Harry, of course, has never been eligible for any of these races, having never been sold as a yearling. As I watch him mill about behind the barrier stalls a couple of thousand kilometres away in western Victoria, I wonder where he would be right now, if he had been.
Perhaps in Hong Kong, if some savvy buyer had snapped him up to follow his brother to race in Happy Valley, or maybe in some other stable in provincial Victoria. He’s at Warrnambool this Sunday afternoon and looks fantastic on TV, a glowing picture of health and strength—to such an extent that even the racing commentators predict it might be his day to break through for a win, though they are wary of another, younger horse in the race.
His name is Macsplash, he is trained on the track and has been the centre of a good, old-fashioned betting plunge in the last 10 minutes. The confidence in him to win this race is so high, the weight of money behind him so great, his starting price has firmed into favouritism, and he’s deemed to be the definite market mover.
Still, watching the race on Diane’s huge widescreen TV from behind the kitchen bench at Braidwood, I remind myself how well our boy is doing. Now’s not the time to lose faith, especially as Harry jumps well for jockey Luke Currie, before settling comfortably in about sixth place for most of the race.
But unease sets in when I realise he’s not in the spot he seems to love best in these races, well back in the pack, way behind the leaders, waiting to fly home down the middle of the track. For some reason this afternoon, he’s mid field. Then he and Luke ease forward turning into the home straight, to be right up with the leaders and for a second, just a stride or two, Harry again looks poised, as if he is gathering himself together to pounce and kick away.
Just when he should be drawing past his rivals, Macsplash—the horse they have backed on course as if unbeatable—storms over the top of him, a good horse doing his job well. I stare at the television, willing our horse to fight it out for second, or at least tough it out for third place. But even that is beyond him this time, and he fades into fourth.
I struggle to ride out the wave of despondency that crashes over me this time. Watching him run mid field early in his career when he was racing in New South Wales was never fun. But this is worse, much worse, because he doesn’t seem to have anywhere near the same determination he showed us in five of his six starts for his new stable last year.
I wait for the other owners to ring, but as usual after such a performance, the little band is silent. And while I understand they are not as immersed in this venture as I am, and usually at work when Harry runs during the week, I could do with their input on this Sunday afternoon. Silence. Until the trainer calls, 10 minutes later.
‘He’s a bugger, isn’t he?’ Robbie says. ‘Luke says he travelled well throughout, but felt he was weak at the finish.’
I can only agree, marvelling at his restraint before asking why that might be.
‘He shouldn’t have been weak in the run home, he’s a better horse than that, but what I think we might have to accept is that Harry just is one of those horses who has to be ridden back, he doesn’t seem to be able to finish his races off if he’s up on the pace from the start. He was ridden perfectly today. I told Luke to take advantage of the good barrier and box seat him.
‘But this is what he did when he was ridden in a similar fashion at Stony Creek and when he ran third at Pakenham last prep. We blamed the state of the track that day, but now I think we have to say it’s just not his go. He has to be settled back (in the field), pull out around them and come home that way.
‘I think we just press on now to a 1600-metre race, ride him that way and see how we go, and if that doesn’t work maybe just set him as a run-on sprinter over 1200 metres. I’m loath to give up on him at this point, because I know he’s better than this.
‘And I really believe he has a win or two in him. I just have to find the key to him, I just have to work out what it will take to get him there. That’s my job, finding the key.’
As I listen to Robbie, I’m impressed again at how deeply he reflects on these performances, especially given the number of horses he has to think about in this way, gallopers of moderate ability who should be able to win a race in the country for their connections, but—for whatever reason—just can’t seem to rise to the occasion.
Horses like Harry. A short, sharp text comes through on the mobile from Adam, one of the co-owners. ‘No excuses today,’ he writes. ‘All the favours in running and just didn’t go on with it.’
Deane Lester concurs. I have, it seems, just learned another of the all-important tenets of racing: some horses just can’t overcome a change in race tactics. Mentally, as much as physically, they simply can’t adapt.
‘The really good horses do it themselves,’ Deane says. ‘They just know what to do, and even if something goes wrong during a race, they know how to get the job done. But Harry isn’t one of those horses. He has a certain amount of ability, a moderate amount of talent and if anything doesn’t quite go according to plan, he can’t overcome it. And I think we have to accept the fact now that he can’t do it both ends of the race. He can’t expend energy at the start and then fight out the finish.
