The Canadian Sportsman
September 24, 2009
That Canadians have figured prominently in Jug history is a fact I need not detail. That Canadians have a passion for the Jug that exceeds most, if not all, of the Great White North’s own harness racing events is less well known. It’s more of a gut feeling, really, from seeing the same faces make the annual pilgrimage en masse in the middle of a September work week; from counting the Ontario license plates in the parking lot of Tim Horton’s on Route 23 between Columbus and Delaware.
For me, the first Canadian to be synonymous with Jug lore was trainer John Hayes, Sr. He famously said he’d rather win the Jug than go to heaven and, on the eve of Strike Out’s all-Canadian win in 1972, said he didn’t come to Delaware to run for governor. He came to win the Jug.
In short, he fell hard for the Jug, like countless others before and since. His love and devotion endeared him to the locals, and earned him a spot on the Jug’s Wall of Fame.
The one and only time I ever met Hayes was, fittingly, at the Jug in 1998. I cannot conceive of a more poignant introduction and farewell.
He was 78 and in failing health following a stroke. Hands that once trained some of Canada’s best standardbreds shook noticeably. Legs that were once spread-eagled in a sulky were perched on the footrests of a wheel chair. His son, Dr. John Hayes, Jr., a noted trainer/driver in his own right, fed his father Arrowroot cookies and wiped away the crumbs from his father’s gray mustache. Niatross was visiting the Jug that year, a stop on his North American tour. When the son wheeled his father under the great horse’s head, Hayes, Sr. reached up and blissfully rubbed Niatross’ nose as if he never wanted to stop.
Asked about his Jug memories as he sat next to his son in a grandstand box as Jug Day grew long, Hayes, Sr., a man known in his better days as much for his gruffness as his horse savvy, began to weep.
“I remember it all,” he said, dissolving.
It was his last visit to Delaware. Three months later the other heaven called.
Comments (1)
Print
September 23, 2009
The Jug, the eight-hole and Well Said: Victory enhances his legacy
The latest installment from my weekly Guelph Mercury column…
Steve Elliott was holding court in the palatial Little Brown Jug barn yesterday morning when a fan approached and commiserated over the trainer’s star horse, Well Said, drawing the dreaded outside eight-hole.
On the tiny half-mile bullring at the Delaware County Fairgrounds north of Columbus, Ohio, the eight hole is the next worse thing to a death sentence in the Jug which goes to post this afternoon.
But this is the Jug, after all. If Well Said does not win, most will say he was a victim of his post. If he wins, his already-solid legacy will be enhanced.
Click on the words “Guelph Mercury” to read the article in its entirety.
September 23, 2009
Two of my favorite Jug memories, strangely, have their roots in Ireland; which is a long way from being a Mecca for harness racing, but in the race-off between which nation produces the most colorful characters, Ireland bests Canada by open lengths.
So it came to pass in September of 2000, when two brothers from Ireland who held the papers to a longshot Jug contender named Mattrick Henry arrived at the fairgrounds in a gleaming white limo and took up residence as the temporary proprietors of a rowdy, rolling pub parked in the line of recreational vehicles behind the log cabin.
The Flanagan brothers, Mark (above, right) and William (above, left), are from Dublin. As such, they are proud patriots, who brought nine countrymen to the Jug that year to cheer on Mattrick Henry and help wave the tricolor green, white and orange banner of their beloved homeland.
Trouble was, there was no flag, which was nothing a little Irish stout and ingenuity couldn’t fix.
When the Flanagan boys noticed flags flying for the United States, Canada, Australia, New Zealand and the United Kingdom behind the winner’s circle, they took action. Specifically, they took the right people out for drinks and — naturally — had the British flag removed. The sun rose the next morning on the Irish flag waving proudly where the Union Jack had once been.
News of the Irish invasion soon spread as the Flanagans made their presence felt with a huge trailer adorned with Irish flags and a giant banner proclaiming “the Irish have landed.”
The Flanagans fared much better than Mattrick Henry. The pacer, trained by Canadian Hall of Famer Stew Firlotte, made a break and failed to advance to the second heat.
I check the flagpoles each September and at last glance, the Irish flag was still flying over Delaware.
Firlotte was part of another Irish-Canadian Jug adventure six years later as part-owner of a dog-sized pacer named for a famed Irish golf course.
What Doonbeg lacked in stature — and believe me, I’ve seen bigger Great Danes — he more than made up for with the size of his heart. He came to Delaware in 2006 with a mark of 1:49.3 and over $500,000 on his card and a reputation for a wild-and-woolly finishing kick that made him look like a cartoon character as he churned past horses double his size, his legs moving twice for each of their strides.
That he was conditioned by Firlotte’s former assistant trainer — a man with the Hollywood name James Dean and a nickname even better than that — made the story that much more compelling.
“Friday” was ever-present for the better part of two days as they came to see the pint-sized Canadian invader for themselves; gawkers mostly, figuring they had been handed tall tales about small things.
It was odd how it played out like a movie on perpetual rewind. In a steady stream, they wandered into the Jug Barn, stepped up to the white plastic fence, squinted into his stall, shook their heads in disbelief and then recited the same line as if they had each been handed scripts at the door.
“He really is that small.”
As they turned to leave, many of them were sporting grins and proudly tugging on free hats; white with a bright green shamrock over a single word: “Doonbeg.”
I still have mine in a safe place.
The improbable story landed the colt on the front page of the sports section of The Columbus Dispatch, picture and all, and straight into the hearts of anyone who cheers for the underdog.
That Doonbeg didn’t fare much better than Mattrick Henry in the Jug, is a footnote, really. Fourteen years in to my personal Jug odyssey, I’m incapable of rattling off all the Jug winners I’ve seen off the top of my head. But I know I’ll remember the Flanagan brothers and Doonbeg — who, ironically, now lives and races in Ireland.
Blog Archives
