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Going back to The Whip

Posted on June 27, 2008
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Ever been to The Whip?

I was there before The Whip was The Whip. Then known as the Country Place Deli, the cinderblock square at the corner of Route 841 and Springdell Road in Chester County, Pa. lured an odd mix of cowboys and kids. The cowboys drank beer and threw darts in the back – a bar as dark as the inside of a tire. The kids ran in and out of the convenience store/lunch spot up front. Sometimes. we bought things. Sometimes, we just tried to see what the cowboys were doing.

Mostly, we grew up. I can trace many of my teenage milestones to the little burg of Springdell, Pa.

I played pinball in the corner of the deli, ordered turkey subs at the counter, rode my bike past the building, set off firecrackers in the backyard, drank chocolate milk in the parking lot, smoked a cigarette up the street, rode the school bus by in the morning, bought a case of Budweiser to go (after I was 21, honest). Oh, and got yelled at for playing pinball and all that other stuff. Dad didn’t want us hanging around the deli – even if we weren’t doing anything, or even actually hanging around the deli. We lived in the country, obviously, but Springdell was a community. Kids, yards, houses, people coming and going, stuff to do.

Less than a town, more than a crossroads and probably not fancy enough to be a hamlet, Springdell includes 17 or 18 houses and two businesses – an auto repair shop and the deli. Only it’s not the deli anymore. Amazingly, the pace transformed itself. Or was transformed. Owners Luke Allen and K.C. Kulp bought the joint, hired the Archer and Buchanan architecture firm and built the best English pub this side of Lambourn.

The Whip looks nothing like the deli. Rich, dark wood, a real front doorway, a bar that’s not formica and no back room. Not sure where the cowboys go these days, but they’d be welcome. The place opened in 2005 and packs in a crowd most days with a mix of quality food, drink and company. Wednesdays during the steeplechase season, The Whip shows race videos and you’re likely to be sitting next to the winning jockey at the bar.

The place probably always had character, but now it’s got taste, character and characters. And no pinball or cases of Bud. Most importantly, The Whip cares about more than business. A packet of information handed out at a recent event included several initiatives:

• The restaurant is committed to buying locally grown food. The Whip supports the national “Buy Fresh Buy Local” campaign, which encourages the purchase of produce and other food from local farms. Find out more at www.buylocalpa.org.

• The Whip went green by contracting with environmentally conscious companies Eco Products, Nature Works and Waste Oil Recyclers. Environmentally friendly products were purchased for the growing “to-go” business. The restaurant’s used fry oil is converted to bio-diesel.

And that’s a long way from the deli.

Small but mighty

Posted on June 26, 2008
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Four. Six if you count part-timers. Seven if you count my dad, who does Pennsylvania distribution. Eight if you count Barry Watson, who handles Maryland and Virginia. Other than the occasional freelance writer, some independent advertising sales people, a core group of freelance photographers and a cast of volunteers, that’s the staff of Steeplechase/Eventing Times. We only have a few people. But we do good work. And that’s the point.

Last week in Saratoga Springs, N.Y., we were honored to receive a General Excellence Award in the American Horse Publications contest for material published in 2007. Judges gushed about our newspaper’s overall quality: “Brilliant writing and editing, superb leads on every page, from the cover story to the obits. Witty, pithy and sophisticated – goes way beyond ‘who won what where.’ Design, text, covers, photography, paper stock all support the editorial mission. Offers an intimate, insider’s view of the world it covers that’s unmatched in its division, perhaps in the industry.”

Thanks. We’re flattered. All four of us. OK, eight or so. Regardless of the count we come up with, we’re smaller than the other guys. Our peer in the tabloid/newspaper division, Thoroughbred Times (which received an honorable mention) lists 27 people on its editorial staff. And that’s not counting 32 correspondents. Editorial staff. Hah. Our staff does it all. For an employee (or company owner), a day at work could include selling an ad, writing a story, answering the phone, delivering papers, updating the subscription database, tweaking the website, giving a Steeplechase 101 lecture, pretty much anything.

When we started Steeplechase Times way back in 1994, people told us it would never work. Too small a sport, too indifferent a fan base, too much work. Some publishing experts told us that newspapers that start for editorial reasons – like ours – never last. Start a newspaper for advertising reasons, that’s how you make it.

Even though we sometimes agree with those people, we’re still at it. Since the humble beginning, we’ve added to our company where now it counts several products among its stable. We took the Steeplechase Times concept to Saratoga and Keeneland, added eventing coverage, took over the Thoroughbred Racing Calendar, published a book, created an Internet site (now in its third generation), freelanced for bigger-name publications and carried on through various economic ups and downs.

