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Friday
Nov052010

Breeders' Cup, Part I: "Welcome to America! I'm Gonna F'in Kill You" Edition

Okay, everybody over their post-Belmont hangovers?  No?  Well, not to worry!  I’m sure we’ll have a Calvin Borel-free day!

3:02 PM: Bill Nack welcomes us all with some leaves, and, fully realizing that this broadcast will suffer from a… a certain lack of something (GARY STEVENS!), cheers everybody up with footage of horse tombstones.

3:03 PM: Affirm and Alydar are shown as a single entry in the Awesome Horses Are Awesome Montage.  I find this offensive, but that’s probably because I married an identical twin who despises the lumping together of sentient beings.  Except for penguins.  You can lump penguins, all right, because unless they start getting a PC Congressional caucus off the ground, they don’t much care people saying, “Well, they’re all just alike.”  So far.

3:05 PM: It is confirmed that the ladies are running under the lights, and all of a sudden the entire broadcast takes on a Paris Hilton, mares-and-fillies-wearing-corsets quality which does not exactly bode well.

3:05:30 PM: FOALS!  All better now!  Nice, clean, innocent foals.

3:05:31 PM: Bill Nack just said “weaned,” like, in front of people.  Annnnd I need another shower.

3:07 PM: Overhead shot of Churchill Downs.  Hey, so this is the Breeders’ Cup?  The Super Bowl of Racing, were Super Bowl not a trademarked title?  And there are, like, a lot of spaces in the parking lot.  I mean, a lot.  Josh The Pilot and I recently visited Churchill Downs on a non-Derby, non-Breeders’ Cup, non- Zenyatta Yadda Yadda  day, and I think we had to walk farther than these Super Bowl attendees did.  At least spread it out past the Early Times billboard, people.  Let’s at least make an effort to not suck at this business of attending horse races.

Then again… November in Kentucky.  California’s out there all, “Hey!  We’re economically circling the thunderbucket and taking the rest of you with us, but at least it’s 72 and sunny at Del Mar!"

3:11 PM: Jerry Bailey is wearing awesome gloves.  They're these leather numbers that James Bond would have totally owned if he were a chauffeur and also 5'5".

I feel it is necessary to point out that  Joe Tessitore and Randy Moss are not wearing gloves at all.

3:11:30 PM: Randy Moss announces that Zenyatta is "easily the most popular racehorse in America."  This is my husband’s cue to wander into the coverage.

JOSH THE PILOT: Who’d he say?

ME: Zenyatta.

JOSH THE PILOT: Oh.

ME: (am physically unable to tear gaze from Jerry Bailey’s go-to-hell gloves)

JOSH THE PILOT: Didn’t that horse win the Kentucky Derby?

ME: No.

JOSH THE PILOT: Then she was in it, at least.

ME: No.  You’re thinking of the Breeders’ Cup Ladies’ Classic.

JOSH THE PILOT: …No, I’m pretty sure I’m not.

ME: How do you know?

JOSH THE PILOT: Because I’ve never even heard of that race.  Is it a kind of  breast cancer awareness thing, or...

ME: I think you’re thinking of Rachel Alexandra, who won the Preakness.

JOSH THE PILOT: Okay.  Was Z-Horse in any of the Triple Crown races, at all?

ME: No.

JOSH THE PILOT: ...

ME: ...

JOSH THE PILOT: How long does this go on?

ME: Two days.

JOSH THE PILOT: How long have you been watching?

ME: Eleven minutes.

JOSH THE PILOT: Don’t delete any of my truck races.

...And thus endeth our discussion of The Most Famous Racehorse In America.

3:12 PM: Have you heard?  Everybody's talking about Zenyatta!

3:13 PM: It's a BABY!  It's a BABY WEARING TINY LITTLE JOCKEY SILKS! My uterus, of thee I sing.

3:14 PM: Caton Bredar reporting, horse side:  Caton's pony is wearing an ESPN saddlecloth.  The optimal decor here is the image of plummeting ESPN Zone stock blazed into the felt, but as usual it seems that no one has checked with me on this.

