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As I mentioned in my blog about a month ago, I’m doing some side-blogging for the National Thoroughbred Racing Association leading up to the Breeders’ Cup, commenting on the European contenders. It turns out, though, that the folks at that site aren’t too interested in anything that might be controversial, so the following post I wrote for them was deemed unsuitable. In the interest of not wasting my work, here is the post I had offered (and actually, I thought it was pretty toned down compared to what I usually say about these subjects):

Many of the comments flying around the Internet about Sea the Stars and other European contenders for the Breeders’ Cup point up the vast differences between European and American racing, and it usually deteriorates into an “U.S. vs. Them” mentality. And I’ll be the first to put up my hand: I’m a convert to the European way and I’m very quick to defend it. This is in large part because I’m American, and I feel like it would be out of the question to ever be able to train horses in my native country under the current system.

The main difference between the two systems is, of course, medication. I couldn’t agree more with the person who commented (on the NTRA blog) that he was glad Sea the Stars would not have to face the choice of running on Lasix. I, too, was relieved that the Tsui family decided not to come to Santa Anita. In Europe, no race-day medication is allowed, period. No Lasix, no bute, no anything. Unfortunately, when European trainers race in America, many feel they have to use the permitted medications because they’ll be at a disadvantage if they don’t. Some resist, and with success. Pascal Bary won Breeders’ Cup races with Domedriver and Six Perfections and neither raced on medication.

I’ve heard all the American arguments about why horses there “need” to run on drugs. Which brings up another big difference between the two systems: American horses, for the most part, are stabled and trained at the same track where they race, and those tracks are usually located close to major cities and the pollution that comes with them. The tracks are usually quite tight by European standards, not usually more than a mile around, and the horses go through the same routine every day, galloping the same direction around the same tight turns. Most races are short by European standards, so you have horses sprinting around a tight turn, always in the same direction, usually with a shot of bute and lasix to ease the pain. What could go wrong?

In Europe, horses train in rural training centers, galloping on the Newmarket heath or winding through the forests around Chantilly and Maisons-Laffitte. They are trucked to the track on race day, and the track surfaces and distances are varied. Races are run on the straight, left-handed, right-handed and often with rolling terrain. And most of our racing is on the turf, although there are more and more synthetic sand tracks, which many American detractors refer to as “plastic.” The emphasis is on stamina, and 2,400 meters, or a mile and a half, is considered a middle distance race, not a stayers’ contest.

Another difference between the two systems is the U.S. obsession with reducing the sport to a mathematical formula. Timed workouts, track records and speed figures have pretty much removed the actual living horse from the equation. The object seems not to win the race, but to win it by as many lengths as possible and maybe set a track record in the process. Which brings us to the next difference: The use of the whip. I was appalled when I saw the video of Calvin Borel flogging Rachel Alexendra to the finish in the Haskell when clearly the filly had the race won. He would have been stood down for several days in Europe with that performance. Here, the rules say a jockey must give the horse time to respond to the whip before using it again, the number of strikes is limited and the whip hand cannot be raised above the shoulder. Thankfully, the International Federation of Horseracing Authorities agreed recently to crack down on the use of the whip worldwide.

The Federation also urged U.S. racing authorities to consider banning race-day medication at least in Group 1 races. I wish them luck, but closing the Pandora’s Box of pharmaceuticals in the United States will not be easy. The partial steroid ban that most U.S. jurisdictions have enacted over the past two years is a step in the right direction, and the strong European showing at last year’s Breeders’ Cup shows that the field is slowly being leveled. There is a long way to go before America can really be a part of international racing, but I keep hoping for change. Despite the defection of Sea the Stars, I’m hoping for a strong showing from Europe again this year. And I hope that one day I get lucky enough to have a horse good enough to think about bringing to America for the Breeders’ Cup, and that by then, no one will have to face the choice of running on Lasix.

