fans what the wanted, and racing should not be ashamed to do the same. Baseball is a top tier sport now. When Veeck sent 3'7" Eddie Gaedel to the plate in 1951, horse racing was America's most popular sport by far, and boxing was a solid second. If a few wiener dogs and ostrich races help foment a resurgence in our great game, we should all set our snooty purity ideals aside and give the fans what the want.

Trainer Dean Pederson - not as cuddly as he looks, not as mean as he seems

Dean Pederson has been training horses in California for an eon it seems, but still has a cherub face in compare to the bulk of his colleagues. I believe this is because he never smiles. He is the quintessential ornery trainer right out of central casting. He can hurl a fastball of an insult that knocks you to the dirt before you realize it had even been thrown, or sneak one inside with such sly cutting wit that it doesn't catch you until you're half a shedrow away.

Pederson grew up in southern California, the son of a jockey, and has worked on the backstretch his entire life. Before taking out his trainers license, he groomed for Greg Gilchrist and Terry Knight in northern California. As a young groom working for Gilchrist, he tended to 1981 Del Mar Derby winner Juan Barrera. A mention of this is the closest you'll see him to appearing wistful in the company of horsemen--when his kids swing by the barn is another matter.

This evidence that he's a family man away from the track is a tiny window into a damn big heart he'd never fess up to. Still, it pokes through at times. A jockeys agent once turned down the mount on another horse to ride for Mr. Pederson, having given him the call. The other horse was trained by, as an anonymous commenter once noted, "a huge asshole known for brutal vindictiveness" when it comes to jockeys agents. Naturally, the other trainer banned the agent's riders from his barn. Pederson, with a significantly smaller barn, picked up much of the slack with several live mounts, helping two people make rent that might not have otherwise.

Recently, I personally witnessed another such exhibition of class which doesn't jive with his surly trackside disposition. In the 2nd race last Thursday, a 40k starter allowance route, Pederson ran his filly Clouds of Glory. His filly was clearly fouled, the eventual winner coming out in the lane nearing the wire, costing him and his owners the win. While such assertions are often born of the bitterness of a lost wager, this blogger did not bet the race. Furthermore, I would encourage you to view the head-on via CalRacing.com [3:05 mark, free, subscription required].

When the announcement came that the stewards had made no change to the order of finish, I was livid. I actually left the track in disgust shortly thereafter. Conversely, Pederson did not pout or even offer one of a satchel of olympic grade insults he always has at the ready. No, he congratulated the winning trainer--which is standard operating procedure. But, there's a difference between begrudgingly doing so and the authentic I'm happy for you even if I got fucked squarely in the ass that was closer to Pederson offering (sans profanity), and the begrudging variety is also standard operating procedure. Then, as if caught being cordial, in a stern tone he offered this gem of an admonition: "Now, you take your family out for a fancy dinner tonight. That was a better than a twenty grand pot. I don't want to hear that your wife was slaving over the stove."

Santa Anita right now

Owners are still nervous about money in their horseman's account and most are pulling everything out. Some even commented that they feared the might have been a pad lock on the track this morning due to Magna's financial problems. Local media has certainly fueled this idea. News this morning that TOC has taken over the accounts has not calmed fears at Clocker's Corner this morning.

Kentucky Derby Notes

But this is just a sideshow while most of the racing fan world is busy jumping on and off Derby contender bandwagons. A review of Kentucky Derby odds shows Sham Stakes winner Pamplemousse gaining traction. Quality Road, impressive winner of the Fountain of Youth [edit: and now the Florida Derby] has quite a following as well.

In Northern California, the Jerry Hollendorfer trained Chocolate Candy represents our best chance at a derby starter. Having a hometown horse to root for really adds something to me. While the California Derby and the El Camino Real are not known as the most important preps, they have had their impact. Charismatic, winner of the 1999 Derby finished 2nd in the El Camino. Tabasco Cat went on to take the Kentucky Derby after winning the El Camino as well. He hasn't shown himself to be in the league with the top contenders, but There's plenty of time to prove himself.

Non racing related maintenance post

I love Ida Maria lately and just can't stop watching this video.

damn! embedding has been disabled since i posted this. click the vid a second time and it'll play directly from youtube.