3:15 PM: Kenny Mayne and Hank Goldberg with a handicapping update.  Hank is wearing gloves that are kind of like Jerry Bailey's, the effect of which are offset by his freaking windbreaker.  He's wearing a windbreaker.  Dude.  It's not my six-year-old nephew's soccer game.

ESPN's brought its decorating A-game to its temporary studio for the weekend.  It pretty much consists of two teeny-tiny statues of horses perched on either side of the desk.  Kenny's looks sad.  Hank's looks horny.  Let us say no more about this.

3:16 PM: As Kenny and Hank discuss the odds, horrible pornstache cocktail music begins streaming from somewhere.  It certainly isn't coming from me.  WTF?  Where is that coming from?

...No.

Really, ESPN?

3:17 PM: Discussion of Garret Gomez's Thursday spill, for which the music blessedly fades away.

3:17:30 PM: Let's talk to race caller Trevor Denman, who just happens to be holding his binoculars at a rakish, yet professional, angle!  It's kind of like how when the President of the United States wants to look important and serious, he somehow always manages to be wearing a boring suit and sitting in the Oval Office, with no Katy Perry posters tacked up behind him.

3:18 PM: Breeders' Cup Marathon.  Precision Break is all, "I WAS TOLD THERE WOULD BE NO GATE LOADING IN HORSE RACING."

3:19:30 PM: ...Okay!  I just changed the bedsheets, had a workout, cooked dinner, finished my second book, gestated a child, and built a car.  What'd I miss?

WTF, they're still going?

3:20 PM: Prince Will I Am places.  He would have won if he had a less obnoxious name.

3:20:30 PM: Jerry Bailey and his gloves FTW in the Understatement Olympics: "So I have to imagine that Johnny was pretty ticked off right here."

3:31 PM: Calvin Borel and Javier Castellano do their very best to show the dignified face of horse racing, here at the Word Series Super Bowl Thunder Dome of the sport.  This is just about the most super-awesome, gossipy thing TO EVER HAPPEN IN THE HISTORY OF HORSE RACING, and ESPN is describing it as though one's knitting a scarf while the other winds his wool:  "Look at this incident."

"And now we have fighting."

"Obviously, something was said."

I am particularly glad that the network has chosen this particular moment to become mature, understated, and delicate in its sensibilities.  Athletes yelling at one another?  With shoving?  Oh, mercy me!

3:31:30 PM: Borel's brother is described as "the one with a receding hairline."  Really, dude?  You're gonna piss this family off?

3:32 PM: Martin Garcia, looking as though he has just peered over the lip of hell, is interviewed by Jay Privman.  He's covered in dirt, his eyes are red, and his voice isn't too steady.  Jay gets down to the nuts and bolts of the story:  Was it pretty scary?

"YES, YOU STUPID IDIOT, I BECAME UNSEATED FROM AN ENORMOUS POWERFUL ANIMAL GOING 35 MPH AND WAS NEARLY CAST INTO THE HOOVES OF MANY OTHER ENORMOUS ANIMALS ALSO GOING 35 MPH.  IT WAS PRETTY SCARY."  This is what I would have said.  But Garcia, fortunately for us all, is not me, and merely fixes Jay and his question with an incredulous stare before saying, "...Yeah."

"Well," Jay says cheerfully just before Garcia begins openly weeping, "shake it off."

3:32:30 PM: What I can't shake off is the Plenty of Good Seats Still Available status of Churchill Downs, if this overhead shot is anything to go by.  Speaking of my six-year-old nephew's soccer game, there were more people at it.

3:33 PM: Prince Will I Am has been DQ'ed.  See.  Shouldn't have been there to begin with.  Get a decent Christianly named horse like That's What She Said in there.

3:34 PM: Eldaafer's owner has deemed an enormous wad of Big League Chew as an appropriate accessory for the winner's circle.  Between this and the WWE playlet on the way to the jock's room, I just don't understand why more people don't give horse racing the respect it deserves in this country.

3:35 PM: I am traumatized by Joe Tessitore's tie-shirt combination.  All kinds of stripes going all different directions.  Now I know how Martin Garcia felt.

