One complaint that people who name race horses have is that all the good names are taken.
To some degree, this is true. Names of famous horses are officially retired by The Jockey Club, so there will never be another Man O’War or Secretariat. Horse names also cannot be reused until 15 years after the previous horse’s death. There are other rules—no “vulgar, obscene or suggestive” names, and no names of “commercial significance” (although Big Brown apparently slid by).
With an increasing number of common names being taken, one recent gimmick is to string a phrase together as one word (to fit the 18-letter space limit), such as Atswhatimtalkinbout. Occasionally, this works (e.g., current harness phenom Somebeachsomewhere), but it usually results in cumbersome, unmemorable names.
U.S. Trotting Association writer Dean Hoffman has suggested naming horses after classic literature, such as Absalom Absalom, Catcher In The Rye, A Farewell To Arms—you get the idea. This is imaginative, although I would stop short of naming a horse The Idiot.
This got me thinking—why not name horses after classic rock albums?
I’m not the first one to have this idea. There were horses at Beulah Park when I was young named Physical Graffiti and Stardust Ziggy (not sure why they flip-flopped the words). Plus, there was a champion Quarter Horse a few years back named Sgt. Pepper Feature.
But there are many album titles that would not only be short enough, but would sound really cool coming from an announcer’s mouth. (And for all I know, some of these may be in use.) Consider:
Abbey Road
Revolver
Aftermath
Nevermind
Sticky Fingers
Rocket to Russia
Let It Be
My Aim Is True
King of America
Electric Ladyland
Axis Bold As Love
Quadrophenia
London Calling
American Beauty
Nashville Skyline
Thriller
Purple Rain
Darksideofthemoon
Wish You Were Here
I could go on. But there were two names that leaped out at me as being especially appropriate.
Who’s Next. That sounds like a champion. Just think of what the headline writers would do if this horse got on a win streak.
Then there’s the perfect rock horse name: Born to Run. That wouldn’t work for a harness horse, though, because “run” is a synonym for breaking stride.
This list makes me grateful for the limit on the number of letters. Otherwise some horse might have been stuck with When the Pawn Hits the Conflicts He Thinks like a King What He Knows Throws the Blows When He Goes to the Fight and He'll Win the Whole Thing Fore He Enters the Ring There's No Body to Batter When Your Mind Is Your Might So When You Go Solo, You Hold Your Own Hand and Remember That Depth Is the Greatest of Heights and If You Know Where You Stand, Then You'll Know Where to Land and If You Fall It Won't Matter, Cuz You Know That You're Right.
Saturday, June 21, 2008
Monday, June 9, 2008
Myths about the Belmont
I will say this for this year’s Triple Crown—it got people talking.
From the tragic breakdown of Eight Belles in the Kentucky Derby to Big Brown’s stunning loss in the Belmont, there’s been plenty of fodder for TV pundits and online message boards—80 percent of which comes from people who can’t tell one end of a horse from the other.
In the aftermath of Big Brown’s loss, two myths have been thrown around the electronic media that need to be addressed.
Myth #1: There is nothing wrong with Big Brown. This was the first thing that came out of the mouths of most of ESPN’s on-air personalities after the race. Even on-air vet Larry Bramlage assured viewers that nothing was wrong with the horse.
Perhaps this collective denial is an attempt to keep PETA at bay, but it’s belied by the running of the race itself. Big Brown was trying to bear out throughout the race, to the point where I thought he might blow the first turn. I’ve seen many horses run the same way, and it’s usually due to some sort of pain in a left leg. Big Brown’s quarter crack was in the left front.
Maybe the quarter crack wasn’t healed as well as trainer Rick Dutrow claimed. Maybe the cause was more mundane—he may have been overheated or have bled. In any case, there was something wrong with the horse. Which brings me to….
Myth #2: The Belmont was fixed. I’m amazed at the number of people online who are making this claim. People actually think that there was a conspiracy to stiff a potential Triple Crown winner in order to cash a big bet.
