F$#K You and the Horse you rode on
HERE WE GO AGAIN.
Social media trying to pressure people into making decisions about horses they have ZERO
invested.
Zero.
Not a dollar.
Not a vet bill.
Not a training bill.
Not a sleepless night.
Not one damn thing.
But they have a keyboard, so apparently that makes them an expert.
And now they're going to bludgeon somebody because they had the audacity to take a position and say:
“We're going to make sure we have a good three-year-old.”
Oh, the horror.
Here comes the same bullshit we've heard forever.
“We retire horses too early.”
“We don't run enough.”
And my personal favorite:
“I couldn't wait to bet against that horse.”
You know what?
Fuck you and the horse you rode on.
You have never owned a quality Thoroughbred, but you want to tell somebody who does own one how to develop it.
Not because you're responsible for the horse.
Not because you paid for it.
Not because you have any skin in the game.
You just want to see the damn horse run because you want your entertainment.
Fuck you and the horse you rode on.
Then we get:
“The breed is soft.”
“The breed isn't what it used to be.”
You weren't even born when half the horses you're talking about were running.
You weren't there.
You didn't see them.
You don't know how they were trained.
You don't know how they were managed.
You don't know what their veterinary care looked like.
But you read three paragraphs somewhere and now you're the keeper of Thoroughbred history.
People have absolutely no sense of history anymore.
Or perspective.
It's like a bunch of spoiled brats throwing a temper tantrum because somebody wouldn't let them play with somebody else's toy.
Fuck you and the horse you rode on.
And here's the part that really gets me.
Y'all don't have to take care of the animal.
When a horse needs extra veterinary attention, you're not there.
When the vets are working overtime trying to get a horse recovered, you're not there.
When somebody is watching the horse at two in the morning, you're not there.
But you're sitting on social media wondering:
“Why didn't they go to the lead?”
“Why didn't they press him?”
“Why didn't they run him?”
You don't give two shits about the horse.
And if you think I'm making this argument because I'm some old fart yelling at the clouds, let's talk about history.
Because apparently history is now optional.
Arazi.
Go look him up.
Absolutely freakish as a two-year-old.
Amazing.
Explosive.
He looked like something somebody had dropped down from another planet.
Then came the three-year-old season.
And he was never the same horse.
Not even close.
Artax was another phenomenal two-year-old.
Brilliant horse.
But once you got beyond that two-year-old season and started asking different things of him, especially going longer, you weren't looking at exactly the same horse anymore. He ended up being a terrific sprinter, not the Derby hopeful people thought he was at two.
And I could go on.
And on.
And on.
This isn't some brand-new theory somebody cooked up on Twitter last Tuesday.
Young horses are growing horses.
There is a difference.
They're developing.
They're changing.
Their bodies are changing.
Their frames are changing.
Their muscles are developing.
Their bones are developing.
And when you keep adding stress to a horse that is still growing, that stress doesn't magically disappear because the horse won by 12 lengths.
A big, immature horse isn't a piece of machinery where you can just keep putting miles on it and assume everything is fine because the engine is running.
Stress is stress.
You can stunt development.
You can compromise the horse.
And you can take something that could have been very, very good at three and try to get everything out of it at two because somebody on social media wanted to see the horse run.
That's the part these people don't understand.
They're thinking about Saturday.
The owner and trainer should be thinking about the horse's future.
And that's why I think the first Saturday in May is so damn perfectly placed on the calendar.
The Kentucky Derby gives you something racing desperately needs:
time.
It gives the two-year-olds time to become three-year-olds.
It gives the immature horses time to mature.
It gives the big-framed horses time to grow into those frames.
It gives the developing horses time to develop.
And by the first Saturday in May, you're not necessarily looking at the same animal you were looking at eight months earlier.
That's the beauty of it.
It levels the playing field between the brilliant two-year-old and the developing three-year-old.
The horse that was spectacular at two doesn't automatically get to carry that advantage forever.
The horse that needed time gets time.
And sometimes that horse catches up.
Sometimes he passes everybody.
Sometimes the horse you thought was a monster at two turns out to be just a really damn good two-year-old.
That's horse racing.