3:36 PM: Joe is wearing gloves, too, but they look like the ones the girls on my high school's cross country team wore when the coach made them run all over the West Side in February.  Feh.

3:37 PM: For some reason, the introduction of the Juvenile Fillies Turf demands frantic, ice-dance AfroCuban drums.  Good, ESPN.  That's much more appropriate than the professional bugler blowing "Boots and Saddles" for the START OF THE HORSE RACE.  I suppose, however, I should consider myself fortunate that the Ode to Pornstache cocktail music seems to have been chucked.

3:38 PM: Winter Memories is the pretty grey one and is therefore supposed to win.  My plastic tea set and Barbie doll say so.

3:39 PM: ESPN praises its own camerawork.  Thirty seconds later, Javier Castellano is naught but an elegant blur on the far side of the track.  Free Barbra Streisand Vaseline lens job, Javier.  No wrinkles.  Lookin' good.

3:42 PM: Oooooohhhhhhh, touch screen up at the anchor desk.  Forty million dollar's worth of equipment and satellite link-ups to confirm that the grandfather of Winter Memories' owner, John Phillips, once owned the Pittsburgh Pirates.  I salute you, ESPN, and your stripped-down, no-nonsense approach to bringing the world its sports here in the worst economy since the Great Depression.

3:44 PM: ...And yet, still nothing but what an intern found in Hobby Lobby's clearance aisle to show Kenny and Hank's tables to its best advantage.

3:45 PM: Every last one of these fillies looks royally pissed off.  They're all but excluding the one with the tangliest tail from eating at their lunch table in the cafeteria.  Apparently there was some sort of prom dress-based altercation back at the barns.

3:46 PM:  ...Oh.  What's happened here is that they've been loaded in the wrong gate, backed out, circled, and re-loaded.  I'd be pissed off too.

This is so embarrassing.  Well, at least it's not like anyone is there to see it happen.

3:48 PM: THUNDERTHUNDERTHUNDERTHUNDERTHUNDER... As the aunt of five nephews, I honestly had no idea young women could be so loud.

3:51 PM: More Than Real owner Bobby Flay hugs his horribly-coated girlfriend/wife/companion, Stephanie SVU. Oh honey. Those  silks are reflecting gamma rays off the magnetic North Pole, and I know that you probably love your mama, but you don't have to wear the rejects from her Nixonian era coat closet.

4:04 PM: There's an objection.  ESPN stops all analysis and discussion so that we can listen in on Garrett Gomez talking on the phone during the investigation.  BREAKING NEWS:  A jockey says "I don't feel like I did anything!" to a bunch of  stewards.

4:05 PM: Also BREAKING NEWS:  Todd Pletcher didn't lose something!

4:15 PM: ESPN features Calvin Borel, who pounds on the Churchill Downs rail and says, somewhat unfortunately, "When you hit it, it's gonna bounce."

4:20 PM: The director has waited for the one Churchill bugler who sucks, and has made the executive decision to feature him note to note, wall to wall, in respectful silence.

4:24 PM: All the single ladies!  All the single ladies!  It's the Filly and Mare Sprint, and Mike Smith has the gall to ride, acknowledge, look at, or discuss a horse other than Zenyatta.  Manho.

4:25 PM: There is nothing to say about the rest of the field in relation to Zenyatta, so they post parade past without comment.  You poor dumb broads.

4:27 PM: Switch is discussed in relation to "a Sports Illustrated spread."  Why is this is pretty much the only time I hear of females featured in Sports Illustrated?  Ones who aren't in bikinis or are busily pretending that the WNBA has a point, I mean?

4:39 PM: I need a drink.

4:41 PM: The outriders are wearing official 2010 Breeders' Cup parkas.  PARKAS, Trustees.  Did the necessity of ordering these-- I don't know--suggest anything to you?

4:42 PM: Okay, this has got to be the weirdest post-race interview I have ever seen.  Victor Jamie Theriot literally rides up to the booth and conducts it from the back of Dubai Majesty, cricking his head up at Jerry's gloves and the touchscreen like he's screaming at his dude friend who lives in a second-floor college town ghetto apartment to throw him his pants.

