Page 30 - December 2007 The Game

30 The Game, December 2007
Canada’s Thoroughbred Racing Newspaper
The Press Box
By Peter Valing
Nonetheless, there are places where the horse remains the central topic of conversation, of
endless speculation and god-like veneration. I
came across one such place this spring when I rst entered through the door of the Diamond Press Box, atop the Hastings clubhouse. Greg Douglas, Media Consultant for the track, was the gentleman who had ushered me into the box, stating that since I was now “working media” I had access to all of the perks and privileges of this rooftop perch.
in accordance with the insights he put down in the Form. We shook hands. Then Greg introduced me to the others: to Ralph in the corner next to the window, to Dennis in the opposite corner next to the window, to Archie and to “Cookie” and to a few others besides. “Your fellow Game compadre, Jim, isn’t here yet,” said Greg.
Arthur Schopenhauer once remarked that he
would leave a golden doubloon as tip the day that
the fellow patrons of his neighborhood dining establishment talked of something other than women and horses. The philosopher, a pessimist to the bone, had little contact with the former and one can assume even less contact with the latter, his daily routine involving hours of solitude interrupted only by visits to the aforementioned eatery. There, amidst the coachmen and cavalrymen, he would formulate both brilliant metaphysical insights as well as common gripes.
There were about a half-dozen men already there, and the rst thing that struck me was that all of them were at least twenty years my senior. The grey that had only recently started to crop up around my temples had, at this altitude, largely taken over. The one exception was Randy Goulding, whose baseball cap still sat atop a few strands of brown. Randy was also the only one of the bunch that I recognized.
A few minutes later, Jim Reynolds arrived in pressed slacks and fedora. We shook hands and
I mentioned something about his appearance reminding me of boxing columnist and all-around character Burt Sugar. “He’s my favorite boxing writer,” Jim replied. “I like A.J. Liebling as well.” Now I knew that I was in pretty good company, and for the rest of the day said very little. I was pleased to be up in the box listening to the guys talk horses and watching the horses running below. The only drawback was that I had never learned how to use the self-automated mutuels and thus every twenty minutes had to run down to the wickets to place my
In Schopenhauer’s time, overhearing talk of horses was perhaps unavoidable, they being
the creatures upon whose backs Europe was being carried forward. In our time, talk of horses has dwindled to an unfortunate trickle. Men still talk about women, of course, but the horse has in their consciousness been largely replaced by the car.
I had taken his handicapping seminar a few years back, and since then had modi ed my wagering
bet. I wasn’t about to admit ignorance on such a basic level on my rst day in the box.
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I began to look forward to my weekends in the box, and as the summer passed I got to know it and
its denizens quite well. The box is a cozy little place with all the basics a guy could ask for on a sunny weekend afternoon. I gravitated to the large sliding window which let in the breeze from the mountains and from which the guys would sometimes crane their necks in order to catch a glimpse of a
Wishing our Clients, Staff, Associates & Race Fans
A Merry Christmas and A Wonderful New Year
Thank you for another terrific season! Best Wishes for success in 2008!
Sid & Janice Attard & Family
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