This Is Why

This is why Starr Ann and I can't bring ourselves to abandon horseracing. This is why we still hold out hope that, at least in this small corner of human dominance over the rest of ... well, of everything natural, some equity and honor may at last emerge. All we humans have to do is follow the lead, and pay attention to the animals.

For anyone who actually knew what they were looking at, today's Monmouth Stakes was a once in a lifetime sight to behold. Big Brown, a three-year-old with a fantastic resume, but a three-year-old nonetheless, beat a seasoned field of multiple Grade I stakes winners, on the second turf race of his life. The boy not only won, but - and I cannot emphasize this too much - he wired the field (meaning he broke on the lead and never relinquished it through the entire race) under a hand ride from Kent Desormeaux, his jockey.

Let me tell you why this is so exciting. This race was like throwing an extremely talented college basketball player in with a bunch of the best the NBA can offer, and having him come out as most valuable player.

Now let me tell what this means to all of us who love racing but hate what the racing industry often does to horses. Kent Desormeaux, to his great credit, did not hit Big Brown when he was tested in the stretch run of today's race. He urged, he pushed, he used everything his body had to tell the colt there were competitors breathing down on their necks, but he didn't go to the whip to secure a spectacular daylight win. Instead, Desormeaux let Big Brown's natural desire to stay out front win the race. BB dug in, and would be damned if a another horse would pass him today. That's greatness. That's the difference between the kind of creature that's merely satisfied to ride the Earth for one more revolution each day, and the kind that shows up to excel at what his instincts tell him he's good at.

Horseracing has a long way to go, but steroids are on their way out, the use of whips is being severely challenged, and trainers who've shown themselves to be less than honest are having horses jerked from their barns by owners who are finally waking up.

Today, Big Brown gave a glimpse of what racing could be - no whips, pure love of running. And you know, vision is the first step to reality. If you're innerested, the race is at:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dMBmWvgXH0U

We Take Back What We Said Earlier

So, there was this man,


and he did a quite honorable thing.


When my best friend Starr Ann (hi, Starr Ann) and I were still at the orphanage, they brought this little boy to stay there. He was real cute, and real small for his age. Starr Ann was around twelve at the time, and I guess Jake was maybe four or five.

Anyway, Starr Ann was crazy about this child. She took him over right away and gave him the closest thing to a mother you can imagine. I always found it so sweet to see how Starr Ann and Jake got along.

Jake was forever falling out of some tree, wrecking his scooter, or being hit by a swing. Getting banged up was one of Jake's claims to fame. The other claim was that he was constantly talking about being a jockey someday.

Well, Starr Ann was pretty protective of that kid, and every time he got hurt she'd go pick him up and check him over real good, then worry like crazy that he had internal bleeding or something. One time, she heard in health class that when somebody hurts their head, besides making sure their pupils aren't out of sync, it's a good idea to ask them a question and see if they answer it the way they normally would. So, since Jake was never without a favorite jockey, that was Starr Ann's question for him. Whenever Jake got messed up, Starr Ann would grab him up (after carefully checking for broken bones) and rock him for a few minutes, then ask him, "Who's your favorite jockey." And he'd tell her his current favorite, which Starr Ann always knew, and then she could finally relax. Well, except for waiting for him to poop, so she could be sure he wasn't bleeding internally. But at least she could check head injury off her worry list.

Jake got adopted after only one year at the orphanage. The nuns frowned on letting kids keep in touch after they left us. Starr Ann grieved for a long, long time.

Still, after all this time, I don't mention Jake hardly at all. I'm just not up to seeing that one look Starr Ann gets on her face. But yesterday, after watching the Belmont, where Big Brown had an off day, and his jockey pulled him up coming off the final turn, regardless of what anybody might think of him, I kept thinking of Jake for some reason. And I could feel that Starr Ann was too. I just knew she was.

About an hour after the race, Starr Ann came walking by as I was folding some laundry. I rolled up a towel and bumped it across her head. "Hey, who's your favorite jockey."

The sun came out in Starr Ann's eyes. "Kent Desormeaux."

Well, at least I knew she didn't have any head injuries.

The Boobs Have It

My best friend Starr Ann (hi, Starr Ann) doesn't take no-class stupidity lightly. Well, she doesn't exactly take it hard, either. Here's an example of what I'm talking about.

She was surfing around the Internet (under cloak of my passwords, of course) and all of a sudden we hear her, all the way out in the kitchen, laughing that one way you really don't want to hear Starr Ann laugh. Jodie looked at me. I looked at Lane. Lane shrugged her shoulders.

I said to Jodie, "Lane hasn't seen Starr Ann in this particular shade of sardonic before."

Now, we're working real hard, all the while trying to make it look like we aren't working at all, on getting Lane to get even halfway innerested in something, anything. So, naturally, she didn't take the bait.

Jodie pursed her lips (I love when she does that) and said, "Well, Miss Lane, get ready, because in oh, I'd say about 20 seconds," Jodie took a fake look at her watch, "Starr Ann should be coming through that door with a great big load of some kind of bullshit."

Lane nodded real neutral.

In about 20 seconds, Starr Ann came walking through the door, carrying a copy of that picture up there. She showed it to Lane first. "These people have the honor of being connected with one of the best-going horses to come along in our lifetime, and look how they've decided to try and cheapen him."

Lane took a dismissive glance and handed the photo to Jodie, who didn't hold back one bit. "Fuck a frickin' duck upside down and sideways!"

If you think I didn't rush across the room to see for myself, you're wrong.

Starr Ann's eyes darted over at Lane. Still nothing.

So Starr Ann got this real casual swing to her voice and it all of a sudden sounded a whole lot more Southern than usual. "Tell you what, Margo, I think you and me oughta buy us a racehorse. Name her Boob Job. See if Hooters wants to pay us the big bucks for lettin' 'em sponsor her."

"You're right! I can just hear the race call now. '...and as they near the wire, it's Boob Job by a nose, no wait, that's not a nose...'"

Jodie said, "Then after she wins, '...now entering the winner's circle is Boob Job, a 3-year old gray filly out of Silicone...'"

Starr Ann's turn. "...by the two time Grade II winning sire Owl Eyes..."

Ouch! We all groaned at that. Well, Jodie and I groaned.

But the really bad lines crack Starr Ann up more than the good ones do and she was ready to roll. "Reminds me of those Hoof Hearted videos on youtube."

I said, "Huh?"

Jodie said, "Huh?"

"You never saw those? You gotta pronounce 'Hoof' like 'roof' and say 'Hoof Hearted' real fast."

Jodie said it out loud that way and just about peed in her pants. "...and it's Hoof Hearted by a nose..."

Then the miracle occurred. Lane asked, "And I suppose you're going to tell me Hoof Hearted has a come-from-behind running style?"

I doubt any of us has ever in our lives been so happy to hear such a silly, juvenile joke.

Tomorrow, we put Lane on yet another airplane. This one will be taking her back to Walter Reed Army Hospital (you know, the one at the heart of the not-so-distant neglect scandals) where they will subject her to their Warriors In Transition program.



Starr Ann, Jodie, and I have every reason to hope that Lane's wonderful, resilient, youthful, hopeful, healthy mind will whisper something like '...Hoof Hearted coming on from the rear...' or '...gray filly by Silicone...' right when she most needs a chuckle.

And just for the record? They haven't invented a level of base corporate sponsorship low enough to take one bit of class away from the likes of this exquisite creature.