Wednesday, May 15, 2013
Back In The Saddle
I was on the rail at Pimlico at six this morning. Me and a handful of other horse-heads.
We got a tour of the jockey's room. I was in a room that would later be filled with people who think it's normal to go 40 miles an hour around a narrow ring filled with sand!
I saw their silks. I saw the official weigh-in scale. I saw their saddles: ghosts of leather, designed for feather-lightness, thin as a panty-liner. And that's when it hit me. Calling one of those saddles a place to sit is a misnomer.
Jockeys don't ride like cowboys, all legs over each side of the steed, playing a sad lonely harmonica. No no, they cling to the beast like a tenacious burr.