So You Wanna Own A Racehorse
There are people out there, believe it or not, who think that racehorse owners are nothing but pampered rich folk who live in big mansions, wear funny clothes and have food tasters. That they spend their time flitting about in their private jets between Del Mar and Saratoga, dining on strawberries and melon balls while they watch their stables of fleet thoroughbreds add multi-million dollar purses to their bulging bank accounts. This, of course, is preposterous. For one thing, it’s almost impossible to find a good melon ball anymore. For a second, horses spend most of their time getting hurt and emptying out bank accounts Take our horse, Cosmic Flash, for instance. Might be the fastest horse in the world. Kinda hard to tell, though, when he almost never runs. After breaking his maiden at Calder first time out, he came down with a little case of sesamoiditis—no big deal, happens all the time, right? We rested him, patched him up and sent him back a couple months later. Okay, so we missed the lucrative Stallion Stakes Series, no big deal. There are a lot of nice races at Gulfstream this Winter, he’ll be ready for those. As Lee Corso might say, not so fast, my friend.
There’s many a slip twixt the cup and the lip, as those clever old Englishmen used to say. In the thoroughbred business, if something can go wrong, it often will. It’s as bad as the asteroid trade—you never know where the next threat is coming from. In addition to the obvious fragile nature of the racehorse, you occasionally get help from inept management of the horse, from foolhardy riders or incompetent grooms. We are not blessed with A-list personnel in the horse industry. After that, you are subject to the elements, racetracks which are too wet or too dry or hard or too soft. Gulfstream Park, in Hallandale, is racing during the Summer for the first time this year. The track maintenance personnel are not experienced in dealing with the monsoon rains of the Florida summers. Obviously, excessive rainfall requires the addition of more sand but the sand must be well integrated into the track to insure an even surface, not a spotty mess guaranteed to cause problems. Which is what they got several days ago when tens of horses came back from their morning gallops with leg injuries. There were so many ultrasounds in use by track veterinarians you had to stand in line to get your horse evaluated. Ours came up with some filling in his right front this time, not a career-threatening injury but one requiring some time on the shelf. He’ll be back by early Winter but more important races will be missed. And our horse is one of the lucky ones. Some won’t be back at all.
So next time you see some fancy-schmancy fat cat preening in the winner’s circle, don’t be your usual snarky self. The poor guy probably had to go through hell and high water to get there. Success in most areas is not as easy as it sometimes looks. I say more power to them. I say give them a little credit, a pat on the back, a doff of the old fedora. And, for God’s sake, find the man a decent melon ball.
The Travers And Beyond
Well, isn’t this a fine how-do-you-do? Here it is September and we’re almost back where we started in terms of determining the thoroughbred three-year-old champion. First, it looked like Kentucky Derby winner, Orb, might be the best horse. Then Oxbow impressed with his powerful win in the Preakness and Palace Malice took the Belmont. Still, Orb, who ran every race and never discredited himself, led the field over all by virtue of his fourth in the Preakness and third in the Belmont. Then, pre-Derby hotshot Verrazano, a big disappointment so far, blew away the field (which included Oxbow) in the Haskell Stakes, setting up a very interesting Travers at Saratoga.
In the Travers, Verrazano left the dance early, while Orb and surprise contender, Moreno, battled it out down the stretch. D. Wayne Lukas’ Will Take Charge had other ideas, passing them both late to win the race, with Moreno second, Orb third and Palace Malice fourth. Oxbow is now sidelined, leaving Orb the last horse standing….maybe. Will Take Charge and Palace Malice could still sneak in and swipe the title with a win in November’s Breeder’s Cup at Santa Anita. Stay tuned.
The World Down Under
And we don’t mean Australia. Nope, we’re talking about Menifee, California, some 80 miles east of L.A., where the city council just passed an ordinance permitting the construction of Doomsday Shelters. We think this is a commendable example of good urban planning. In the old days, of course, all of us—ahem—“senior citizens” became aware of underground “fallout shelters” during the cold war. The thinking being that unless the evil Russkies dropped the Big One smack on your punkin’ head, you could retire to your subterranean digs and wait for the fallout to dissipate and become, well, “harmless”. Nobody was exactly sure how long this would take but everybody pretty much agreed it was a better alternative than sitting on your front porch watching the ashes fall. Now, of course, the bombs are so powerful it’s pretty futile to think a fallout shelter offers much hope. But, as we all know, there are many other very valid reasons to consider adding such an improvement to your own property, the main one being the obvious Zombie threat. Zombies are everywhere these days and they’re very persistent in their determination to break into your house and do whatever zombies are inclined to do once they get in there….and I don’t think it’s to watch TV.