This was not a $5,000 claiming race. This was one of the biggest races of the year with a $5 million bonus on the line. Are we supposed to believe that Kent Desormeaux would throw that away—not to mention a place in racing history—in order to hit the trifecta?
Desormeaux eased Big Brown because, again, there was something wrong with him. He was doing what he thought was best for the horse, and I applaud him for that.
The problem with Big Brown will eventually be revealed, and I will not be surprised if he never races again.
From the tragic breakdown of Eight Belles in the Kentucky Derby to Big Brown’s stunning loss in the Belmont, there’s been plenty of fodder for TV pundits and online message boards—80 percent of which comes from people who can’t tell one end of a horse from the other.
In the aftermath of Big Brown’s loss, two myths have been thrown around the electronic media that need to be addressed.
Myth #1: There is nothing wrong with Big Brown. This was the first thing that came out of the mouths of most of ESPN’s on-air personalities after the race. Even on-air vet Larry Bramlage assured viewers that nothing was wrong with the horse.
Perhaps this collective denial is an attempt to keep PETA at bay, but it’s belied by the running of the race itself. Big Brown was trying to bear out throughout the race, to the point where I thought he might blow the first turn. I’ve seen many horses run the same way, and it’s usually due to some sort of pain in a left leg. Big Brown’s quarter crack was in the left front.
Maybe the quarter crack wasn’t healed as well as trainer Rick Dutrow claimed. Maybe the cause was more mundane—he may have been overheated or have bled. In any case, there was something wrong with the horse. Which brings me to….
Myth #2: The Belmont was fixed. I’m amazed at the number of people online who are making this claim. People actually think that there was a conspiracy to stiff a potential Triple Crown winner in order to cash a big bet.
This was not a $5,000 claiming race. This was one of the biggest races of the year with a $5 million bonus on the line. Are we supposed to believe that Kent Desormeaux would throw that away—not to mention a place in racing history—in order to hit the trifecta?
Desormeaux eased Big Brown because, again, there was something wrong with him. He was doing what he thought was best for the horse, and I applaud him for that.
The problem with Big Brown will eventually be revealed, and I will not be surprised if he never races again.
Sunday, June 8, 2008
All over--or just begun?
The Cup has changed possession once again, but this time is different.
While this year’s Stanley Cup Finals saw the Detroit Red Wings beat the Pittsburgh Penguins 4-2, that stat doesn’t begin to tell the story.
Those who watched saw more than just a series of hockey games. They saw the future of the sport being transformed.
Maybe I’m not seeing the whole picture because I live in Pittsburgh. After all, a poll taken last weekend by ESPN showed that many outside the traditional hockey strongholds found Kimbo Slice beating the crap out of some bum to be more compelling.
But it would be hard for any true sports fan to dispute that the NHL was where it was happening the last few weeks.
The Stanley Cup Playoffs had everything you could want in a championship (well, except the Penguins winning it all). It had established teams who go a long way back with the Cup. It had upstarts in their breakthrough season. It had a number-one seed being knocked off in the second round. It had bitter rivals contending for the Eastern Conference title.
And—at least in the early rounds—it gave you a chill up your spine as packed arenas joined in singing the most euphonious national anthem, “O Canada.”
The reason people who aren’t Canadian, or from a U.S. state that borders Canada, cite for not liking hockey is that it’s boring. That’s why it’s rarely on network TV. That’s why it’s on a cable network that fills the remainder of its time with cage fighting and hunting. Whenever the major networks have tried to take on hockey, they’ve felt obligated to add some gimmick to make it more exciting. Remember Fox’s headache-inducing glowing puck?
Nobody who saw the last two Stanley Cup games could say that hockey’s boring. Game 5 gave us a tying goal from Max Talbot with 34 seconds left, then 50 additional minutes of hockey before a goal from Petr Sykora broke the tie and sent the series back to Detroit. The same scenario almost repeated itself in Game 6, when the Penguins staged a last-minute rally, only to see the puck slide across the crease—just in front of the crossbar—at the last second.
Compare that to the NBA, where the last two minutes of a game often take 20 minutes, or steroid-ridden Major League Baseball, where 26 teams are farm teams for the other four.
