“Spotted horses really did exist during Stone Age.”
Cave paintings done by a GEICO spokesman illustrate a horse figure with dalmatian spots. What next? An esquilax? A horse born with the head of the rabbit and the body of a rabbit? Where is the drawing of the discarded betting ticket from the caveman thinking, “Me bet numbers, grays, and spotted horses.”
What would our cave paintings look like? How do you draw “anguish?” It might look like Uncle Mo backing up after his genetics pooped out on him. It might also look like Drosselmeyer winning.
And what would the cavemen have to say about the Life At Ten scandal? It’s only been a year, but the report on what happened that day has been delayed for another 30 days or so.
Robert Layton, the chief hearing officer for the Office of Administrative Hearings within the Energy and Environment Cabinet, said, according to the Blood-Horse that, “While the appeal does not present legally complex issues, there is voluminous and contradictory factual proof to be addressed, which requires substantial time to weigh and address. The hearing officer has also maintained a full docket of hearing cases for the Energy and Environmental Cabinet during this proceeding.”
What’s another 30 days? It’s only been, what, 380 or so? Jockey John Velazquez, who said that Life At Ten wasn’t warming up properly prior to the 2010 Ladies Classic, already forked over $10,000 for his “involvement.” No one remembers he didn’t force the horse to run harder. What better scapegoat than the man in the irons?
Change comes slow to horse racing and the Good Ol’ Boy Network will look out for its own, but let’s get real here. What more information could there be? It’s painfully obvious what happened: Life At Ten not warming up, Velazquez tells ESPN reporters, said comments not passed along to stewards, thus the 7-2 second choice ran worse than Zippy Chippy, and millions of bettor money went by way of pet goldfish.
At least the stewards got the Goldikova move right. Wait. No they didn’t. They got that wrong too. Churchill Downs, and Kentucky specifically, is the epicenter of North American racing. For such ineptitude to be so prevalent on the sport’s largest stage for two consecutive years should ring the death knell for perhaps the venue, but certainly for those parties responsible for such negative press. Somebody Roger Goodell on the phone.
But the beat goes on and all we can do on our end is chat about it over a libation or two, maybe get a little mad. Maybe cavemen would draw a picture of a puckered bum emblematic of the involved parties:
I think Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. would be proud.
Brendan O'Meara is the author of "Six Weeks in Saratoga."