Where the hell did all these Zombies come from, anyway? I mean, one day there was an occasional Zombie flick like Night of the Living Dead, just tee-hee scary. But now they’re everywhere, even involving Woody Harrelson and Brad Pitt, who have better things to do than deal with these people. Another thing: How did Zombies get so fast? Zombies used to be pokey old guys. Hell, Roseanne Barr could outrun them. Now, Zombies are fast as lightning and they can leap. How did this amazing Zombie evolution take place? It’s a puzzler.
Even if you are lucky enough to live in a Zombie-free zone, there are many other good reasons to consider a Doomsday Shelter. Do you have any Jehovah’s Witnesses in your town? Guess what. They like to come to your house to visit and talk to you about their version of God. And If you think Zombies are persistent, you haven’t experienced the Jehovah’s Witness full-court press. Now, with the aid of your trusty Doomsday Shelter, it’s just: “Hey, Ethel—cheese it—the Bible thumpers are in the driveway”. Doomsday Shelters may be of particular interest to Floridians, who are often affected by sudden invasions of friends and relatives seeking relief from the harsh northern winter climes.
In reading about the Menifee situation, however, I have discovered many other reasons why a homeowner might consider such an annex. One guy was worried about where to go once the Perseid meteors started falling all over the place. Another one still fretted about that dratted Mayan calendar even though we seem to have escaped that one unscathed. Then, of course, we’ve still got the expansive militia-minded folks who are certain the Federal Government is only days away from charging into town in their black helicopters and confiscating everyone’s beloved guns. And by the way, these modern era Doomsday Shelters are often much more than a glorified 20-square-foot hole-in-the-ground pantry/arsenal. Atlas Survival Shelters near Los Angeles builds luxury shelters that are half the length of a basketball court and have a master bedroom, dining nook and a couch to watch a 47-inch flat-screen TV. You can probably get one with a pool, a hot tub and an atrium.
We like to tease the folks in Menifee about their little shelters but we’ve got to admit that back in the day we pretty much had the same things. We stocked them full of preserved foods, provided a reliable heat source, left plenty of room for storage and recreation and nobody laughed. We called them “cellars”.
Your Basic….
Your Utilitarian….
Your Luxury….
Not To Jump The Gun, But….
We Boston Red Sox fans are unduly superstitious. Like baseball afficionados who will not make a peep about a no-hitter while one is in progress, neither do we feel comfortable celebrating a division victory before it is accomplished. That being said, it would take an epic cataclysm on the order of the 1883 eruption of Krakatoa to deny the Red Sox their 2013 title. The Red Sox are performing feats of magic usually reserved for their hated adversaries, the New York Yankees. In a recent series against New York, the Yanks scored 25 runs in the first three games. Somehow, the Red Sox tallied 34, winning all three. If it looks like pitching might be an issue, next game they shut out Tampa Bay 2-0. Last night, after Tampa tied the game in regulation, a Sox pinch-hitter hit a grand-slam home run in the tenth to win it 7-3. The Red Sox are 9 1/2 games ahead of closest pursuer Tampa with a mere 15 games left. At 89, they have two more wins than anybody in baseball. The playoffs ahead may bring joy or dejection, but for now we’re smiling. The Red Sox are viable again.
Braggadocio
Last. month, we enjoyed our greatest viewership ever and it wasn’t even close. We were up 129 over the next best month, July, and for that we’re appreciative. Maybe people like vacation articles. Maybe they like photographs of Colorado. Either way, we’ll take it. Thanks, also, for the correspondence about the Colorado columns. In gratitude, we’re going to allow you a….
Reader Question Of The Week:
Why do you often say, “We’re Off To The Coxville Zoo? Even when you are obviously NOT off to the Coxville Zoo? What the hell IS the Coxville Zoo, anyway?”
Answer: Long-time readers will be aware that the Coxville Zoo is in Austin, Texas, and was celebrated in the Lieuen Adkins poem which started with, “We’re off to the Coxville Zoo To see the elephant and big kangaroo.” Often, as we debarked for whatever destination, Lieuen would make this announcement. The line reminds us of Lieuen, of whom we like to be reminded. Maybe we’ll run the whole thing again some day. First we have to re-find it. Meanwhile, we’re off to the Coxville Zoo to….well, you know.
That’s all, folks….