4:44 PM: Drink coming through.

4:45 PM: When I come back, I am staring at the butts of like sixteen jockeys, mid-race, and Joe saying, "Jerry, how much do you like JockeyCam?"  This looks like an excellent time to leave the room again.

4:46 PM: It's GARY STEVENS!  In a commercial for Rock Hard Ten's siring services!  Okay, I greatly appreciate the inclusion of Gary in today's proceedings?  And I'm trying very valiantly not to think about the fact that he's essentially hawking semen?  But it sounds like the chick doing the voiceover was picked up on waivers from a 1-900-SPANKYWENCH commercial.

4:57 PM: Drink coming through.

4:59 PM: Oh for the sake of coleslaw:  Here comes Calvin Borel for the Juvenile Fillies under the escort of an entire phalanx of Louisville cops, as though he's going to start tearing Hulk-like through the paddock, eating the silks-wearing baby and kicking the fillies in the head, Norris-style.

Let me tell you something:  I've been in Louisville.  You're looking at like a third of the police force, and its manpower might be better applied to places other than the gently flowing flowerbeds of Churchill Downs.

5:02 PM: Just when I had given up on everything good and pure in this world... it's Bob Baffert And His Hair.

5:05 PM: Somebody named this poor girl "IzSheLegal."  Somebody somewhere's not telling me something.

5:06 PM: "Delightful Mary"--aw,  that's nice.  Delightful Mary will have a lovely life complete with little dishes of potpourri and powder rooms painted the barest shade of dusty rose.  "IzSheLegal"?  Gonna run a softcore Internet site called GreatBigJigglyJugs.com once she retires from the pole.  Carousel horses, we call them.  Shame, really.

5:08 PM: Jerry Bailey attempts to have an interview with Calvin Borel as he warms up Tell A Kelly.  Calvin's answers are as follows:

"You know how it is, Jerry."

"Everything's fine."

"I'm fine, Jerry."

Something tells me that this is not how Jerry and Calvin discuss life in your average non-miked conversation.  I am far more entertained by the patter of Tell A Kelly's hooves on the track, the sound of her breathing picking up with the pace.  If I close my eyes and don't inhale and imagine that I'm wearing a cowgirl hat and am holding reins and sitting in a cracked leather saddle instead of a slightly bent couch and pretend I don't have to pee again, I'm in Colorado.

5:18 PM: For the supposed benefit of winning trainer Stanley Gold, Jeannine Edwards uncorks what is by far the most inappropriate pronouncement of the day, and I include in that statement Calvin's request to security forces to let him go so that he can, quote, "f'n kill him":  "I can feel your cell phone vibrating right here nonstop up against me!"

It's a ripping shame I'm a married lady.  I bet that line works some wicked wonders up in the jock's room.  The moment is only slightly improved by the fact that Gold was introduced with the following:  "He worked  her and worked her and worked her and earned it."

5:20 PM: Seeing as we've got a seriously talented filly here who just went 6 for 6, it's very important that we gather the thoughts of Calvin Borel, who came in seventh, on the matter.  What we have here is a man with a British accent speaking to walking jockey with a hardcore Cajun accent as an extremely bald man bats away the microphone.  The result still makes more sense than anything anybody in the entire history of The View has ever said.

Also, the owner of Awesome Feather has a terrifying laugh.  It's anime-villain level.

(Delightful Mary, it is necessary to add, showed.  IzSheLegal?  Ninth.  I'd also register GreatBigJigglyJugs.net while I was at it, if I were her.)

5:27 PM: Back to Kenny and Hank's desk, where someone has pushed the sad horse and the horny horses right up against one another, sad nose to horny rump.  It's worse than it sounds.

5:31 PM: The absence of the sun and arrival of artificial lighting reveals that Kenny's sportscoat is, in fact, plaid.  And somewhat furry.  Return unto us, O Helios.

