By Thomas Chambers
I dreamt this week that a Clydesdale won the Breeders’ Cup Classic.
Standing close to the wire in the infield, I didn’t see the fluffy white feathering hair around the legs and ankles, but the horse, who had Thunder, or Lumber or something in his name, had legs like tree trunks. The faces of the willowy, sleek Thoroughbreds behind him turned to shock and horror as they just could not catch him. After the finish, the jockeys nothing more than gray silhouettes, they slowed and circled each other, breathing hard, protesting “What the hell just happened?!” Thunder Lumber had only one gear, but it was extremely powerful, and consistent, and it looked like he would have been able to run like that all day.
He paid $16,473 to win, which I know is impossible, and I said to someone “You know, that was the only horse in the race I would never have bet on. Still wouldn’t. Oh well.”
If you think I’m making this up, I had to kneel many times years ago in that divided, dark wooden phone booth and pretend to the pastor, who ate at our house whenever my dad got him a New Yorker Four-Door Hardtop at nearly cost, that I was a little hoodlum. I knew it was only for monthly maintenance on the guilt trip, when all I ever did, very occasionally, was punch somebody on the playground who deserved it anyway. But it worked, the guilt lingers, my knees are shot and that’s the honest-to-God truth. I wouldn’t, can’t lie. So if you persist in your skepticism, you owe me a tip on the Juvenile Fillies Turf.
I believe the source of this vision is that as we head into the 33rd Breeders’ Cup World Championships at beautiful Del Mar Thoroughbred Club on Friday and Saturday, the very nature of the Thoroughbred breed must be questioned. We demand answers from the people who manage these horses, as it sure looks like the wussification of racing.
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Posted on November 3, 2017
