First impressions last

By Jack Davison

I’m flying at 30,000 feet on a fine, sunny day while gazing down at the green fields that are synonymous with Lexington, Kentucky; it has been a long six and a half months, but the dark days are finally over. The fields appear as no more than little green squares, sectioned off neatly by black stud railing. I have set foot on and felt the energy of this turf before, and in truth, ever since I left, my mind has been blocked with thoughts of returning to the bluegrass. For thoroughbred horse lovers, this is the place to be; recognised globally as “the horse racing capital of the world”, this is the comfort zone, this is home. It is not out of coincidence or necessity for a steady job that people from all corners of the world flock here, where a natural and genuine affinity for the horse is all you need pack.

On arrival it takes no time to rekindle old friendships and establish new ones, the well known Irish bar, Molly Brooke’s, plays the happy medium. “How much does a horse weigh? – I dunno- but enough to break the ice!” Honestly, I didn’t spurt that jargon for fear of being deemed socially unacceptable from the outset (take time for a sigh of relief If you feel the need), but the underlying message is that the horse is the binding thread, the common cause, and it is on this common ground that friendships take root and blossom. It seems that the horse people of the “Bluegrass State” really buy into and share the good feeling that working hard and playing hard commands; although, I am not altogether sure that use of the “w” word is appropriate as the dreaded stigma attached doesn’t exist over here. The work seems as effortless as the growth of the spring grass.

One week on, it went as follows: I arrived on Wednesday, started work on Thursday and found my way to Keeneland racecourse after work on Saturday, just in time for the featured “Coolmore Lexington Stakes (G 2)”. The previous Sunday I was at the Curragh, five days later I was at Keeneland. However, the only thing that reminded me of the Curragh was the over- priced, lifeless and watered down beer that was, unfortunately enough, also on sale here. The aesthetics of the place and the ladies put a smile on to my face and I was surely not going to waste my eyes on a form book, not for now anyway. I was heartened by the warm and friendly atmosphere created by the youthful crowd. Plain and simple, everyone was there for a good time and the racing was a bonus. I can’t remember the last time I went racing and felt as though I was just one of the crowd, oblivious to the form, not knowing anyone involved nor being too caught up in odds or desperately trying to make a few quid, but one thing is for sure, it was oh so refreshing.

With the Kentucky Derby fast approaching, I’m up against the clock to try and decipher the complexities of the American form and am fully intent on sucking knowledge from my friends in the know to gain an understanding of American racing. That is the challenge that I’m setting myself and I hope you will join me as I start my journey, which promises to be, as the local vernacular goes, “One helluva ride!”

By Jack Davison