5:32 PM: "They installed the permanent lights in April of this year for this moment-- to host the Breeders' Cup in prime time."  And I, for one, am so glad they did.  All the better to spotlight loaders putting the wrong horses in the wrong gates as the Jockey Ultimate Fighting Fight Club holds its annual convention in the infield.

5:33 PM: How wrong I was to assume that ESPN wouldn't know how to capture new viewers' interest.  There's a full-length, no holds barred, dramatic-closeup pounded, wide screen HDTV feature on... the lightpoles at Churchill Downs.  Have they heard of this thing called "the incandescent lightbulb" all the way over in England?  Are there shadows?  What if one burns out?

Here's the thing:  Prime time racing is a big deal.  It's the first time something of this caliber has been done in American racing.  I work in the industry, so I am going to care about it.  Major handicappers are going to care about it.  Jerry Bailey, but possibly not Jerry Bailey's gloves, is going to care about it.  Dude down the bar yelling at someone to switch over to the Continuously Burning Yule Log channel for better action?  He.  Does not.  Care.

5:41 PM: It's all pastiness, all the time in the Gold Room, where one should hope that the bottled water comes for free, and also roller skate rental.  I note a wide array of alcoholic beverages, which I have seen consumed from time to time at a racetrack.  But while negotiating your way through a $10,000 buy-in?  That courts disaster, my friends.  I'd definitely need it afterwards, however, as given my handicapping history, my ten grand would have a greater chance of increasing if I stuffed it in a couch cushion and set it on fire, or donated it to the Christine O'Donnell campaign.

5:42 PM: Filly and Mare Turf.  The break for this race always reminds me of why my womens' college had to cancel our "friendly"  "non-graded" "non-violent" "non-South Bend Police Department attended" intramural soccer games.

5:43 PM: I can't figure out if the Inspiring Music for the post parades is coming from ESPN or the grandstand.  Either way?  I cry plagiarism on behalf of the guy who composed the Suite of Walking Around the Educational, Non-Showcase of Nations Part of EPCOT.

5:44 PM: The pathetically over-enunciated way in which Joe says "Hot Cha Cha" makes it abundantly clear that he's been looking forward to mentioning this race all day.

5:45 PM: Frankie Dettori And His Accent.  If we just cede over the rest of the broadcast to him and Trevor reading the phone book with the actual races in a little box in a corner of the screen, we should shoot right through the roof in the department of Classy Veneers.

5:48 PM: Speaking of-- oh good, it's Kenny and Hank.  Apparently the FCC has received some calls:  Sad Horse and Horny Horse have been separated slightly.  Not enough.  But slightly.

5:49 PM: ...Yeah, they were serious about the Pornstache Holiday Inn Lounge Combo providing the background music for discussion of any and all bet placing.

5:51 PM: I'm beginning to understand why doctors advise against binging and purging.  Racing fans go something like four months between the end of the Belmont and the beginning of the Breeders' Cup, and then it's like eighty-seven hours of continuous coverage.  This is akin to going on a hardcore, twigs and berries, working out even during Mass by doing glute squeezes in the pew weightloss plan, and then one day flooring it down Avenue F-It-- you wake up and order an eight-course breakfast with a wedding cake as the appetizer.

Or maybe it just seems that way since I stop and write every time something strikes me as ludicrous.  And where that's concerned, I'm over 3300 words at this point and we're not even a third of the way through.  I'm just saying.

5:52 PM: Forever Together is holding her tail really, really high in the air as she waits to load.  Like, dangerously high.  But then she lowers it again, and somewhat disappointingly enters the gate with clean hooves.  In politics, this is what we call "a missed opportunity."

5:54 PM: That was a race:  spectacular turf spotlight, thrilling finish, Trump-sized upset.  Can we talk about the light poles some more?  I really need to know how each individual outlet is wired, and whether or not the bolts are made of eco-friendly material.

5:56 PM: Edgar Prado rides victor Shared Account up to the broadcast booth, and the reverse angle of the desks reveals that Hank and Kenny are separated from Jerry and Jerry's gloves and Randy and Hot Cha Cha Enunciator with what is essentially a clear plastic poncho hung from a backyard wedding tent.  Of all the bitter disappointments this event has had to offer, this is by far the most crushing.  I take solace in the fact that all parties are wearing pants.

