Jedi Mind Tricks

Ah… obsession. Such an ugly word for something so beautiful when properly justified.

“I want a Paynter,” I declared — repeatedly — to my longtime sales mentor, Rudy Delguidice.

A man with the patience of a saint and the eye-roll discipline of a monk.

“Why do you want a Paynter so badly?” he’d say. That was ten years ago or even more, I was engrossed in my quest for a Paynter.

I never quite got the chance to explain my obsession to Rudy, the man, until this week.

I tried to breed to Paynter — offered Officer Leah. She aborted early. A disappointment, yes… but I’m not a man who believes the universe says no. It merely says not yet.

Then Knicks Go arrived.

I dialed Rudy immediately.“Knicks Go is a Paynter.”

He laughed. I could hear the smile — and I’m certain, the eye roll — through the phone.

In 2022, I gave fate one more nudge. I booked my young mare, Darby Shaw, to Paynter. The next year… She foaled Banksy’s.

We liked him coming into his debut on Friday. Really liked him. But debutantes, like diplomats and con men, can be undone by inexperience. The question wasn’t talent — it was seasoning. And yes, the lack of it showed.

Banksy’s got into a rather animated argument with the dirt — took offense to it hitting him in the face, began climbing as if filing a formal protest. Francisco Arrieta, cool as ever, grabbed him, took him back, let him find his rhythm. And once Banksy’s got his legs underneath him… he showed us exactly who he was.

But whats with the obsession?

Why Paynter?

For that, you have to go back — not to the stallion — but to the racehorse.

Paynter, trained by Baffert for Zayat Stables. A very good horse. A survivor. His battle with laminitis was well documented, his resilience almost mythic. His final campaign pointed toward the Breeders’ Cup Classic at Santa Anita.

I was there — late October, Santa Anita, Breeders’ Cup works humming like a well-oiled crime syndicate — and Paynter rewired my understanding of horses.

Stars everywhere. Big names. Bigger expectations.

Baffert told me Paynter and Flashback would work after the last break. Flashback — a Tapit — immensely talented, deeply distracted. Typical Tapit. Brilliant, high-maintenance, with the attention span of a cat in a laser factory.

They head to the pole for a six-furlong work.

Paynter? All business. Ears flicking. Calm. Focused. Flashback? Admiring the hillside turf, the parking lot, the pony… everything except the horse next to him.

And then — BOOM.

Paynter sprints away three lengths like Flashback never existed.

Flashback panics, scrambles off the pony, gives chase. He catches Paynter at the sixteenth of a mile later — and just as he draws to his hip, Paynter flicks an ear… and skidaddles away. Three more lengths.

Flashback surges again past the half-mile pole — yes, barely a furlong into the work — and once again Paynter pricks an ear, then another, and leaves him like a bad habit.

You could feel Flashback muttering under his breath — “son of a b*tch” — as he makes a third run. And Paynter, merciless creature that he was, opens up again. Five furlongs of teasing. Taunting. Psychological warfare.

Finally, Flashback makes one last desperate attempt.

Paynter’s response was devastatingly simple:“I’m finished futzing with you.”

And he was gone.

59 and change. 1:11 and change.Flashback staggered through the wire emotionally and physically spent. Paynter? Ears still flicking. As if mildly amused.

That was the moment.

Paynter didn’t just outrun horses — he outthought them. He made them dizzy. Uncertain. He won races before the real running even began. A bully, yes — but a brilliant one. A Jedi disguised as a pony.

A good horse needs a good mind. A sharp one. One that understands the game.

That’s why I wanted a Paynter.

Funny thing is, since 2019, I already had one — not in the barn but at the house.

Husky Joe.

Joe is a magician of deception. He doesn’t want his bone. He wants Rudy’s, the canine version of my mentor. And Rudy, to his credit, defends property like a trained operative.

So Joe adapts.

If trickery fails, Joe comes to me. Licks his lips. Requests a treat. As I reach for it, Joe looks at Rudy — as if to say, “Give it to Rudy first.” I comply. Rudy takes the treat. The bone lies unattended.

And Joe strikes.

Rudy is faster. More athletic. Sleek and fearless, he's got the scars to prove it. Joe is a sixteen-mile-canter husky with a long stride - a bulldozer — and when Rudy’s on a leash, Joe futzes with him mercilessly, hits and run, like I got you and you can't run over the top of me.

That… was Paynter.

Quiet. Athletic. Patient. Until the game was afoot.

And today? Today I finally got my Paynter.

Banksy’s is grown up now. He bullied Warrior Sophie, a well bred Justify filly, in the mornings — even Francisco noticed it. He leaned on her, intimidated her, embarrassed her. She couldn’t stay with him — though she was perfectly fine with others. She must have hated him.

He probably even threw mud at her for good measure muttering under her breath "that F*cking Feral - common bred- Paynter"

The way he raced Friday? The mind. The physicality. The intent.

I waited a long time.

But in the end…I got my Paynter, Rudy.