‘Luke rode him perfectly today; he was right up on the pace, but to get into that position, he had to go a lot quicker in the first 200 metres of the race than he usually does. And having done that, he couldn’t run on at the business end. So I think Robbie’s right. I think we have to ride him cold from now on, no matter what barrier he draws, because all the data we have on him now points to the fact that he’s a run-on horse. He likes to chase.’
He also has a theory about Harry’s family that he has never bothered to share with me before, a less than glowing assessment of a trait several other horses sired by the stallion Snaadee seem to have. Over the years, Deane explains, some trainers have come to the conclusion that, while they are strong and well-built and can certainly gallop, Snaadee’s offspring often don’t seem to have the inclination to dig deep and fight to the line.
Hard as it is to hear Harry’s grit, or lack of it, summed up this way, my friend’s perspective has a kind of logic. But even this realist remains convinced the five year old will break through to at least one victory. Possibly more, once he gets the hang of actually winning a race. ‘We’ll get that (winning) photo on the wall, I promise you,’ he laughs.
And I believe him. But for now, I have a heavy heart, this disappointment harder to shake off than the others.
‘We’ve all been there, trust me,’ Deane says. ‘Harry’s one of those horses, he’s a bit of a heartbreaker, but his day will come. And one day I hope you have a good horse, so you’ll know the other feeling before a race, when a sort of calm comes over you because you just know they’re going to win. That’s a fantastic feeling, and I hope Rosie grows up to be that kind of horse for you.’
I reflect on this possible perspective before a shattering audio message arrives the next day, via email, from Robbie. For the first time since Harry arrived at his stable ten months ago, he admits to the horse’s small group of owners that he is disappointed in him.
As if this isn’t hard enough to bear, the monthly bill from Griffiths Training is lurking in the mail at home later that afternoon, and I don’t even have to open it to know the harsh financial reality I started to face before Christmas is now unavoidable. I’m up for $5387 for both horses.
Most of that is for my 70 per cent share in Harry—all his ‘bloods’ and vet checks and shoes and travel costs and acceptance fees, on top of the $75 a day training fee, have come to a head—the rest for the 50 per cent I own of Rosie. She isn’t as expensive as she is not in full work yet, so I pay her part of the bill straightaway. And then, just for the masochistic thrill, I tally up how much Harry has brought home so far this campaign—for running fifth, third and fourth.
In a provincial maiden worth $15,000, the winner’s cheque comes to $8775; second place is worth $2700, third $1350, fourth $675 and all other runners earn $250.
So all up, Harry’s earnings for the past four weeks come to $2275, which works out at $1592.50 for my three-quarter share, not quite half of what he cost in December. As if this isn’t bracing enough, there is a kicker in the stable’s monthly newsletter that brings all owners up-to-date on relevant industry developments, as well as Robbie’s winners.
This month, there has been a significant industrial move that will affect us all. Changes have been negotiated to the Stable Employees Award, including an increase in the wages paid to all staff, and the introduction of a 38-hour working week. Naturally, it follows that the stable’s training fees will rise from $75 to $80 a day.
Putting aside the financial impact this $5-a-day rise will have on owners, this note provides an extraordinary insight into the conditions of the largest group of workers in Australia’s racing industry. Even if most of the country’s racehorse owners don’t spend much time actually with their horses—and have certainly never had cause to clean out their horse’s stall twice a day, let alone feed and groom them—the most cursory glance around their training facility will reveal the long and physically arduous days involved in racing thoroughbreds.
Spend even a couple of hours with staff on any day of the year, Christmas and Good Friday included, and the never-ending nature of the work quickly unfolds: mucking out stalls from three in the morning, accompanying their charges to track work and back, hosing them down, feeding them up and all before having any breakfast of their own. Much the same routine is repeated in the afternoon, with every horse needing to be walked instead of exercised ‘under saddle’.
But as gruellingly repetitive as I have long known this routine to be, to discover a 38-hour week has only just been introduced—in 2010—comes as a shock. The Sport of Kings, indeed.
From a more personal perspective, their belated inclusion in the modern-day work force puts an even brighter spotlight on Harry’s fiscal responsibilities. All he really has to do is win one of these races in the country with the $8775 first prize and he will balance the books. That’s all it will take. If he can go on and win a couple of races, or even run second, we will inch slightly ahead and it goes without saying that if he can make his way to the city one Friday night when they race at Moonee Valley, twice as much prize money will be on the cards.
Anything above and beyond that is probably out of reach for this handsome horse. But if he doesn’t step up and start paying his way again soon, his managing owner will have no choice but to make the tough decision Robbie refers to in his post-race communiqué.
