March 18 Blog: THUNDER & LIGHTNING! If you ever – EVER! – want to experience the wonder, excitement & majesty of horse racing, don’t watch it on television. Or sit in the clubhouse or in the grandstand. Here’s what to do: Try & finagle your way to the outside rail of the last turn – the backstretch, if you will - just as the horses turn for home. Won’t be easy. You’ll have to know somebody to help you get to that spot. But – if the racing industry would ever change their archaic ways, they’d put bleachers & stands out there & let the general public feel the thrill that is unlike any other. To wit……. When I was a kid – a teenager, really – my family had a few horses running in New England: Suffolk Downs, Narragansett & Rockingham Park, mostly. And, at the now-defunct Rockingham, my love for racing was so deeply instilled in my bones & in my spirit that it’s still as strong as it was during those heady days back in – what? – 1966? See, back at Rockingham in Salem, NH, you had to be 21 years old to get into the races. And I was, like, fifteen or something. God, The Rock was beautiful! The roof of the clubhouse & grandstand was orange tile – like the old Howard Johnson’s restaurants – but that roof went on for a quarter mile. And there were trees everywhere, especially on the backstretch. On a sunny Saturday in June or July, there wasn’t a more beautiful place in the world. But, alas – as a kid – I was ‘relegated’ to the backstretch, with our trainer – a gentleman of great class & courage, one Mr. Bill Daly - while all of my elders went to the track itself. I’d spend a good part of the afternoons helping “Uncle Bill” wash polo wraps & grooming horses & filling water buckets & all that. I loved it. But, then, about two minutes before every race, I’d rush over to the outside rail of the track – right where the horses began their turn for home. And then, through speakers on the backside, I’d hear the bell ring & “They’re off!” Nothing much happened for the first number of seconds – sometimes a minute, if it was a long race. Then, my straining eyes would see a cloud of dust coming down the backside & I knew the horses were coming my way. Then, there they were – coming out of the third turn & directly at me! All of this in ten or fifteen seconds. It was so fast to my young eyes that I couldn’t believe they could run that far, that fast. And that’s when it happened……. To see eight or ten or twelve horses coming straight at you at 35-40 miles an hour – not a hundred feet from you! – was mesmerizing. Oh! My! God!!!!! I almost wanted to run – the power coming at me was so great! And then, in a heartbeat, all hell broke loose. The sound of the thunder from those hooves beat in my chest like a thousand drums – almost took my breath away! And to see the lightning in those horses’ eyes & their nostrils flaring & the sweat-sheen on their coats almost blinding as they blazed past had me holding onto that outside railing with whiter-than-white knuckles. I was frozen in place. And the jocks! Every one of them screaming at the top of their lungs – almost drowning out the thunder – as they blazed past. There was nothing in my ears but a monster maelstrom. In a second-&-a-half. And then, as they all turned for home, the grandstand & clubhouse erupted in a wave of sound that grew increasingly louder with every hoofbeat. Until it drowned out all other sounds. And then they were gone. Down the track. To fame & fortune & loss & mediocrity & everything in between. And, finally, the cacophony would subside. Sometimes, quickly. Sometimes, slowly. And, within several seconds, I’d watch as the stewards films – they were actual films back then – would slide down guy-wires to the ground from their upper perches – to a car driving as fast as it could to gather all four of the films & book it on back to the finish line, where the films would be rushed upstairs to the Stewards’ Room for quick exposure & inspection, in case there was an inquiry or claim of foul. I never knew – well, mostly – who won those races. Unless, of course, it was a horse from our barn or one right close to it. When that happened, the celebrations would begin. Owners, friends, trainers, grooms – everybody – would be screaming & hollering & high-fiving each other for all they were worth. But, mostly, it was just another afternoon on the backstretch. And, after each race, I’d wander back to Uncle Bill’s barn to do whatever chores he had for me. For half an hour or so. Until it was time to go back to that outside rail & have yet another indelible memory seared into my spirit. I gotta tell you, kids – if you ever, EVER get a chance to live that experience, do it. LIVE the thunder & lightning! Because if you do, something in your lives will never be the same again. And that’s the God’s honest! Now, today, when I get out in the arena with – say – M’Stor & Sarbonne (two ex-racers) & they’re tearing around the arena at what seems like warp-speed – not 15 or 20 feet away from me – I can get darned close to that feeling I had as a 15 year-old kid. But not quite. After all, there are only two, maybe three, of them – not a whole herd! I dunno. Maybe that’s why I go into the arena to be that close to tons of beasts flying past me, with eyes still blazing & nostrils still flaring. To go back to those days at The Rock. When I really learned what true excitement is all about. Race on, you guys! Thunder on, boys! Let that lightning flash, girls! And let us all be pulled along in your slip-streams! Forever. That’s it for today. Thanks. Peace. Out.
Posted on: Tue, 18 Mar 2014 21:10:59 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015