Track conditions can make a horse look bad so can the wrong post position so can the wrong kind of ride. Our prospective Kentucky Derby winner was beaten 18 lengths by a field of the slowest 2-year-olds in Ohio. It was October before the trainer finally got him over the injury and ready for his debut. When the 1959 season ended in Ohio, where my stable had gradually been drowning in red ink all summer and fall, I had just one horse left in training: Dr. One of them-this is ridiculous but true-got pregnant. They acquired ailments which baffled the best brains of veterinary science. I started the year with nine horses in training, all of which should, in theory, have won frequently but in practice won very rarely. Dubious, the rest of my horses, my fan club, my aunt, my wife, my son and me. At the New York office building on which I depend for most of my living, my stable has a small but devoted group of followers-junior writers, secretaries and office boys-who express their faith by betting on every horse I send to the post.Īlas, 1959 was a sad year for Dr. There is a widow next door who had my firm promise to let her know every time I thought one of my horses had any kind of chance at all. I always bet five on the nose for my wife. For my favorite aunt, who continues to make a keen study of the race results at the age of 80, I always bet $2 across every time one of my horses goes to the post. I had several other supposed pensioners of Dr. Dubious ran, the proceeds to go to his college fund. In return I promised my son to bet $5 for him every time Dr. Dubious was named by my son, in honor of the old Smith and Dale vaudeville skit.
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