6:09 PM: Somebody in the broadcast booth drops a "fabulous."  I'm fairly sure it's not Hank.

6:11 PM: Ladies' Classic.  I'm sorry.  I cannot reconcile myself to this shunning of "Distaff" in favor of "Ladies."  It makes the race titles sound like a Fort Lauderdale dance club during spring break:  "All ladies with lip tattoos admitted free on Wednesdays!"

6:12 PM: Your Thomas the Tank Engine Usefulness Moment of the evening:  There's a height comparison between Ruffian, Rachel Alexandra, Secretariat, and Zenyatta, who is taller than anybody at a whopping 17.1 hands.  I have to say this is somewhat more effective than NBC's Mine That Bird vs. Rachel Alexandria version, which consisted of GARY STEVENS!--and I quote myself--"measur(ing) their respective worth by standing next to each and ascertaining which horse he could see over.  This is not a joke."

6:21 PM: I take serious issue with Havre de Grace's mane. It's cut all blunt-like and at the same length.  It's essentially the equine version of Effron Hair, and let us just say there's a reason why the vast majority of the population does not cite Prince Valiant as fashion inspiration.

6:24 PM: Todd Pletcher interview in the paddock:  "Todd, you have two horses in this race.  Which one do you think will lose more?  I mean, will they lose at the same pace, or will one lose slower than the other, or do you expect to lose by several lengths with both?"

6:30 PM: John Velazquez points at you with his whip!  JOHN VELAZQUEZ KISSES YOU!

6:31 PM: On the other hand, Life at Ten's lead pony is missing half a tail.  From the looks of things, it was clearly lost in some sort of tragic crimping iron accident.  I would hate to be a lead pony.  You need to be all about boosting the self-esteem of the main attraction, and I am Dustin Hoffman.  I want the credit.

6:33 PM: Jerry Bailey yells "JOHN!" at Velazquez to see how Life at Ten is warming up.  Velazquez, awesomely, whirls around in the saddle and checks over both shoulders so as to ascertain the origin of this disembodied command.  I can see how this could be disconcerting.  You're in the delicate process of preparing for a somewhat major horserace, and all of a sudden the Voice of God comes screaming at you inside your helmet, and God sounds suspiciously like Jerry Bailey.  I'd sure want to know who was following me too.

6:34 PM: Jerry wants to know if John's mare is warming up any better since the last twenty second he asked.  No?  Why not?  IS IT THE LIGHTS?  IS IT BECAUSE I KEEP SCREAMING YOUR NAME, UNBIDDEN, FROM THE DEPTHS OF YOUR VERY SOUL?!

6:36 PM: Unrivaled Belle, meanwhile, does not like the looks of the gate, the track, the other horses, the lights, the toteboard, the loaders, the jockeys, or the infield.  She finally loads, but not before first promised ice cream.

6:37 PM: "Life at Ten, no interest," says Trevor as she determinedly shuffles herself far behind the pack.  I'm totally stealing that.  Time to clean the toilet?  "No interest."  Would I like to see a 36-hour 3D animated series starring JarJar Binks?  "No interest."  Care to sit on Larry King's lap?  You see where I'm going with this.

6:38 PM: Unrivaled Belle is, in fact, so tetchy  about this entire affair that she tries to beat everybody back to the barn, but only winds up delaying herself in the winner's circle.  Kent Desormeaux:  "She throws her body down every time I turn her loose!"  Kent needs to write dance pop lyrics when he retires.

6:40 PM: One of Todd Pletcher's horses has officially lost a Grade I race by so much that it warrants a second interview.

6:48 PM: ESPN somehow manages to cram freaking Zenyatta into a feature story on how the winners' flower blankets were fashioned.  Please also discuss India-Pakistan relations, the best places to purchase a sump pump, and the origin of the typography, gentlemen.  Your determination enamors me.