That's development.
That's why we don't need to panic because somebody doesn't want to run a two-year-old in every damn race available between September and November.
Maybe they're looking beyond the next race.
Maybe they're looking toward May.
Maybe they're looking toward the horse they believe that animal can become.
And frankly, I'd rather have an owner thinking that way than somebody sitting behind a keyboard screaming:
“RUN HIM! I WANT TO BET AGAINST HIM!”
Well, congratulations.
You got your entertainment.
The owner got the vet bill.
And the horse got the stressed.
Fuck you and the horse you rode on.
It's all about YOU.
It's all about what you want.
Fuck You and The Horse You Rode on.
Your bet.
Your opinion.
Your entertainment.
Your Twitter argument.
You know better, the closest you come to an outstanding horse was from standing outside the paddock looking in.
So, just shut the fuck up!
And the grandstanding is what really kills me.
People acting like they're saving the sport.
They're not.
They care about themselves.
They don't give a damn about the owner who bred the horse.
They don't care about the person who bought the horse with hard-earned money.
They don't care about the trainer trying to develop the horse.
They don't care about the investment going straight into the toilet because somebody decided the horse needed to run again before he was ready.
And God forbid it's a big-framed, big-bodied horse that is still growing.
You couldn't tell an immature horse from your grandmother.
You can't tell a lead switch.
You can't recognize visible stress.
You can't see a horse idling.
You can't tell when a horse is pricking his ears and looking around because he's alarmed versus whatever fantasy you've cooked up in your head.
You can't see shit.
You can't balance your own checkbook, but please...
Tell the horsemen what they should do with their horses.
That's rich.
And it's pretty damn clear a lot of you don't know what a good horse looks like.
You see an auction price and start gawking at it like a toddler in a candy store.
“OH MY GOD! THREE MILLION DOLLARS!”
Then you see another horse sell for $50,000 and suddenly you've decided the horse must be no good.
That's not handicapping.
That's shopping.
And then you want to tell us what to do with the horses we actually own.
Here's a good example.
Some idiot had the gall to tell me this spring:
“Banksy's was 27-1 first time out. How good could he have been? Y'all didn't even like him.”
What an absolutely idiotic comment.
We loved Banksy.
We thought he was live.
We thought he could win.
And he would have won first out if not for Jason Servis 2.0, who won the race.
And guess what?
That horse hasn't had a work or a raced since.
So please...
Shut the fuck up.
We put all of Banksy's works up in our video library.
Why?
So idiots can't come along later and rewrite history or make accusatory statements.
You want to know what we thought of the horse?
Go look at the damn works.
Banksy was very live first time out.
At 27-1.
But you were too busy looking at the auction price, or lack of.
Or because he was a homebred without the fancy pedigree.
Or the figures.
Or whatever piece of paper you had in front of you that day.
You missed the horse.
That's your problem.
Not ours.
So shut the fuck up.
You don't know horses.
You think you know horses.
There is a gigantic difference.
And maybe sometimes the smartest thing a person can do is keep their mouth shut when they've never actually been in the position they're criticizing.
Because most of you will never own a really good horse. Never.
And if you did?
I guarantee half of you would run him back the next damn day.
Because at the end of the day, this isn't about the horse for you.
It's about looking good on social media.
It's about being right.
It's about getting likes.
It's about saying you knew something before everybody else.
Meanwhile, somebody else is paying the bills.
Somebody else is responsible for the animal.
Somebody else has to live with the consequences.
And if unfortunately the horse needs to be retired because of an issue, you get upset about that too. You don't give a fuck about horse safety. Zero.
So before you pound out your next brilliant horse-racing opinion, maybe ask yourself one question:
Have I actually been in that position?
Have I owned A horse?
Have I developed A horse?
Have I watched A horse every day?
Have I seen A horse come out of a hard race?
Have I had to make the decisions?
If the answer is no...
Maybe shut the laptop.
Take your hands off the keyboard.
Go outside.
Stare at the moon.
And for God's sake, stop telling people how to manage horses you don't own.
Because you don't know.
You think you do.
But you don't.
And until you do...
Fuck you and the horse you rode on.