Ida Maria - Rock The Deuce - MTV Shows - Ida Maria - - MTV Shows

Scooped by Paulick

Rumors have been circulating since the Madoff scandal emerged that former CHRB Chair Richard Shapiro was one of the casualties. After a wee bit of digging and a few phone calls, I'd put some of the picture together. Finally today I was able to get the client list, as reported by The Wall Street Journal. Scoop? No such luck. Ray Paulick reported everything I had and a good bit more yesterday. Fucking professionals.

Valparaiso Sporting Club teaser post

More to come. In the meantime, enjoy the grandstand and the green green turf course.

Club Hipico on Raceday

I know I promised pics of Valparaiso Sporting Club, and billed it as the second coming. First, enjoy these photos from a day's races at Club Hipico de Santiago, which is a spectacular track in its own right.



above: view of the grandstand from the back. this is what you see when you first walk it. it is the same pic I posted before, but NOW WITH FOUNTAINS!





above: stretch drive





above: returning to the paddock post race

Apology issued

In a previous post I drew some hard and fast conclusions which I now see were in error. My regular reader (there are unsubstaintiated rumors I may have two now) might recall the post I declared heralded American racetracks like Del Mar and Saratoga shitboxes in compare to Club Hipico de Santiago. That remians an accurate assessment, however to imply Club Hipico is the Boss before seeing Valparaiso Sporting Club in Viña del Mar was wholly unfair. This racetrack is FULL OF WIN and deserves its own post. Perhaps a series of them. I´m confident you´ll excuse my orgasmically banal verbiage once I get some pics posted. ´till then.....

Hipodromo Chile

Accross town from the lavish Club Hipico de Santiago is the modern and modest Hipodromo Chile. The racing is just as good, and the atmosphere perhaps even more festive. Race goers in suits and sundresses were of a decidedly lower percentage at Hipodromo than at Club Hipico, but there was certainly more booze consumed per capita at Hipodromo. If Hipico was keeneland, then Hipodromo would be Turfway, only with just as many graded stakes as their otherwise dominant sibling.

One other notable difference is Hipodromo has a dirt track--the only one in the nation, I´m told, and no turf course.

I´ll post some pics for your viewing pleasure shortly. [EDIT: my pics are now included! Click on the images to see them uncropped, as Blogger reformats them given the posting method i´ve employed here. Posting from the southern half of the globe is just trouble enough to induce me to comprimise my already lax standards.]

Club Hipico, Santiago, Chile

Perhaps you are familiar with Del Mar, Keeneland, Santa Anita, and Saratoga? Shitboxes, each of them. At least in compare to the grand lady in the southwest corner of Santiago, Chile.

Meet my new love, Club Hipico de Santiago.

With unapologetic colonial grandeur and bulwarked by the Andes, Club Hipico anchors a delightful neighborhood. It's occupied by endless sheets of sun gracing work-a-day clock punchers hustling forth and from, and moneyed elites being seen, to indie cafe denizens camped in one of many quaint caffeine casas lining the calles that spoke from the track.

There's no parking lot here. Still, the grandstand teems on weekends with Chileans eager for good sport and an ambient sense of jubilee, as much as a winning punt. And why not? Don't you want to sit in this GRANDstand?

TBA photo contest

You should check out the Thoroughbred Bloggers Alliance photo contest entires. Vote for your favs.

Google hosts treasure trove of horse racing photos from Life Magazine

On New Year's Eve I took in the racing action at San Isidro, just outside of Buenos Aires. I was profitable at the windows, but less than successful at snapping a quality pic. Thank god Google over 20% of Life's image archive is now hosted with plans to have the remainder up this year. Luckily, there were some solid Argentine racing pics to poach.