If games such as those seen during the Stanley Cup Playoffs are any indication, hockey should assume its rightful place in the sports pantheon in years to come.
While this year’s Stanley Cup Finals saw the Detroit Red Wings beat the Pittsburgh Penguins 4-2, that stat doesn’t begin to tell the story.
Those who watched saw more than just a series of hockey games. They saw the future of the sport being transformed.
Maybe I’m not seeing the whole picture because I live in Pittsburgh. After all, a poll taken last weekend by ESPN showed that many outside the traditional hockey strongholds found Kimbo Slice beating the crap out of some bum to be more compelling.
But it would be hard for any true sports fan to dispute that the NHL was where it was happening the last few weeks.
The Stanley Cup Playoffs had everything you could want in a championship (well, except the Penguins winning it all). It had established teams who go a long way back with the Cup. It had upstarts in their breakthrough season. It had a number-one seed being knocked off in the second round. It had bitter rivals contending for the Eastern Conference title.
And—at least in the early rounds—it gave you a chill up your spine as packed arenas joined in singing the most euphonious national anthem, “O Canada.”
The reason people who aren’t Canadian, or from a U.S. state that borders Canada, cite for not liking hockey is that it’s boring. That’s why it’s rarely on network TV. That’s why it’s on a cable network that fills the remainder of its time with cage fighting and hunting. Whenever the major networks have tried to take on hockey, they’ve felt obligated to add some gimmick to make it more exciting. Remember Fox’s headache-inducing glowing puck?
Nobody who saw the last two Stanley Cup games could say that hockey’s boring. Game 5 gave us a tying goal from Max Talbot with 34 seconds left, then 50 additional minutes of hockey before a goal from Petr Sykora broke the tie and sent the series back to Detroit. The same scenario almost repeated itself in Game 6, when the Penguins staged a last-minute rally, only to see the puck slide across the crease—just in front of the crossbar—at the last second.
Compare that to the NBA, where the last two minutes of a game often take 20 minutes, or steroid-ridden Major League Baseball, where 26 teams are farm teams for the other four.
If games such as those seen during the Stanley Cup Playoffs are any indication, hockey should assume its rightful place in the sports pantheon in years to come.
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Well, that sucked!
OK, so the Penguins stumbled--literally--in the first game. So what? Coach Michel Therrien is bringing in his secret weapon Monday night.
"WWGRD?"--What Would Gary Roberts Do?--has become a catch phrase in da 'Burgh over the last few weeks. Now we'll see what Gary Roberts can do.
This may be what the Penguins need to give them more experience, as they're going against the extremely experienced Detroit Red Wings. Sidney Crosby and Evgeni Malkin's combined ages are younger than Chris Chelios.
It would almost be like a movie if the "old man" (who is the same age as me) Gary Roberts could turn the Coupe Stanley playoffs around and be the hero.
He should be mad as hell after having to watch the first game from the nosebleed seats in Joe Louis Arena.
And if that doesn't work, there's always HOSSA! HOSSA! HOSSA!
"WWGRD?"--What Would Gary Roberts Do?--has become a catch phrase in da 'Burgh over the last few weeks. Now we'll see what Gary Roberts can do.
This may be what the Penguins need to give them more experience, as they're going against the extremely experienced Detroit Red Wings. Sidney Crosby and Evgeni Malkin's combined ages are younger than Chris Chelios.
It would almost be like a movie if the "old man" (who is the same age as me) Gary Roberts could turn the Coupe Stanley playoffs around and be the hero.
He should be mad as hell after having to watch the first game from the nosebleed seats in Joe Louis Arena.
And if that doesn't work, there's always HOSSA! HOSSA! HOSSA!
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
The old...uh...ball game?
There's this ad for Baby Ruth candy bars on the radio that starts out: “This year is an important anniversary in baseball.” The first time I heard it, I thought, “The 50th anniversary of anabolic steroids?” Actually, it’s the 100th anniversary of “Take Me Out to the Ball Game.” So this morning the ad came on, and I put two and two together….