6:49 PM: Most.  Uncomfortable.  Winner's Circle.  Presentation.  Ever.  Kent Desormeaux looks like the world's worst-dressed speed skater and the CEO of Mont Blanc congratulates himself on "a win for Mont Blanc" and has to be reminded to hand over the victory watch to the owner (we're all officially out of patience at this point; "HAND HIM THE WATCH," says the ESPN reporter as everybody just kind of stands around waiting for the trackside bars to re-stock.)  And then--yes, they managed--it gets worse:  Upon finally receiving the stupid watch, which necessitates Kent Desormeaux essentially having to twirl in place to get out of the way, the owner says, and I quote, "Now I finally get to know the time for the first time!"  And everybody laughs and laughs and laughs, because if they don't, there will be bloodshed.

6:50 PM: Kent must now re-twirl to make way for the other owner, whose eyes are very small slits and seems to have begun pre-gaming in August.  "I'm sorry.  I have lots of adddddrrrrrrenaline," he announces.  No doubt.

"This is like minestrone for the mind!" adds For Some Reason Never Being Allowed to Know What Time It Is Guy.  I want this presentation to go on and on and on, and then I want Calvin Borel brought in to calm everybody down.

6:52 PM: BTW, Zenyatta is racing tomorrow.  "Now all attention turns to this six-year-old mare!" I am told.  Good, because she sure has been shafted so far.  The Little Zenyatta Head Icon occupying the lower left third of the screen confirms.

6:55 PM: Everybody has that greasy-haired, eye-sagging, all-sounds-are-unbearable look of an all nighter, only IQ's seem to be sinking. Even Goldikova, ensconced in her stall and free from all watch presentations, is like, "Red Bull and Pixy Stix me."

6:59 PM: The camera backs respectfully away from one last look at the lights.  They're signing off.

They're signing off!

THEY'RE SIGNING OFF!!!!

... Zenyatta?... Where'd you go?

4480 words, be-atches at:  mbe@drinktothelasses.com

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Reader Comments (8)

I love your horse race updates. And I don't even have any interest in horse racing.

November 8, 2010 | Unregistered Commenterstarnarcosis

Welcome back!

November 8, 2010 | Unregistered CommenterAlabamaGuy

Yes! The Cure For A Once-Great Event Has Arrived!

I'm copying, pasting & printing; making tea; feeling appreciative about Fox Valley Thor winning today at The Meadows ($5.40; see contrasting financial amount, below);

Slipping a cooperative cookie or two out of the "Taste Will Tell" jar; ignoring the pathetic rebirth of the career of a Conan O’Brien, truly the least appreciative (resentful after being handed $45,000,000 – after failing!; see contrasting financial amount, above);

Getting Elena (4-day weekend) out of her Zenyetta-2nd-at-the-finish-line post-race straight-jacket (tailor-made in anticipation of the inevitable; delivered early last week, a perfect fit);

And getting to read the semi-annual precious Horsus Opus (“Both Us?!”).

Finally, SOMETHING about the Breeders’ Cup that the stinking suits haven’t ruined.

Thank you.

November 8, 2010 | Unregistered CommenterDon Reed

I know very little about racing, but your updates always make me laugh out loud. So, so funny.

November 8, 2010 | Unregistered CommenterAmy

Anxiously awaiting Part Deux ....

November 9, 2010 | Unregistered CommenterJen

[...] 12:30 PM: Annnnd we’re back. Did you miss all this?  Yeah, I just got done jamming a Crock-Pot fork into my own nostrils, [...]

November 14, 2010 | Unregistered CommenterBreeders’ Cup, Part II:

[...] PM: Anchor Desk Action!  Jerry Bailey, moins gloves,  is introduced as having won fifteen of these races.  He passes on a sterling opportunity to [...]

November 18, 2010 | Unregistered CommenterBreeders’ Cup, Part III:

[...] this is what we’ve been waiting for:  The lights are on, and Zenyatta is underneath them.  If only we could throw in a replay of Calvin Borel vs. [...]

November 18, 2010 | Unregistered CommenterBreeders’ Cup, Part IV:
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