My Daggumit Eclipse Votes

It’s only January 6th and I’m already slap wore out, like I have been beaten with a flag pole.

The noise—Eclipse Awards, NFL MVP talk—just hollerin’ at me from every direction like it’s the most important thing mankind’s ever done. I ain’t never seen such hysteria over stuff that only truly means something to the connections themselves.

Now don’t get me wrong—for owners, it’s a big deal. I get that. They want the trophy. They want the plaque. They want somethin’ shiny to put on the mantle like their kid just won the Little League World Series. That’s fine. Celebrate. But for the everyday folks? The ones just tryin’ to find a winner and make a little money at the windows? This is trivial nonsense we gotta sit through like bad Uber Eats commercials.

And the NFL MVP? Lord help us. That thing’s the biggest farce since somebody decided the Jets were “one piece away.” You got opinions ranging from straight-up lunatic to mildly thoughtful, and yet nobody seems all that interested in seein’ how these so-called MVPs actually do in the playoffs. Funny how that works. At least in racing, we wait till the season’s over before we lose our minds.

Take Sovereignty. This past week’s flood of videos and PR? All Eclipse-related. That horse looks like he’s still a month—or more—from doin’ any real work that matters, but hey, gotta keep him “relevant.” That’s the game now. Stay visible, stay talked about, stay marketed.

And the mainstream racing media? Don’t get me started. They couldn’t look at a horse and tell you nothin’ useful if he had three legs and a limp. You’d still get a post sayin’, “Looks great.” It’s all puff pieces. No hard questions. No substance. Just congratulatory write-ups dressed up like journalism.

Then there’s the backlash against Forever Young, which is completely ridiculous. We would rather vote for a horse that lost the biggest race of the year than the one that actually won it. Make that make sense. The battle cry is, “Well, he only ran here once,” even though—last I checked—that falls squarely within the voting rules.

Same nonsense as the NFL MVP. Voting for a guy who faced one of the weakest schedules in the league. Drake Maye and the Patriots’ opponents had a combined .380 winning percentage. Explain to me how you’re Most Valuable while beatin’ up bad teams with bad records—and the Jets. Twice. All the highlights? Against the Jets. Who clipped those together? I’m sure I’ll hear about it from one of the loudest, most annoying fan bases on Earth, already crownin’ him Tom Brady 2.0.

And racing ain’t any better. You got super fans—super fans—stalkin’ Sovereignty. Showin’ up at Keeneland hopin’ to catch a glimpse. Don’t these people have jobs? Errands? A place to be? Somethin’ to do besides haunt a horse?

So yeah. In light of all this foolishness, confusion, and award-season insanity… I’ve decided to present my own Eclipse Awards.

My Racingwithbruno Eclipse Awards don’t come from a boardroom, a ballot, or somebody’s group chat. They come straight from my own lived experience in 2025—the stuff I actually watched, bet on, yelled at, and shook my head over in real time.

These ain’t about legacy. They ain’t about brand management. They’re about what actually mattered if you were sittin’ there with a program in one hand and a ticket in the other, just tryin’ to make sense of it all.

These awards are for the horses that showed up when it counted, the ones that didn’t need a PR team to convince me they were good. They’re for the performances that made you stop mid-sentence and go, “Well damn.” And yeah, they’re also for the nonsense—the head-scratchers, the media narratives that made zero sense, and the decisions that had you wonderin’ if anyone in charge was watchin’ the same races the rest of us were.

No campaigning. No highlight reels cut to music. No “consideration” posts. Just results, reality, and the occasional emotional breakdown at the windows.

So if you’re lookin’ for safe, polite, industry-approved opinions… you might wanna turn back now.

But if you actually watched the races—welcome to my Eclipse Awards.

My Racingwithbruno Eclipse Awards are based entirely on my own experience in 2025. Not committees. Not ballots. Not groupthink. Just what actually put money in my pocket and scars on my soul.

Top Trainer goes to the last guy I made a four- to five-digit score on. That’s the criteria. Simple. If you don’t like it, get your own awards. This year it’s a joint winner’s circle: Brad Cox and Kenny McPeek, courtesy of a real nice exacta I hit multiple times Thanksgiving weekend. Turkey, gravy, and cash—hard to argue with results.

Top Jockey is the last jock I made a giant score on in 2025. That’s it. That’s the rule. And since these are my awards—same way Forever Young “don’t count” for some of y’all—this one goes to Walter Rodriguez, aboard some long-shot first-time starter. That’s right. My awards. My rules. Don’t like it? Write a strongly worded tweet.

Horse of the Year is White Abarrio—and yeah, I know, I know. He didn’t win. He didn’t even make it to the post at the Breeders’ Cup. That’s the point. The vets scratched him after seein’ exactly what the rest of us were seein’ on the track. And here we are, spillin’ into 2026, and the horse still ain’t right. Turns out the vets knew what they were talkin’ about. Shocking, I know.

White Abarrio has much of a chance to run in the Pegasus as I do running and winning the Boston Marathon.

Which brings me neatly to Owner of the Year, who just so happens to be the same fella that owns White Abarrio. Congratulations, sir, for perfectly provin’ that we only care about horse safety when it’s somebody else’s horse. When it’s yours? Suddenly everybody’s an expert, and veterinarians are just obstacles to your ego.

And honestly, when you step back and look at it, the NFL and horse racing ain’t all that different. Both industries are wall-to-wall insanity, driven by agendas, fueled by ego, and crowded with loud opinions that don’t mean a damn thing in the long run.

Me? I’ll take that 6% trainer like Ian Wilkes, rollin’ out a first-time starter that pays $14 to win. That is somethin’ to get excited about. That’s real. That’s honest. And it sure as hell beats another argument about trophies nobody but the insiders were playin’ for in the first place.

So, you got an issue with my awards, take a number.... there's a line, no flag poles allowed, daggumit!