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Archive for December, 2009

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Celebrating New Year’s and making horses retire is all a bunch of hooey

  

New Year’s is too loud.
 
Always has been, always will be. Kids cranking those cheap tin noisemakers, blowing into a cardboard horn and squealing with delight. Drunken yahoos running down my street in the middle of the night, making a racket for no reason other than the stupid universe just got another year older.
 
If you ask me, getting older isn’t something to be celebrated. It’s like being happy about getting a flat tire or picking the first, second and fourth-place horses in the triactor. Doesn’t do much for me and certainly doesn’t make me want to pop a champagne cork or dance the night away.
 
I won’t be going out this year on New Year’s Eve, not that I’ve been invited anywhere. I like staying in with my wife Bernie and my dog Patches and watching Dick Clark on TV.
 
Jeepers, the years sure caught up with him in a big hurry, didn’t they? Since his stroke a few years back, they let Dick hang around to kiss his wife at midnight, but otherwise they’ve got this Ryan Seacrest kid doing all the stuff Dick used to do. Well, I don’t like it.
 
My kids tell me that Seacrest is the ‘new’ Dick Clark, what with the Top 40 radio countdowns and being hip to today’s music with the American Bandstand Idol or whatever it’s called. Well, I don’t want a new Dick Clark, especially when the old one is standing four feet away and looking sad.
 
I’m not getting any younger, either. And New Year’s always makes me think about those old racing warriors that get their pink slips when they reach age 14. They call it ‘mandatory retirement’. I call it a bunch of hooey.
 
I remember when they put me out to pasture at my job. Couldn’t keep up with the new technology, they said. Ha. I bet they’d be surprised to hear about my new career as a blogger, wouldn’t they?
 
It’s the same thing for the horses. Some of them probably should’ve been retired nine years ago, but some of them are still getting the job done out there on the racetrack. There was one 13-year-old racing at The Meadows that won 15 times and made close to 90 grand this year. Sounds lame and broken down to me. Better banish him from the track forever!
 
Every horse and person is different so why does there have to be a strict rule about retirement age? If they are still going strong at age 14, let them and their owners continue to enjoy racing. Can’t the judges police this if they see a horse that’s endangered or unfit to compete?
 
I guess not. That’s why Dick Clark, me, the mandatory retirees and the rest of the Seacrest-ed elderly aren’t celebrating this year.
 
So knock it off with those noisemakers.
 
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I’m a Queen in the field of local, live, small business entertainment

  

I’m not going to lie to you, my psychic friends, times are tough in the Equine Psychic Medium (EPM) game.
 
It’s a cynical world.
 
You’d think most people would want to unlock the secret of their racehorse’s mind and open the doors to the vault, but C’est la vie (that’s French for “whoop dee do”). I refuse to let the hostile vibes of the doubters infect my sunny-side-up demeanor.
 
Given the state of the economy, the number of lavish office Christmas parties is down this year. Apparently, employers are reluctant to mix alcohol with disgruntled employees.
 
One trend that’s big among companies is throwing together something that’s part pot luck, part swap meet and part carnival sideshow.
 
Simply circle a date in December, ask employees to whip up their best lime Jell-O and floating fruit combination, bring small gifts to trade with the colleagues they like and order in some inexpensive local talent.
 
On that last score, business is booming. I’ve had to reinvent myself a little, but it doesn’t take much more than putting on some big hoop earrings, throwing on my great-great-grandmother Esmeralda Hicks’ gypsy skirt and pulling the old crystal ball out of the trunk of mystery.
 
My boyfriend, True Harmony, brings the brownies.
 
I’ve done 12 office parties so far this month, though the other day I lost a gig to a place that decided to bring in a live reindeer instead. I tried to convince the man I probably could do a psychic reindeer reading, but he just hung up.
 
For the parties I have done, Tarot card readings are popular, unless you get bad news. (One guy burst into tears when I told him he better start looking for a new job).
 