A minor miracle happened Sunday when Derringbay managed to finnish 2nd of 12 runners in a maiden race on the fibersand in Lyon. He ran really well; the winner was unbeatable (for us, anyway) and he ran far better than I expected.  I was worried about his habit of hanging left on such a tight, right-handed track, but with a brush added to the left side of his bit, he handled it well. I put Nadege back in the saddle, and she rode a great race. All was well…except…I trailered him down with Theirry for company; Derringbay loaded with no trouble and took the trip like a seasoned traveler. Until it was time to unload. Turns out Derringbay is a one-way horse, and that way is forward. He doesn’t do back, and shoving him out of he trailer was akin to childbirth. I ended up shoving my backside into his chest, grabbing onto the side bars and pushing like I was having triplets. At one point, and I’m not making this up, I saw both of his front feet leave the ground, meaning the entire front half of a 500-kilo animal was perched on my backside. (Must be those Eastern-European plow-horse roots I have.) Anyway, out he finally came, we ran the race, loaded up for home and then wondered how we were going to extract him at midnight in Maisons-Laffitte. It turns out our concerns were well-founded. Three hours, three people, one vet, two IV shots of tranquilizer and several broken ribs (mine) later, we ended up letting him do what he wanted to do originally: jump through the front door, which is not exactly designed for this sort of thing. The first attempt to push him out the back way like I did at the track ended with him backing out half way, panicking, stumbling back into the trailer on his knees and then mashing me against the front bar because I wasn’t quite quick enough in avoiding the worst. Much, much profanity and struggling for breath later, we tried again (with Theirry doing the pushing), to no avail. We tried the nice way, with apples and food, and the not nice way, with brooms and whips, but the response was always the same: one step back and then a panicked jump forward. Chantal got in on the action. No better. We backed up the trailer to his box and slammed feed buckets around. Nope. We pulled, pushed and prodded, but it was hopeless. That’s when I called the vet. Tranq him just enough and we’ll push. We did. He didn’t. Finally, we padded the sides of the front door with styrofoam (god only knows where Chantal was able to lay her hands on exactly something that worked at 2:30 a.m.), put a heavy canvas rug on the horse and drove the trailer to the side of the sand track, so that if he made a crash landing there would be fewer pieces to pick up. Out he came, without a scratch. I drove myself over to the hospital.

“When did this happen,” they asked.

“About three hours ago.”

“Why didn’t you come in right away?”

“Had to extract the horse from the trailer first.”

They think I’m insane. They’re probably right.

I’m finally getting a chance to catch up with things after an incredibly busy Arc weekend. With runners on Friday and Saturday and a lot of entertaining to do leading up through the race, it’s been exhausting but fun. I met a great group of Americans on Friday at St. Cloud, and one of them came for a stable visit this morning. On Saturday, Hard Way did his bit – oh, yeah, there was some other horse called Goldikova running that day, too. Hers was the only race I got to see besides our own handicap. I suppose there was a lot of shock around her defeat, but the 1,400-meter course at Longchamp is very particular, and there are horses that specialize at that distance and she’s not one of them. She’ll still go to the Breeders’ Cup to run the Mile, and she’ll probably win there. Meanwhile, our group of owners were happy just to participate during Arc weekend and even happier with Hard Way’s good showing. We all went off to the sales after racing, where we saw people with more money than sense paying silly prices for horses in training. Then it was off to dinner at a friend’s house; very hard to get up the next morning after all that, but work the horses we did, and in time to get to the Big Show, too.

We had a great table of 12 in the paddock restaurant. Thankfully, I had planned ahead, because I saw a lot of well-dressed but very sad-looking English visitors gnawing on horrible baguette sandwiches, which was the only fare on offer outside of the restaurants. Like I said in a previous post – eat before you come is the rule for French racing unless you’re going to pay up for a table. Our lunch was great, and decent value on Arc day at 110 euros a person, which included wine and a good-sized flute of Champagne.

I snuck away several times to duck back to the stables to see His Highness (no, not the Aga Khan but Sea the Stars). The lads handling him could not have been nicer, and let us give the colt a scratch or two on the head before and after the race. The horse is the most relaxed thoroughbred I’ve ever seen. He had had an endless stream of visitors all day, and he couldn’t have cared less, obliging his public with a tolerance unseen in most draft horses. “He’s just a horse like any other one at the end of the day,” one of the lads said. “He doesn’t know he’s any more important than any of the others here.” Indeed.

But speaking of His (other) Highness, the Aga Khan had a hell of a weekend, winning just about everything that didn’t involve Sea the Stars. Just about every time you looked up you saw the green and red silks in the winner’s circle. Not that the Aga Khan doesn’t win his fair share of races all year long, but seven races – including five Group 1’s – in two days is unbelievable. But it couldn’t happen to a nicer, glassier guy. The Aga Khan is, of course, part of that circle of owners who are rich beyond what most of us could imagine. Still, he always takes time to talk to the press; on the subject of his breeding program that resulted in the weekend’s success, he said “It’s important to stay humble, and to have the courage to say ‘I don’t know. I will learn.'”

