Rosie, our beautiful young filly, has yet to be troubled by such dilemmas and our trainer is much more positive about the way things are going for her. He’s happy about the way she is developing, although she still hasn’t grown quite as much as he hoped she would while out in the paddock.
‘She’s doing everything fine,’ he says, his usual reassuring tone returning. ‘She’s doing a bit of pace work and I’ll make a decision in the next week if I’ve done enough stimulation of her body this time in. I don’t want to make her do any fast work this time round, but I might have to give her a little gallop to get her to where we want her to be before she goes out to the paddock again.’
Her knee, it seems, still looks ordinary.
‘It hasn’t improved at all, at least not to look at. It’s not really swollen, it’s just what it is. I worry about it, of course, everybody worries; the only one not worrying about it is Rosie. And as long as that’s the case, that’s great. In terms of her attitude, she’s never had a negative day in her life.
‘She’s a real happy horse; she eats well, she sleeps well, she works well. She wants to be a racehorse. She has a good brain, all she wants to do is please you. Most horses with that attitude have good success. But we’re not sure how many cylinders she’s got yet, because we had to stop before we got to that point last time in … so we can’t answer “the” big question. Still, if the motor’s there, the brain will take her a long way.’
Unlike Harry, the ‘key’ Robbie has to find with Rosie is the obvious one that keeps her problem knee safe and sound under race pressure. Yet, despite this specific management issue, he says she is really in the same category as a couple of the fillies he bought as yearlings: they haven’t quite grown fully into their bodies yet, and this leads to another training dilemma. If he pushes them too hard before they are physically balanced, if not fully grown, it could do enormous and irreparable harm.
‘In this situation, you don’t tempt fate and try and find out what’s in them,’ Robbie says. ‘The risk is too high.’
While Rosie is probably the most perplexing of the youngsters in the Class of 2009, Robbie is applying the same careful, patient approach to them all, even the filly he believes to be the best of the lot, the daughter of Elvstroem.
‘She just might be the one,’ he admits. ‘She came second in her first trial under a hold and won her second trial under a tight hold. I didn’t put her under any pressure, she just did it on her own; she wanted to run fast. So she’s giving us all the right vibes, that one. It took me by surprise that she’s showing what she’s showing at this early stage, but she was a gorgeous filly at the sale … and she’s the standout at this stage.’
In other words, while Rosie’s knee is holding her back, this two-year-old counterpart is flying above the radar, ahead of expectations.
Many trainers would try to capitalise on such precocity and press on to the Group One Blue Diamond Stakes in mid February, another million dollar babies’ race that can really make a horse’s career. Not as prestigious as the Golden Slipper that will be run in a couple of months’ time, a Blue Diamond victory can nevertheless stamp a colt a potential commercial stallion, a filly a quality broodmare prospect, even if they never win another race in their life.
It’s a victory that proves they have speed, and that’s what Aussie breeders want in our equine families. I wonder how many other trainers anywhere in the country could resist the urge to have a go at this race with their most precocious two year old?
As we continue to run through the progress of the other equine students in Rosie’s class, it’s not hard to guess which ones would be closing in on at least their first start if they were in a bigger, more commercially driven stable.
For months, the little Black Hawke filly, Robbie’s bargain basement buy, looked like being the top of that list. The first of the yearlings to show any potential in her early training, she had shaped up well, running very fast times on the track until a foot abscess side-lined her.
The smallest of the God’s Own fillies, my favourite of the youngsters Robbie purchased at the sales, also took her early education in stride, actually going through to a barrier trial and performing well. She is just back in from a spell and is a good eight weeks away from trialling again.
‘There’s a spark there for sure,’ says Robbie. ‘And that’s coming back to us from the jockeys, too.’
On the other hand, the pretty filly by young stallion Not A Single Doubt, a two year old Robbie bred himself, has proved to be the most physically immature. So she hasn’t been asked to do a great deal, having only three short preparations before heading back to the paddock to rest and keep growing.
Another member of the Class of 2009, the Hold That Tiger filly, is in a similar situation to Rosie. She became too shin-sore for her to be entered in any barrier trials, despite the fact that she was very fast. So she was sent back to the paddock instead. But like the daughter of King of Roses, she is back in work again.
The Flying Spur filly Robbie bought early on the first day of the Premier Yearling Sale in Melbourne followed a similar path to her work buddy. She and the Hold That Tiger filly started school together, went ‘shinny’ together and are now back in the stables together. Given that Robbie says Rosie fits the same profile as these two, it will be fascinating to watch the trio progress through their careers.