Shoot me up with some steroids
Shoot me up with some ‘roids
Buy me some Ripped Fuel and power drink
I don’t care if my testicles shrink
‘Cause I got a call from the Yankees
If they don’t sign, it’s a shame
‘Cause it’s one, two, three million bucks
In the old ball game
BASEBALL CAUSES CANCER!!!
HOCKEY MAKES YOU HOLY!!!
GO PENS!!!
Shoot me up with some steroids
Shoot me up with some ‘roids
Buy me some Ripped Fuel and power drink
I don’t care if my testicles shrink
‘Cause I got a call from the Yankees
If they don’t sign, it’s a shame
‘Cause it’s one, two, three million bucks
In the old ball game
BASEBALL CAUSES CANCER!!!
HOCKEY MAKES YOU HOLY!!!
GO PENS!!!
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
A Dead Horse in the Derby
Thoroughbred racing has reached a crisis.
This year’s Kentucky Derby gave us a serious Triple Crown threat in Big Brown, but few people are talking about him because the Derby gave us something else—a dead horse.
Horses have broken down in major stakes races before, but the death of Eight Belles is different because the Derby is different from other races. For many people who don’t know a furlong from a fetlock, it’s the only horse race they watch all year. There has been an idea among many racing fans that the Derby is somehow charmed—that there is some sort of Derby god who wards off tragedy and makes sure that the race is won by the people with the most heartwarming story.
History has borne this out. While Barbaro’s death affected many people, he sustained his fatal injury in the Preakness. Too many horses have died during the Breeders’ Cup championships. But you have to go back to 1974 for the last breakdown in the Derby. Flip Sal’s injury was relatively minor and he survived to stand stud.
Tragedy just doesn’t happen in the Derby—until now.
Eight Belles’ death horrified racing fans, scared off a lot of newbies, brought PETA out of the woodwork to compare horse racing to dog fighting, and left everyone concerned asking why.
Given the sport’s recent trends, the real question is why it took so long.
Since that awful day in 1990 when Go for Wand broke her leg in the Breeders’ Cup Distaff, it seems as if a year doesn’t go by without a career- or life-ending injury in a major Thoroughbred stakes. The names mean little to anyone who’s not a racing fan, but they would have made for a pretty impressive feature event if they had all been entered in the same race. Holy Bull. Charismatic. Prairie Bayou. George Washington. Pine Island. Union City. Fanfair.
Then there was Barbaro. For two weeks, he captured the nation’s imagination with his impressive Derby win—and then, in an instant, his racing career was over and a nation awaited his recovery in vain.
In the aftermath of last week’s tragedy, a lot of revisionist history is being posted on message boards. Some people maintain that horse racing has always had a high casualty rate. They're calling it a cruel anachronism, not suitable for a more humane, politically correct era. At the same time, many horse racing supporters on these boards insist that nothing’s wrong, and that carting a dead horse off the track after every other televised race is somehow normal.
As a racing fan for over 35 years, I can tell you that the sport has changed. The horses that ran in the 2008 Kentucky Derby are not my grandfather's Thoroughbreds.
I grew up in the 1970s, a golden age for racing. The decade was highlighted by three Triple Crown winners and several near misses. Nobody had to give the competitors’ safety a second thought. Shooting a horse with a broken leg was a joke in my house because it happened so seldom. The only high-profile breakdown during the entire decade was Ruffian-and that occurred in an ill-conceived match race.
For about the last 20 years, it has been clear that the Thoroughbred is more fragile than it used to be. This is not nostalgia—this is fact. Seabiscuit raced 35 times as a 2-year-old alone. I will be surprised if any starter in this year’s Derby races 35 times in its career.
Racing needs to get its head out of its butt and do something. Synthetic tracks may reduce catastrophic injuries, but they are only a short-term solution. What needs to start now is a hard look at the breeding of the horses themselves. Are they being bred for the long-term good of the breed, or for short-term profit? Perhaps the industry has also become too dependent on drugs such as Bute and Lasix, which have allowed infirm horses to have successful racing careers and eventually enter the gene pool.
