Retired sports writer Clark Spencer relives a memorable racing fortnight in the company of a group of fellow partners in the pioneering international syndicate operation
A corpse stopped us dead in the tracks. For 10 days, a dozen Team Valor partners had traveled through Ireland and England without a hitch, checking out the pastoral training yards where some of the stable’s horses were being kept, taking in the
races at The Curragh and Windsor, and mixing in some sightseeing with food and wine. (And espresso martinis, but that’s another story.)
It had been a well-organized and seamless excursion, a chance to meet and bond with partners from different parts of the country and all walks of life, but with one common interest: horses. Team Valor horses.
It was all going smoothly. That is, until the corpse thing threw a wrench into our illuminating two-week, three-country journey through Europe, one that included a white linen lunch in Newmarket with a 250-year-old horse’s hoof – bronzed, thankfully – as the table centerpiece.
I didn’t poll the partners, but I could sense from their raised eyebrows that this was the first time any had lunched on pig cheek while staring at an old hoof, particularly one that had once belonged to the legendary Eclipse.
But the staff at the Jockey Club Rooms proudly told us Her Majesty once made this a monthly ritual, that they only brought out the Eclipse hoof on rare occasions, and only then for very special guests, and so – feeling somewhat obligated – we put cheek in mouth.
Anyway … we were already on a tight timetable when we boarded the Eurostar for the final leg of the trip, taking us from England to France and that day’s races at Chantilly, where one of Team Valor’s rising star, Facteur Cheval, was set to run. We had already witnessed La Petite Coco’s scintillating Group 1 win at the Curragh, with two of her partners on hand to celebrate.
As long as the train remained on schedule, we would have just enough time to shuttle from Paris to Chantilly, dump our luggage in the Aga Khan’s posh trackside hotel, and scamper over to the grandstand to watch the next great Team Valor horse do his bit.
Alas, just as the train was preparing to pull away from the station in London, the conductor announced a delay. A lifeless human had been discovered lying along the route – the manner of death left to our own imaginations – and we would not be budging until the deceased had been removed. As it turned out, that process took two long hours before the all-clear was given and we were on our way.
We checked our watches nervously as the train sliced through the French countryside, wondering if we’d get there in time.
We made it, but only by a whisker. After checking in and depositing our luggage, we had only enough time to run to the back stretch rail – not to the frontside – and watch as Facteur Cheval reached the wire first with an explosive kick. Even from the opposite side of the track, we didn’t need binoculars to see the familiar green and red silks drawing off with breathtaking authority.
I’m not sure Barry Irwin planned it out this way. But in the span of 10 days, we had witnessed two of the top performances by Team Valor horses all year. And that doesn’t even include Green Up’s sensational stakes win back home in the States at Monmouth, which we watched via simulcast.
La Petite Coco’s victory was especially gratifying, as two of the filly’s partners, Arlene Wilkins and Nick Ben-Meir, were on hand to experience it. The rest of us, though not invested in the horse, cheered her on as if we were. And thanks to her 9-1 odds, we made out well at the windows, to the point that the mutuel clerk assigned to our private turf club suite had to leave and replenish his cash tray, which we had emptied with our winning tickets.
For me personally, the two-week adventure was eye-opening. I had grown up in Lexington, Kentucky, and covered racing for 10 years in the 1990s for the Miami Herald. I was no stranger to the sport. But I felt like one in Europe, seeing first-hand how it’s done in the Old World.
A couple of observations that left lasting impressions: one, horses in Europe are allowed to spend far, far more time outside their stalls than do their counterparts in the US, where the morning training regimen resembles a factory assembly line.
And unlike the merry-go-round track ovals that most U.S. horses train on, horses in Europe are allowed to stretch their limbs in the open countryside. Up hills. Around trees. Immersed in nature.
French trainer Francis Graffard puts his horses through their morning paces in a forest, one so dense with trees that I wondered if we’d be able to find our way out without a map and compass.
I also made mental note of the relative absence of veterinarians. Nothing against vets; I count a couple of them as friends. I also know that they absolutely do exist in Europe. It just seemed they weren’t as prevalent, visible – everywhere – the way they are in the US.
Team Valor’s Euro trip turned out better than I could have ever imagined. It was remarkably organized. Other than a couple of snags that were beyond anyone’s control – the corpse and a train workers’ strike on the final day that prevented us from heading into Paris – it could not have gone any smoother and was worth every penny.
We enjoyed sensational meals in swank settings, celebrated racing victories with champagne toasts, broadened our knowledge of foreign racing, and created lasting friendships with other partners.
Maybe we could have done without the trophied hoof. But, if nothing else, it provided us with one more memory in our mental scrapbooks, which were crammed full by trip’s end.
• Visit the Team Valor website
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