The real surprise packet is the Fusaichi Pegasus filly, who stood up to be counted enough to get to two barrier trials over 800 metres and might make it through to the current Autumn Carnival. To date, she is the only other Griffiths graduate to be named apart from Rosie aka Quiet Storm. She will race as Marvellous Miss and Robbie says he will be really surprised if there’s not a bit of quality about her.
The God’s Own filly startled by the bunny several months ago has fully recovered from stripping the skin off her leg, knee to hoof, after running through the fence, and is now showing good speed in her work. But she’s too big for her own good, quite gross in terms of body mass, so she remains an unknown quantity as the team wait for her to finish growing.
The lone male in the group—the tough nut who withstood a return trip from Melbourne to Perth—has also done well enough to have run two in trials, finishing third and second respectively. The son of Catbird is also back in the paddock, and being a gelding could be on the cards because he’s a bit of a lad, a distracting trait for a racehorse.
But the dux of this class should be the Elvstroem filly, the girl everyone loves, especially her trainer.
Happy as I am to hear things are going so well with this girl, I must admit feeling a little jealous our trainer isn’t rhapsodising about Rosie in the same way. Surely there can’t be that much difference between the two fillies, I think; surely the daughter of Elvstroem can’t be all that dazzling? Somehow, she’s just wheedled her way into his heart, and is getting all his time and attention. But as I look around his workmanlike office, the large whiteboard neatly tracking the whereabouts of the 40 or 50 horses he’s overseeing through various stages of training right now, I realise again how down-to-earth Robbie is about the horses in his care. The filly must really be good.
The trainer urges his foreman to drive me up the road to see Rosie at Victory Park, and takes particular care to instruct Robert Kingston on the state of her knee, and precisely what we should both be looking at.
‘If you don’t know it’s there, you don’t really see it,’ he cautions. ‘But let Helen feel it herself, so she knows what we’re talking about.’
As we drive the short distance between the Griffiths stables and the nearby training complex, Robert and I continue to dissect the conundrum that is Harry.
‘The frustrating thing with him is he’s always worked well in the mornings, he’s always shown us that he has more ability than he’s been able to display in his races,’ the foreman confides. ‘He has been very unlucky not to have won at least a couple of those races last year, we all know that—but what you don’t see is just how well he does at track work.
‘He’s working as well as some of our city horses and I think Robbie hasn’t made too much of that simply because he wants to see him get through his maiden race before talking him up. But he shows us enough in the mornings for us to think he could go on at least to mid-week class in town. That’s the really frustrating thing about it; his track mate in the mornings is Danzylum and he’s a fair horse.’
He is indeed, having won just on $400,000 in prize money. If only Harry can study his workmate’s form!
‘I reckon I’ve lost about $200 on Harry,’ Robert says ruefully. ‘Every time he goes out, I have $20 on him because I’ve seen him work that week and I know how good he’s going.’
I assure Robert that I share his pain. It’s one all his owners know very well.
As we arrive at the slow-swinging electric front gate of Victory Park, a compact property of interlocking paddocks—some large, some quite small—full of horses, Robert and I both focus our attention on Rosie. Driving slowly towards the stables and main training track, the foreman reiterates his belief that all’s well with the filly, despite Robbie’s concern. ‘It’s his job to worry,’ he says simply.
In a way, that, in itself, is good to know.
Rosie is already saddled and ready to go out onto the dirt track with her regular exercise rider when we reach the stall where she is tied up, waiting to work. I talk to her as her girth strap is being tightened, delighted to see she has continued to fill out in her body, although she hasn’t grown any taller. All of her recent growing, in fact, seems to have occurred in the all-important nether region—her hindquarters—which means she looks slightly underdone in front, her shoulders not as developed as they will be eventually.
Delightfully, her pretty, long face hasn’t changed at all in the months she has been busy metamorphosing from youngster to young racehorse and she still seems to recognise my voice, staring at me steadily as her track-work rider pulls himself into the saddle. As she comes out of her stall, Robert stops them both and kneels down to inspect her left knee, quickly finding the point of concern.
An area no bigger than the tip of my index finger, something you really do not see when you look down at her leg, is indeed soft to the touch with fluid. What should be skin on bone is skin over a small amount of fluid, but it’s clearly not sore, and isn’t worrying Rosie at all. She stands looking over us, hardly bothered by this disruption in routine.
‘That’s it, that’s all there is to see,’ Robert says. ‘It looks like nothing at all, but Robbie knows more about these kinds of things than I do …’
As if to allay her trainer’s concern, the only thing bothering Rosie as she trots and canters around the dirt track for the next 15 minutes seems to be the birds that dart around the edge of the course. She kicks her back legs at one, an extremely ungainly action at a trot, and has a go at stomping on another during the next lap with both her front legs. Again, not the best look.