And speaking of those who are rich but still nice, I finally got the chance to meet the legendary Maggie Bryant, an American who is one of the leading owners of steeplechasers in France. The France Galop gate thugs were actually denying her access to the stable area because she didn’t have a runner that day. I was stunned. I got her a bracelet to gain access, and I gave her my card. Who knows?

Meanwhile, back at the yard, Hard Way seems to come back from his race fine. He has a small knock on the inside of his back left leg, but it’s superficial and will heal quickly. He’s still asking for his Guinness. Tyke also seems to have come back pretty well, but now that Sea the Stars has left the country, it has started to rain. And Tyke. like his distant but much, much-faster shirt-tail brother, doesn’t like heavy going, so we may have to wait for the Deauville fibersand series for him. Turfani seems to be on the mend, and the rest of them are coming along. We shake off the glow of the unattainable (for now, anyway) Group races and toil ahead. For us, a Tierce will be as good as a Group 1. We’ve got one of those to win in about 10 days time. Onward.

Hard Way ran third in the handicap yesterday at Longchamp, a pretty solid performance in the 20-horse field. He was stuck fourth on the rail for most of the race, and the pace was crawling, which didn’t suit him very well. But he finished like a bomb, showing he can handle the shorter distance of 2,400 meters. He was taking on much better company this time, and it was very cool to be in the money on Arc weekend. He handled the commotion and the crowd (there actually was one) very well. Now I can relax a bit and go back today to enjoy watching the Big Horses in the Arc. Can’t wait to see Sea the Stars in the flesh!

Cape Tycoon finished back in the field in his handicap at St. Cloud, but didn’t race too badly. He was lying third for most of the one-mile race but he pulled quite a bit as usual, and when a hole opened in the stretch run, he wasn’t able to take advantage of it. After that, he got back on the bridle and was ready to accelerate, but then there was too much traffic to move and Gerald Mosse quickly gave up. We thought he could have hung on for a place, but that thought hadn’t really occurred to Mosse, who realized he wouldn’t win and quit riding. I still think the distance is a little too long, and I would like to keep him at 1,400 meters. And Mosse did say that he would be better on a flatter track, which I would agree with since his somewhat fragile joints don’t take galloping up and down hills all that well. That said, I think we could have done better today. But that’s racing. All win streaks come to an end, and it just means we’ll have to start another one, hopefully tomorrow at Longchamp with Hard Way.

Yesterday in Deauville was one of the most frustrating I’ve had as a trainer. I brought two horses with good chances to win, and neither finished in the money. Turfani got badly jostled in the early stages so couldn’t keep position close enough to the leaders to let her take a place. She finished 7th and closing, running well but too late. That’s the problem in these 20-horse fields, especially on the 2,000-meter course at Deauville. There’s not much space going into the first turn and you can get shoved out. But Hard Way was even more frustrating. He drew post 15, so I didn’t ask for him to be loaded last because I thought it would go quick enough with only four horses to go once he was in. But it wasn’t quick enough, and he started fidgeting and panicking in the gate, so when it opened, he was in the process of sitting down against the back of the stall. By then, the rest of the field was gone. Hard Way jumped out straight into the air, causing Nadege to lose the stirrups in the process. She picked up the pedals just as Hard Way launched himself into the air a second time and then finally galloped on – 12 lengths behind the rest of the field. Nadege kept her head and didn’t press the issue, allowing him to gradually catch up. Then when they turned for home she asked him to go, and he closed to finish 11th – beaten 10 lengths by the winner, which means that if he hadn’t lost the 12 lengths at the start, there’s a good chance he would have won. Paris Turf gave him “best impression” of the race, which I like to call the Miss Congeniality award. You didn’t win, but damn, you gave it a hell of a shot and we all liked you. Both horses came home fine, which is essential, and Hard Way actually managed to ride in the truck to Deauville all by himself like a big boy, even though we had to let him loose in a double-wide stall to do it. So that’s something, anyway. One has to find the positives. Next up: Skid gets let loose on the fibersand in Deauville next Wednesday.