This is not about animal rights. This is about the survival of racing. The sport gained no new fans Saturday, and the old fans will not be able to close their eyes and think of Secretariat for much longer.
I will be rooting for Big Brown in the Preakness and Belmont—not to win the Triple Crown, but to make it around the track. And that’s not how racing was meant to be.
This year’s Kentucky Derby gave us a serious Triple Crown threat in Big Brown, but few people are talking about him because the Derby gave us something else—a dead horse.
Horses have broken down in major stakes races before, but the death of Eight Belles is different because the Derby is different from other races. For many people who don’t know a furlong from a fetlock, it’s the only horse race they watch all year. There has been an idea among many racing fans that the Derby is somehow charmed—that there is some sort of Derby god who wards off tragedy and makes sure that the race is won by the people with the most heartwarming story.
History has borne this out. While Barbaro’s death affected many people, he sustained his fatal injury in the Preakness. Too many horses have died during the Breeders’ Cup championships. But you have to go back to 1974 for the last breakdown in the Derby. Flip Sal’s injury was relatively minor and he survived to stand stud.
Tragedy just doesn’t happen in the Derby—until now.
Eight Belles’ death horrified racing fans, scared off a lot of newbies, brought PETA out of the woodwork to compare horse racing to dog fighting, and left everyone concerned asking why.
Given the sport’s recent trends, the real question is why it took so long.
Since that awful day in 1990 when Go for Wand broke her leg in the Breeders’ Cup Distaff, it seems as if a year doesn’t go by without a career- or life-ending injury in a major Thoroughbred stakes. The names mean little to anyone who’s not a racing fan, but they would have made for a pretty impressive feature event if they had all been entered in the same race. Holy Bull. Charismatic. Prairie Bayou. George Washington. Pine Island. Union City. Fanfair.
Then there was Barbaro. For two weeks, he captured the nation’s imagination with his impressive Derby win—and then, in an instant, his racing career was over and a nation awaited his recovery in vain.
In the aftermath of last week’s tragedy, a lot of revisionist history is being posted on message boards. Some people maintain that horse racing has always had a high casualty rate. They're calling it a cruel anachronism, not suitable for a more humane, politically correct era. At the same time, many horse racing supporters on these boards insist that nothing’s wrong, and that carting a dead horse off the track after every other televised race is somehow normal.
As a racing fan for over 35 years, I can tell you that the sport has changed. The horses that ran in the 2008 Kentucky Derby are not my grandfather's Thoroughbreds.
I grew up in the 1970s, a golden age for racing. The decade was highlighted by three Triple Crown winners and several near misses. Nobody had to give the competitors’ safety a second thought. Shooting a horse with a broken leg was a joke in my house because it happened so seldom. The only high-profile breakdown during the entire decade was Ruffian-and that occurred in an ill-conceived match race.
For about the last 20 years, it has been clear that the Thoroughbred is more fragile than it used to be. This is not nostalgia—this is fact. Seabiscuit raced 35 times as a 2-year-old alone. I will be surprised if any starter in this year’s Derby races 35 times in its career.
Racing needs to get its head out of its butt and do something. Synthetic tracks may reduce catastrophic injuries, but they are only a short-term solution. What needs to start now is a hard look at the breeding of the horses themselves. Are they being bred for the long-term good of the breed, or for short-term profit? Perhaps the industry has also become too dependent on drugs such as Bute and Lasix, which have allowed infirm horses to have successful racing careers and eventually enter the gene pool.
This is not about animal rights. This is about the survival of racing. The sport gained no new fans Saturday, and the old fans will not be able to close their eyes and think of Secretariat for much longer.
I will be rooting for Big Brown in the Preakness and Belmont—not to win the Triple Crown, but to make it around the track. And that’s not how racing was meant to be.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
The Damnedest Thing I've Ever Seen?
This is the week when I officially go crazy.
This is the week when I spend hours analyzing a handful of horse races, watch the replays of those races repeatedly, and scour horse racing websites for any clue that might help me make a bet on a two-minute race.