‘Just so you know where I stand, I don’t want to waste money with a horse that’s not going to win. But I believe it’s too early to make that decision. He’s fit and well, we should get through this preparation—which is another three or four runs—and at the end of it, if we feel as though he’s not going to do it for us, then we make the tough decisions then.
‘In the meantime, I’m going to ride him quieter, back in the field, instruct the jockeys to save more energy early, because his better runs have been when he’s ridden in that manner. Luke Currie agrees with this and believed he felt well, but used too much energy early and would appreciate saving it for one sprint at the end. Like Ballarat last time, Sale, Stony Creek, some of his better runs.
‘Therefore, he’ll go up to 1600 metres next start; he’ll race at Moe on (January) the twenty-third or Ballarat on the twenty-eighth, we’ll see which is the most suitable and update two days prior. He’s pulled up in good order, I’m very happy with his training, I just want to see him win for you guys because I believe that once he gets the taste of it … that might give him the encouragement to go on with the winning way. Fingers crossed we can do that soon. Cheers.’
Harry is now officially a designated swooper, a horse that likes to drop to the back of the field in a race, have a good look at those ahead of him and then chase them home, and try and grab them right on the line. A get-back horse, as the Americans say, the kind of horse who needs a little luck to come his way.
There have been some really great horses that have raced this way. It’s how Super Impose won the WS Cox Plate in 1992, perhaps the bravest victory of all in the great race—and the legendary Bernborough was renowned for his ‘last to first’ powerhouse finishes. But these were genuinely awesome thoroughbreds, true champions. Why this racing pattern appeals to a horse like Harry, who lacks such ability, is a mystery.
It certainly can’t be easy psychologically, trying to run horses down, many of them lengths ahead, but apparently some horses really do prefer it that way. They must just love to chase, the thrill of pouncing on the leaders. And Robbie’s certainly right: every single time Harry’s been ridden in a forward position, he has gone flat and died on his run. A get-back horse he must be.
By the end of the week, Robbie and his old friend Deane have spoken at length about our gelding and what might be stopping him from getting the job done, and the consensus seems to be that he has now started thinking too much about things in the run. And that is on top of wanting to drop back in the race, to run on. The form guru is also now of the opinion that his third run in a campaign, especially over the middling distance of 1400 metres, could well be his flat spot. Apparently most horses have them and he certainly went flat at Pakenham, his third run in last year’s preparation.
Even though we blamed the shifty track at the time, that race was also over 1400 metres—not short enough for him to zip home as he’s done over 1200 metres and not long enough for him to find his balance and really dig in for a longer haul.
‘That’s where he’s really done well,’ Deane says. ‘The three times he’s got up to 1600 and 1700 metres, all up he’s only been beaten by less than half a length.’
The further a horse can gallop competitively, of course, the better chance they have of striking gold, or at least breaking a little silver. As most horses in Australia are bred to compete in the shorter, sharper sprints, it makes sense to try to target Harry at longer races.
Rosie, too, should be able to run up to a mile, maybe even a bit more.
As the stable nurtures her and the rest of her class of 2009, the gloves are coming off for our bay horse now, as Robbie continues his search for the key, the main clue to the riddle that is Harry. Two weeks after his flat spot at Warrnambool, the strapping five year old is facing the most arduous few days of his life.
Determined to solve the mystery going on inside Harry’s head on race day—to tap into his secret code, as it were—Robbie has entered him in three races over the next five days. As planned, he is in a 1600-metre maiden at Moe on Saturday, and then two 1200-metre sprints at Sale and Geelong respectively, on Australia Day and the day after. But there is method to what seems like madness.
The logic behind it is simple, even if it is laced with frustration. Given the long Australia Day weekend of racing, there are a number of not-so-strong country races to place him in, bringing to life one of racing’s oldest adages: keep your horse in the worst of company, yourself in the best.
If the competition is weaker, Harry can surely prevail. If he doesn’t, the old-fashioned back-up plan—running in two races just a few days apart—could be just the way of getting this horse to focus and, hopefully, chalk up his first victory. If Harry can’t win over the mile, our very fit and focused horse will back up in one of the shorter races, a couple of days later.
Then again, if he does break through in the longer maiden, he won’t be eligible for either sprint, and so a less taxing plan can be mapped out. As the weekend draws closer, I am more concerned than excited. In a funny way, I want Harry to win as much for himself as for us, to restore the small reputation he had built for himself through the winter down south as a fighter of small talent, but stout heart. A trier.