‘She doesn’t like birds,’ her jockey laughs upon return. ‘Never has. But she’s a nice filly, she’s doing everything well and she has a lovely action, and there’s no sign of any problem with that knee at all.’
The young woman who takes her into the shower bay tells us that Rosie is also one of the more outgoing personalities they are working with.
‘She’s always the first with her head over the door when we arrive in the morning, always first to whinny a greeting. She’s a bright little thing.’
I ask if she has retained her trademark quick nip after that whinny and the strapper laughs.
‘Ah yes, she still does that. But that’s just her, you know? She doesn’t really mean anything by it, she’s just letting you know she’s there and not to be taken lightly. She’s actually a lovely girl, and she loves being here.’
Robert concurs. ‘She’s well within herself, and she’s doing everything we’re asking of her. She can’t really do any more than that.’
As Rosie walks away from us, regally swinging her generous rump, a rather imposing filly walks past her and into the enclosed round yard. She’s already saddled, on a long lead rope and very full of herself: solid and tall, a coiled strength evident beneath the puppy fat around her tummy and hindquarters.
‘This filly is one of Rosie’s year,’ Robert says.
‘You’re kidding,’ I reply. ‘She’s huge, she looks like a three year old.’
‘She is a big girl, that’s for sure,’ he agrees. ‘This is the Elvstroem filly Robbie was telling you about. And she’s pretty good, too. Let’s watch this.’
So for the next 5 minutes, we stand quietly on the raised platform at the side of the yard and watch the senior handler take the youngster through her paces in the high-topped enclosure, letting her get used to a saddle and girth again after her recent spell in the paddock.
As she wheels around, trying to do a few cartwheels along the way, voluptuous is the only description that comes to mind, especially compared to Rosie’s light, compact frame. If this filly looks this powerful at this early age in her life, I wonder, how much can she improve over the next couple of years?
No wonder she’s everyone’s pick of the crop, the best of Robbie’s babies—the one he was running late for on his way to the sales last year and had to buy over the phone. The one he could have pushed towards the Blue Diamond Stakes in a couple of weeks’ time, a temptation he resisted.
Again, I am amazed at his professional reserve, his persistence in not pushing her too far too fast, because this filly is impressive. Seeing her walking past Rosie like that also puts everything the trainer and his foreman have been telling me into perspective.
While our filly may well be doing everything they ask of her with gusto, there is nothing she can do to overcome her particular genetic make-up. Compared to this daughter of Elvstroem, our King of Roses two year old still has some catching up to do. The truth is she’s not as big and bold as she is small and determined at this point. Still, who can say which filly will have more ability on the track? But even I can see we’re starting from a lesser base.
Walking back to the car, Robert assures me that as Rosie’s track work gets faster, her physical development will also increase in pace. ‘You won’t know her when you next see her,’ he promises.
As I fly back to Sydney, I wonder if it is really asking too much for two horses to be doing well at the same time. I also start worrying what will become of Harry, if he doesn’t step up to be counted at the races tomorrow.
Funnily enough, even as I watch him walk into the barriers for what could be his last race for us, a sense of anti-climax hits me. After all this time, the five long years of expert care and attention and hard-earned money that’s been poured into this horse by all connected to him, his career hangs on the balance of the next few minutes at Geelong Racecourse. It all comes down to this. Right here, right now.
Unwittingly, even the course caller seems to allude to this when he mentions how good News Just In looks behind the starting stalls and how enigmatic he has been, this time in work. There must be something more to him than we know, he informs the crowd, because a trainer as good as Robbie Griffiths wouldn’t persevere with him if there wasn’t. If only you knew, I think, waiting for the small field of six to jump in the maiden. If only you knew.
I wish I was at Geelong to cheer Harry on instead of standing by myself in this inner-city pub in Sydney, a world away; the only other punters on deck are a trio who seem more interested in the afternoon greyhounds than the thoroughbreds. But I stand my ground, even as a premonition washes over me just before Harry’s race starts and I have to fight the urge to walk out of the betting end of the Glasgow Arms, because I know what is going to happen. I can see it already, like a slow-motion fast-forward.
The small field will jump, Harry’s favourite jockey Pete Mertens will settle him back, mid field or worse for most of the race, and then he will pull out wide and race down the centre of the track, boxing on over the final 100 metres without quite enough dash to catch the leaders.