This is the week that I dig books and old Racing Forms out of the basement, not only to find patterns in races from past years, but to relive a lot of great memories as well.
This is the week that climaxes with me in a crowded OTB, getting misty-eyed at the playing of the official song of a state where I’ve never lived.
This is the week that I actually like Dan Fogelberg.
This is Kentucky Derby Week.
It means little to most sports fans, and probably less to most racing fans than it does to me. But it was an obsession in my house when I was growing up.
The first Derby I remember watching was 1972, when I was six. I remember my brothers studying the Racing Form and talking about the race, with the name of one horse standing out—Riva Ridge. It just sounded like a winner to me. He was not the best Derby winner ever, though—or even the best from his own stable. That would happen the next year.
The ‘70s were a golden age for the Derby, with three Triple Crown winners and several near misses. The major prep races were telecast on ABC, and I spent all spring waiting for the buildup to the big day—as did everybody else in my house.
Then I got the chance to see three Derbies in person in the 1980s. The Kentucky Derby should be on anybody’s “Bucket List.” I will never forget my first glimpse of Churchill Downs. I’d seen it on TV many times, but that does not do it justice, if only due to the size of the grandstand. My idea of a racetrack was Beulah Park. I was not prepared to see the Twin Spires.
Through the years, through my career in horse racing, as well as my present incarnation outside the sport, everything has stopped for the Derby. My family is scattered across the country, but at around 6 p.m. this Saturday, I will know exactly what they’re doing.
The Derby is not only the peak of the Thoroughbred racing season, but the ultimate handicapping challenge because it is unlike any other race. No other race in North America has a field of up to 20 horses—all separate betting interests for bigger payoffs. No race features 3-year-olds racing farther than they have before. No race is run with a crowd of over 100,000—many of them partying in the infield.
I write this, I have given Saturday’s Derby past performances a quick look. This edition’s field has more question marks than a Spanish phrasebook. It looks like the damnedest thing I’ve ever seen.
But I say that every year.
This is the week when I spend hours analyzing a handful of horse races, watch the replays of those races repeatedly, and scour horse racing websites for any clue that might help me make a bet on a two-minute race.
This is the week that I dig books and old Racing Forms out of the basement, not only to find patterns in races from past years, but to relive a lot of great memories as well.
This is the week that climaxes with me in a crowded OTB, getting misty-eyed at the playing of the official song of a state where I’ve never lived.
This is the week that I actually like Dan Fogelberg.
This is Kentucky Derby Week.
It means little to most sports fans, and probably less to most racing fans than it does to me. But it was an obsession in my house when I was growing up.
The first Derby I remember watching was 1972, when I was six. I remember my brothers studying the Racing Form and talking about the race, with the name of one horse standing out—Riva Ridge. It just sounded like a winner to me. He was not the best Derby winner ever, though—or even the best from his own stable. That would happen the next year.
The ‘70s were a golden age for the Derby, with three Triple Crown winners and several near misses. The major prep races were telecast on ABC, and I spent all spring waiting for the buildup to the big day—as did everybody else in my house.
Then I got the chance to see three Derbies in person in the 1980s. The Kentucky Derby should be on anybody’s “Bucket List.” I will never forget my first glimpse of Churchill Downs. I’d seen it on TV many times, but that does not do it justice, if only due to the size of the grandstand. My idea of a racetrack was Beulah Park. I was not prepared to see the Twin Spires.
Through the years, through my career in horse racing, as well as my present incarnation outside the sport, everything has stopped for the Derby. My family is scattered across the country, but at around 6 p.m. this Saturday, I will know exactly what they’re doing.
The Derby is not only the peak of the Thoroughbred racing season, but the ultimate handicapping challenge because it is unlike any other race. No other race in North America has a field of up to 20 horses—all separate betting interests for bigger payoffs. No race features 3-year-olds racing farther than they have before. No race is run with a crowd of over 100,000—many of them partying in the infield.
I write this, I have given Saturday’s Derby past performances a quick look. This edition’s field has more question marks than a Spanish phrasebook. It looks like the damnedest thing I’ve ever seen.
But I say that every year.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