This week’s entries certainly did not go as I had hoped. I wanted to run Hard Way in the 2,400-meter second division of the Tierce in Clarefontaine on Tuesday, but he was eliminated, so I had him in a 2,000-meter handicap in Deauville on Wednesday as a backup – the same race in which I had entered Turfani. Since it will be a split handicap, I had hoped that Turfani would fall into the second half, so we could have a shot at winning two races. But no – when the final deadline passed this morning, we ended up in the same race. On top of it, the weather is turning against us. Beautiful, wonderful summer weather for everything you’d want to do, except race a horse that needs a little cut in the ground. Hard Way isn’t bothered one way or another, and he will race for sure, but Turfani doesn’t handle the heat and really needs it a little soft. Rain is forecast, but not until Thursday. The track crew told me yesterday they were watering, and friends staying there say there has been a humid fog hanging over the track every morning, but I’m not sure it’s enough for Turfani.

On the upside, both horses are in top form. Hard Way has gained a lot of muscle since his last race, and Turfani is squealing and jumping out of her skin. I still may scratch her at the last minute if it really looks too firm, but at the moment I would really like to take advantage of her good form. It’s a shame I can’t get a crack at two different races, so I guess we’ll have to settle for a dead heat.

Pixie had a pretty bad run yesterday, finishing back in the field in her handicap. I switched jockeys to an apprentice to get the weight allowance, but it turned out to be a bad idea. My instructions were to find cover behind the leaders and make sure you ride to the finish. Instead, he left her three wide for the entire trip with no cover at all, so she really over-extended herself before the home stretch. On top of it, he snatched her up about 150 meters from the post, then dropped his hands and cantered out.

Pixie hasn’t run with much spark this year in any case, which has been frustrating. We may give the same course and distance another try, with a jockey change again, at the end of the month.

Meanwhile, Hard Way was eliminated from his handicap on Tuesday so will run Wednesday in Deauville instead. He will go 2,000 meters rather than 2,400. I prefer the longer distance, but the Wednesday race is still good for him. Turfani is entered in the same race, but since it’s a split handicap, it looks like she will fall into the second division, which I prefer. She does need cut in the ground, though, so we won’t take her unless it rains a bit before Wednesday. Both horses seem to be in top form, so I hope they can both race.

Pixie’s Blue runs tomorrow at Clairefontaine, an 1,800-meter handicap with a new jockey, Erwan Bureller, up so that we can get the apprentice weight allowance. He claims a kilo and a half, which is important because otherwise we would have been top weight of 60 kilos in this race. Pixie has been working well, but I’m not really sure where we are with her – she ran pretty lackluster last time out and is hard to peg at home. The finishing post tomorrow will answer the question.

Hard Way and Turfani are on deck for next week, and both are doing well. Klutzy Tyke had his first canter back this morning, and worked well despite having knocked his leg and loosened a shoe the day before yesterday in his box. This horse is starting to make me afraid to open the stall door for fear of what I might find – and always with his same big dopey head saying “What? Don’t look at me. I don’t know what happened.” At least he’s pretty zen about it all.

I just got word last night that Pip Payne, a longtime friend of mine – and many, many others in the racing world – was found dead, apparently a suicide. Pip was one of the most optimistic, helpful and supportive people on the planet, and I can’t believe he’s not around any more. Not only was he indispensible for all of my horse-buying trips to Newmarket, but he was always available for a quick call for advice on any horsey subject. Of all the people I know, I can’t think of one least likcly to take his life. When I made the decision to switch careers and take up training full time, Pip was one of the few who said he had no doubt I could be a success. I bought one of my first horses from him when he was still training, and we kept in touch ever since. I just saw him four weeks ago at the July sales, when we had drinks with him, his wife and one of his three sons.  I stood next to him in the sales ring as I bid on Derringbay, a three-year-old gelding who, thanks to Pip, I paid way too much money for! We were laughing about it later, and now he won’t be around to see who gets the last laugh when – and if – this horse ever makes it back to the track.

I can’t imagine a trip back to Newmarket without seeing Pip, who was always ready with a joke, a beer and did things like have me paged over the public-address sytem at Tattersalls just to improve my name recognition. The town, and racing, will not ever be quite the same. I can’t imagine what personal demons he was fighting that pushed him to do this, but I hope he is now at peace.