Sadly, this is what happens, with News Just In officially finishing fourth, or second last, depending how one looks at the 1200-metre maiden field of five.
So that’s it. The end of Harry’s line. I decide on the walk back to the office that this can’t continue. As managing owner, I can’t sustain him financially anymore. It is irresponsible and rash and what’s the point of any of us pushing on if Harry can’t keep up in this weak class of competition?
I trudge back to work at the ABC, a light drizzle making the trek even more miserable, and I wait for my mobile to ring. I know all four co-owners must be feeling exactly the same way right now, their dialling fingers poised to call it quits. But the least they can do is call now to let me know the verdict!
Robbie Griffiths is probably waiting the obligatory five minutes before letting me know our horse is now sacked from his stable. For a trainer of his professional standing, currently sitting fourth on the Victorian trainer’s premiership, a horse like Harry actually dents his reputation, which means this venture really is unsustainable from all angles.
Fifteen minutes after the race, just as I have almost given up on hearing from anyone ever again and am about to sit back down at my desk, the phone rings. I feel sick.
‘Helen, I’m about to go into a meeting, so I don’t have much time,’ Robbie says. It sounds like he’s calling from his car.
‘How much of Harry do you own, 70 per cent, right? If the others want to get out, I’ll take that 30 per cent—because I really think he’s a better horse than the one we’ve seen this time in. His blood’s telling us something’s not quite right, and I’d really hate to see him go without one more prep because I know he has a good win or two in him.’
For once in my life, I’m actually lost for words for a minute or so, trying to make sense of what Robbie is saying. Surely he can’t be suggesting hanging onto a horse that has been performing so below par, and such a heartbreaker these past months?
‘Oh, he’s been a heartbreaker all right, but I really don’t think it’s the real Harry we’ve been seeing go round. There’s just something he can’t tell us that’s not right and as I said the other day, I reckon it’s a seasonal thing; it really might be as simple as he doesn’t like the hotter weather.
‘He’s not a summer horse, so let’s give him a short spell—not too long, because we don’t want to let him get fat—and bring him back in when it’s cooler. And if his blood is back to normal, I reckon we’ll be back in action.’
I thank him for his extraordinarily generous offer, promising to consider it over the next couple of days. I don’t need to be told it is an unusual gesture from the astute, professional horseman. Robbie is a kind and patient trainer, certainly, but he is not a sentimental one. He can’t afford to be. Somehow, Harry has got under his skin and he wants to give him one final chance to do better, to live up to the potential he has always shown this team at track work. Their expectations might not be sky high, but they are higher than him running second-last in a mid week maiden.
When I tell the others, the ragtag bunch of non-believers Robbie’s willing to buy out, about his offer and the reasoning behind it, for the first time in months they don’t take long at all to make a decision about what they are going to do. Within a minute of my email going out, in fact, Adam is on the phone.
‘I’ll stay in,’ he says firmly. ‘If Robbie reckons it’s worth giving him another prep, there’s no way I’m not sticking with him.’
To be honest, this was the one person I expected to react like this. Adam runs a media consultancy firm and has been a racing enthusiast for decades, with shares in much better gallopers than Harry, and so fully understands racing’s strange twists and turns. To such a seasoned owner, it makes no sense at all to bail out now.
But I feel for my other friends, who are really along for the fun of the ride, and it hasn’t been fun of late. Amazingly, the trio responds in the same way.
‘We’ve come this far, we might as well give him every chance,’ says Duncan, a lawyer who has often been in court or conference when Harry’s racing. ‘And I’ll take another 10 per cent. It will help you out a bit and when we win the Caulfield Cup, everyone will think I’m a genius,’ he laughs.
‘It’s obviously not the horse’s fault he’s been running so flat lately. Like Robbie says, there’s something not right that he can’t tell us about, so we really should see how he goes when it’s cold again.’
For the third time in an hour, I’m bowled over by this support and enthusiasm.
The ‘hold-outs’ are Peter and Jeune, who keep their cards closer to their chests for a day or two, before recommitting. ‘But he’d better get a move on,’ Jeune pretends to grumble.
Who would have thought such an unremarkable horse could bring out such loyalty in so disparate a bunch of people? It’s remarkable how inspired we humans can be, by the spirit and beauty of a thoroughbred. Even Harry!
A couple of days pass before I text Robbie to say we are all still on board. It occurs to me that he and I are almost back where this whole saga started a year ago, with the yearling sales in March that brought us together for the first time in Melbourne less than a month away. And for now, we’re ignoring the fork in the road. We’ll press on with our funny old horse who doesn’t like summer.
The next day, Harry is back in the paddock.