To be one of less than a handful of horses not running well in Robbie Griffiths’ stable is embarrassing and, odd though it might seem, I really hope for more for the little foal who grew into the slightly kooky horse who, not too long ago, liked to race and bump the car in the paddock.
Sadly, that spirit isn’t evident on race day at Moe. Though he is the stand-out in the mounting yard and the slow, walking circle of horses behind the starting barriers, Harry is no match for the two gallopers who pull away from the field in the straight … or the three others who also finish in front of him, making up no ground at all for jockey Matthew Allen. He has followed Robbie’s riding instructions perfectly, positioning Harry precisely where he likes to be, a little worse than mid-field and all set to run on.
But he didn’t and from where I’m watching, it looks as if he didn’t even try. As I leave my beachside pub, Deane texts a short, sobering message. ‘Helen, he’s a filthy cheat, I’m afraid.’ My heart sinks, again. While I could see Harry didn’t run on, it’s hard to have it confirmed so succinctly by an expert. When Deane rings to talk, he makes it clear News Just In would hardly have raised a sweat in the run home.
‘He won’t have turned a hair, believe me, and he’ll be going to the races again next week!’
Great, I think, we are actually going to send a horse to the races twice in a week, just like they used to do back in the good old days, 40 years ago. It’s a tactic rarely used now, and while it worries me a little, I have to confess I feel Harry’s been asking for it. Maybe a little tough love won’t go astray.
I wait for the trainer to call from the city track, where—as usual—he is making his presence felt. While his lack of contact is unsettling, it also allows me time to think. Clearly, we have come to that fork in the road, the point where we must face the fact that we probably need to part company with the horse who, just a few months back, looked like he had turned the corner … the horse who now seems to have stumped one of Australia’s most astute trainers, who believed it was just a matter of a run, or two, before he started winning.
Now, depending on how Harry pulls up after this race, Robbie Griffiths will back him up in four days’ time and force the issue.
On Australia Day, 24 hours before we make this trip, I visit the stables at Cranbourne and have a good long talk with Harry, who looks big and bright and strong. He is sharing a row of stalls with three other horses: Kipsy, Avionics and Danzylum. All winners.
‘If he breaks through tomorrow, we’ll put a big sign up over his stall—“News Just In … Finally!” ’ one of the stablehands jokes. I sense an undercurrent of affection, as much as frustration. Robbie, meanwhile, is holed up in his office, just back from track work.
‘I’m really angry with myself,’ he says, uncharacteristically abrupt, as I step into his small, neat office.
‘I should have just put him back in the paddock after he ran so poorly first up; his blood has been consistently higher right through this campaign and I should have paid more attention to that, because—though he looks a million dollars and there’s nothing wrong with him that we can see—it’s obviously a seasonal thing. Harry doesn’t like summer. That’s what he’s been trying to tell us and I should have been listening better.’
For the first time in the year I have known him, the trainer is cross, but amazingly enough, with himself, not our disappointing horse.
The trouble with Harry, it seems, is the season.
‘The thing about Harry is he’s so consistent in whatever he does,’ Robbie reminds me. ‘He’s consistent in the way he works, he’s consistent in the way he races; even his blood’s consistent, whether it’s up or down, it pretty much doesn’t change.
‘The thing is I didn’t really know the horse at all. I didn’t know that he pretty much holds his form, if you like, right across the board—so if he’s improving, like he was last time in, he pretty much performs to that level all the time. He really didn’t disappoint us, he just couldn’t break through. I should have just kept him in work until he won that race for you and then tipped him out.
‘But I guess we couldn’t really have known he wasn’t a summer horse until we ran him in summer. Now, I suspect we know, but the trouble is, his poor form in New South Wales has caught up with him. Now, his record reads much less impressively, especially as no one else knows what we know about him not liking this particular time of year.’
Robbie doesn’t have to add that the irony is that summer is his high season, the time of year his stable targets and does extremely well in, making the most of the fact that there are many good races to compete in—and so good money to be won—throughout Victoria, when most of the better quality horses are targeting the major Autumn carnivals in Melbourne and Sydney. This means Harry is completely out of step with the rhythm of the yard that has already worked a little magic on him, moulding him into a stronger, more focused racehorse.
I wonder if he feels out of step now, if he dreads coming home after a nondescript day out on the track? He may be a get-back kind of horse in his races, but at this point he has to knuckle down and get back to business. Or he might have to find another one.