I can’t figure out why the bosses always choke when I tell them I’d like to bring a horse into the office and show everyone what I do best. Heck, Jack McNiven brought Run The Table right up to the stage for the stallion’s induction into the Canadian Horse Racing Hall of Fame and everyone LOVED that.
 
Naturally, everyone wants me to make predictions for 2010. I’m no Miss Cleo. I do horses, remember? About all I can tell them is:
• Greg Peck will not have a horse better than Muscle Hill.
 
• Everyone will grumble about declining handle and then do nothing.
 
• Former Canadian horse of the year Admirals Express will race at least 30 times “because he loves it” and then, mercifully, will reach mandatory retirement age at the end of the year.
 
To these predictions, most of the suit-and-tie insurance types just stare at me with glassy eyes and open mouths covered in brownie crumbs.
 
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What harness racing can learn from the Detroit Lions — seriously

 
For about 15 years, I was a Detroit Lions season’s ticket holder. About five years ago, I entered counseling for my addiction and I’m happy to report I haven’t bought a ticket in at least three years, though I remain a fan. It’s a malady I trust Toronto Maple Leafs fans can understand.
 
At least I was there for all of the Barry Sanders years, I tell people. In fact, apart from the perpetual heartache of the hapless Lions themselves — who, believe it or not, were actually a semi-regular playoff team in those days — the experience was a wonderful one. There’s nothing quite like seeing an NFL game in person.
 
Harness racing — and most businesses, really — can learn a lot from the NFL.
 
The other day, while brainstorming with colleagues about how to grow our game, I remembered how the Pontiac Silverdome was once filled with banners announcing this section or that section of seats was reserved for special guests — kids, mostly — of one Lions player or another. Safety Bennie Blades had “Bennie’s Bunch”, for example, which brought a busload of underprivileged kids to every home game.
 
The point wasn’t to grow the game, really. It’s not like the NFL has a popularity problem. It was simply giving back to the community at large.
 
With relatively minimal effort and expense, harness racing could follow that example and not just give back, but also slowly, steadily, grow the game and build a future fan base.
 
One of harness racing’s biggest problems — and it’s a doozy — is the fact the vast majority of the population does not know the sport exists.
 
That problem escalates by the day as our free time shrinks and our entertainment options grow. Many of us were first exposed to the track when our fathers or grandfathers took us. But what about the next generation of kids whose fathers and grandfathers don’t know what harness racing is and where to find it?
 
Here’s my idea: Take five of the most affable, kid-friendly drivers at Mohawk and let them pick a handful of local clubs or groups they want to support — Boys and Girls Club, 4-H, Boy Scouts, Girl Scouts, for example. Every two weeks, each driver would play host to 10 kids from one of the clubs and one parent or guardian each. To follow the Bennie’s Bunch theme, think: Zeron’s Zone or Mac’s Pack or Jamieson’s Jungle.
 
The Woodbine Entertainment Group could buy or rent a small school bus, pick the group up and take them to Mohawk where a WEG staffer would be in charge of looking after the group. At the track, the group would meet the driver, have a simple, kid-friendly dinner with him where the kids could ask questions, go with him on a tour of the paddock and the drivers’ room and join the driver in the winner’s circle for every race he wins. Give every child a small winner’s circle photo, an autographed picture of the driver and a t-shirt with the driver’s name and colours and send them home happy.
 
I realize I’m spending other people’s money here, but in the big picture, I see it as an important investment in the future, so stick with me. The cost would be for the bus, the staffer’s time, the meal, t-shirt and photos. It’s not a big-ticket expense, but perhaps it could be shared with other industry groups, if need be.
 
If five drivers play host to 20 people once every two weeks, that’s deeply exposing 200 new people to harness racing every month — 2,400 every year. That’s not an insignificant number that would swell to 10,000 in just over four years if the track and drivers commit to the program and stick with it.

  

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