Still Life with Potatoes, Pearls, Raw Meat, Rhinestones, Lard, and Horse Hooves

In Spanish it's naturaleza muerta and not life at all.
But certainly not natural. What's natural?
You and me. I'll buy you a drink.
To a woman who doesn't act like a woman.
To a man who doesn't act like a man.
Death is natural, at least in Spanish, I think.
Life? I'm not so sure.
Consider the Cont?ssa, who in her time was lovely
and now sports a wart the size of this diamond.
So, ragazzo, you're Venice.
To you. To Venice.
Not the one of Casanova.
The other one of cheap pensiones by the railway station.
I recommend a narrow bed stained with semen, pee, and sorrow facing the wall.
Stain and decay are romantic.
You're positively Pasolini.
Likely to dangle and fandango yourself to death.
If we let you. I won't let you!
Not to be outdone I'm Piazzolla.
I'll tango for you in a lace G-string
stained with my first-day flow
and one slopply tit leaping lika Niagara from my dress.
Did you say duress or dress?
Let's sing a Puccini duet--I like La Traviesa.
I'll be your trained monkey.
I'll be sequin and bangle.
I'll be Mae, Joan, Bette, Marlene for you--
I'll be anything you ask. But ask me something glamorous.
Only make me laugh.
Another?
What I want to say, querido, is
hunger is not romantic to the hungry.
What I want to say is
fear is not so thrilling if you're the one afraid.
What I want to say is
poverty's not quaint when it's your house you can't escape from.
Decay's not beautiful to the decayed.
What's beauty?
Lipstick on a penis.
A kiss on a running sore.
A reptile stiletto that could puncture a heart.
A brick through the windshield that means I love you.
A hurt that bangs on the door.
Look, I hate to break this to you, but this isn't Venice or Buenos Aires.
This is San Antonio.
That mirror isn't a yard sale.
It's a fire. And these are remnants
of what could be carried out and saved.
The pearls? I bought them at Winn's.
My mink? Genuine acrylic.
Another drink?
Bartender, another bottle, but--
?Ay caray and oh dear!--
The pretty blonde boy is no longer serving us.
To the death camps! To the death camps!
How rude! How vulgar!
Drink up, honey. I've got money.
Doesn't he know who we are?
Que vivan los de abajo de los de abajo,
los de rienda suelta, the witches, the women,
the dangerous, the queer.
Que vivan las perras.
"Qye me sirvan otro trago..."
I know a bar where they'll buy us drinks
if I wear my skirt on my head and you in wearing nothing
but my black brassiere.


--Sandra Cisneros


~~~~~~~

Cisneros is a superstar of a writer, weaving vivid imagery with raw emotion seemingly extracted directly from the soul.

Latin American racing and literature - but mostly literature

Fans of the game know there is a grand tradition of horse racing in many Latin American countries. Even if not specifically, racing fans have a sense of it. We see who gets the work done on the backstretch. We see South American horses win major stakes and titles in the States. In many Spanish speaking countries (and in Brazil, for that matter) racing is far more a part of the fabric of the culture than it is in the U.S. today.

To prepare for an annealing into Latin American racing, I was inclined to lop every book off the shelf about racing and thoroughbreds set in any of our neighbors to the south. But before I could execute on this strategy, Jorge Borges convinced me otherwise.

In his essay The Argentine Writer and Tradition, the great Argentine man of letters responded to criticism that he was not adequately advancing a distinctly Argentine literary school due to his failure to bludgeon all his works with tangos and gauchos. Mark Frisch in You Might be Able to Get There from Here distills the point well.

"El escritor argentino y la tradición" (The Argentine Writer and Tradition) most clearly and distinctly portrays how Borges views his role in regard to dominant Western culture, and illustrates his purposes in dealing with the Western cultural heritage. That essay, along with a number of his stories, highlights that he not only sought to create a space where Argentine and Latin American Cultures could define their distinct qualities, but that he also viewed Latin American writers as playing a significant role in the redefinition of Western culture. Taking issue with those who claim that Argentine writers should focus on their indigenous material and their gaucho tradition, he argues that self-reflexive attitude is limiting and artificial. He refers to Gibbon's remark that there are no camels mentioned in the Koran....

In his essay, Borges says "there is no reason to emphasize camels in the Arabian work; on the other hand, the first thing a falsifier, a tourist, an Arab nationalist would do is have a surfeit of camels, caravans of camels, on every page."

Similarly, racing is part of the backdrop, part and parcel, first coronet in life's score in Latin America. I'd do better to watch the whole film, listen to the full ensemble, and not carve out one integral thread in the grand tapestry.

If you will indulge me, I will post a passage or two that strike me from Latin American writers over the next few weeks, regardless of whether they address racing directly. The context may even be more valuable than a surgical snapshot of racing in a vacuum.

MERRY CRIMBO! [obligatory holiday post, Kingdom of Loathing edition]

A RACING FAN IS YOU!



My stick figure was supposed to have a santa hat on him, but it fell off, and i'm fresh out of meat paste, so you'll have to use your imagination. All the best of the holidays to you and yours!