Flatter: Horse racing goes old school with 2022 Christmas card

The number of Christmas cards that showed up at home this year was so few, the dead-ball-era baseball great Mordecai Three Finger Brown could have counted them on one hand.

Blame it on the changes of address my wife and I have had in the dead-mail era. Or the passing of old friends and loved ones. Or that printed matter is going the way of the post office, which hangs on by a wing, a prayer and a constitutional fiat.

Is this not the time of year we turn back the clock? OK, the first Sunday in November actually is when we literally do that. But how about figuratively and, if I dare, spiritually? Cue the Vince Guaraldi Trio from “A Charlie Brown Christmas.”

On the freeways here in Louisville, the stockings are all hung on the abandoned cars with care, in hopes that a tow truck soon will be there. My colleague Carolyn Greer said the other day she saw a suitcase on the side of an interstate. I guarantee it still is there. Unpacked.

But back to Christmas cards. Don’t we all get at least one a year that includes that folded piece of paper containing a form letter full of someone’s family activities? Most are quite cheery, but I do look forward to the day I get one that says, “Our youngest looked content when he walked through the door. We all cheered and raised a glass to his early parole.”

Which brings me to horse racing’s own annual Christmas card. Not the ones that look like those old beer commercials with sleigh-pulling horses trotting through the snow to the tune of “Please Come Home for Christmas.”

I imagine it would go something like this:

Dear family, friends, stakeholders, staff, partners, agents, associates and legal counsel:

What a year it has been. We seem to have come out of the pandemic all right, even though some of us still got COVID. Or the equine herpesvirus. Hopefully not both.

I am sure you heard about our young Flightline. He was like the typical kid who went away to college. We didn’t see him much, but he sure made a big impression when he came home with really good grades. His GPA actually was over 4.0. Like every prodigal son and daughter, we only saw his backside as raced out the door.

There was a new addition to our circle of friends, and it was quite sudden. His name was Rich Strike. I don’t remember who brought him to the spring party. Maybe he just crashed it. Anyway, he surprised everyone when he won the big race after we ate the potato salad. One time this fall he showed up with another horse who had the weirdest looking shoes. It was like that other one was wearing high heels to the picnic. Richie still comes around, but not like he did back in May.

Oh, we saw Bob, the gray-haired guy from California. Just not as often as we used to when he flew to races all over the country. We caught up with him at a hearing in our capital city last summer. He still was appealing the suspension I told you about in last year’s letter. That hearing lasted six days. What a snooze fest. The only good part was a few of us went across the street for cocktails each afternoon. We still have not heard how the whole thing will turn out. There was something about the presiding officer buying a horse with Bob’s lawyer. The whole thing was confusing. No wonder we all went out for drinks.

Remember how we argued about whether there should be a commissioner for the whole sport? The government started something like that back in July. They called it HISA, and they hired a really smart lawyer who made sure everything was done in secret. Then more lawyers got involved. Then they went to court a few times. I don’t know if this thing is going to make it far into the new year. If they try again, they really ought to learn from what they did wrong. Maybe come up with a name that everyone says the same way. Is it “high-sa” or “hiss-sa”? It probably does not matter anymore.

The gardener was over a few times to look at the grass, because we could not get it to grow no matter what we did. Well, not everywhere. Just in the back yards in Louisville and New Orleans and a little bit near Miami. It is not just our sport. It seems a bunch of football stadiums need our gardener, too. Or maybe some Miracle-Gro.

There were some fun races this year. I thought the most thrilling was when Malathaat held off Blue Stripe and Clairière in the Breeders’ Cup Distaff. I expected Malathaat and Clairière to be there, but Blue Stripe? I cannot explain that, either.

Ol’ Wayne Lukas had a great moment this spring. He won the Kentucky Oaks. When it started raining after the race, everyone got underneath the big grandstand at Churchill Downs. Then he walked through on his way to his news conference, and there were a lot of shouts of, “Attaboy, coach.” The thought of it gives me goose bumps, especially since it might have been his last big win. But just watch. He may go one better next year.

Just this month, there was a committee that decided to demote some big races. You know how they rank them like Grade 1, Grade 2, Grade 3, etc.? They decided the Woodward and the Clark and the Cigar Mile would not be Grade 1s anymore. That got me to thinking. Between the Spinster in early October at Keeneland and the Malibu and La Brea in late December at Santa Anita, the only Grade 1s on dirt will be at the Breeders’ Cup. So much for fall.

The best thing that happened this year was that horse who won the Dirt Mile at the Breeders’ Cup. The owners named Cody’s Wish for a teenager who has a genetic disorder. The boy and the horse bonded in a way that words could not do justice, and the TV folks at NBC did a wonderful job telling their story in a feature that ran before the race. After he won – after they won – everyone was crying.

I cannot think of a better way to end this Christmas update. Best to you and yours, and as an old radio DJ used to say in his sign-offs, stay warm and near someone.

P.S. Here is an early happy birthday to our equine friends next week. May they live forever.