And why does this history lesson matter? Because we couldn’t do it without you – the reader, the advertiser, the supporter, the partner. Small business isn’t easy. Often it isn’t pretty. Sometimes it’s scary. We appreciate your connection to our business and hope you are pleased with the products we produce.

Somewhere a business-school professor would cringe if we didn’t hit you with even the slightest sales pitch, so keep us in mind for some advertising, subscriptions (you and/or a friend), and/or a purchase in our online store (where everything’s on sale!).

Thanks for being there.

Go on, Draco

Posted on June 24, 2008
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Visitors, we get visitors at ST Publishing World Headquarters here in Fair Hill.

Deliverymen, horsemen, salesmen, relatives, old bosses, relatives’ old bosses, young people, old people, lost people. One day last week, a visitor reminded us of why we do what we do. He came to watch a horse run on TVG. A few moments earlier, on the same network, we were watching the best horses in the world at Royal Ascot. The visitor came to see Yankee Pilot, a $35,000 claimer in the second at Philadelphia Park. The homebred, 3-1 on the board, may as well have been Henrythenavigator.

Apparently nicknamed Draco, due to the imploring chants of “Come on, Draco” coming from the other room while Sean and I discussed the economics of publishing (mostly bad).

“You’re not tired, Draco.”

“Come, on Draco.”

“Give it all, Draco.”

“Fight, Draco, fight.”

Maybe named after Harry Potter character Draco Malfoy, or maybe not, Draco hung on by the slimmest of nods – after an anxious wait for the photo. We ran into watch the stretch drive and leaned as the camera followed the horses to the finish line. Whether all the leaning helped or not, I don’t know, but Draco got there and made everyone’s day.

The visitor summed up his enthusiasm with a giant sigh and a “That’s great. That’s year-changing. Just great. Thanks, sorry for all the yelling.”

No need to apologize, the yelling was great. Best part of the day, really. When you work in racing, sometimes the work gets in the way and you forget the racing. The winning. The losing. The thrill of one or the other decided by an animal’s willingness to stretch his nose or not. Wow.

Nice job, Draco.

Duh, Tara

Posted on June 24, 2008
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So, maybe I don’t know how to work the journal posting interface. Here’s one I thought I put up back on Belmont Day.

First of all, I live in a neighborhood called Tara. Like Gone With The Wind. The streets are named Atlanta, Rhett, Scarlett, Ashley. And I work in the racing industry. And the Belmont was Saturday.

As my neighbor Eileen said while sitting by my other neighbor Steve’s pool Saturday night a few hours after the Belmont, “Duh, Tara.” Or Da’Tara. The Belmont winner paid $79 and none of us bet. Not Eileen, not me, not anyone in the 50 houses around us – as far as I can tell.

To make matters worse, my brother called me early Saturday afternoon with a message. “I just bumped into Nick Zito in the tunnel and he stopped me and said to make sure I said hello to Joe and the boys,” Sean said.

Well hello to you too, Nick. The boys and I stopped in at Zito’s barn at Saratoga last summer for an interview. He didn’t mention Da’Tara then, nor did he tell Sean to pay attention to the son of Tiznow a few hours later against heavy favorite Big Brown. Oh well, wish we were all paying more attention.

See you in Saratoga, Nick.

Hard To Imagine

Posted on June 18, 2008
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The 94,476 that descended upon Belmont Park had the right idea, so we won’t look too harshly upon them. The only problem was they were a week early and 803 miles off-base.

The great horse they all wanted to see wasn’t in the starting gate for the 140th running of the Belmont Stakes on June 7. Instead he was at Churchill Downs this past Saturday, adding another Grade I tally to his ever-growing resume.

Curlin carried 128 pounds and the weight of the racing world on his shoulders in the Stephen Foster Stakes, and proved more than up to the task, delivering an as-you-please 4 1/4-length win, while running his lifetime earnings to $9,396,800 in the process.

So that’s what a battle-tested Triple Crown runner looks like when he runs as a 4-year-old? Who knew?

Props go out to Stonestreet Stable, Midnight Cry Stable, and trainer Steve Asmussen for doing the unthinkable; running a classy and sound 3-year-old at 4. The result is a bigger, stronger, meaner and more polished version of the colt who won the Preakness, Jockey Club Gold Cup and Breeders’ Cup Classic last season at 3.

In 2008 Curlin has been simply awesome. A pair of lopsided victories in Dubai, including the $6 million World Cup by 7 1/4 lengths, preceded his score in the Foster.

But the best may be on the horizon. Asmussen has hinted he’s going to try Curlin over turf for his next start, and if things go well a trip to France and the Prix de l’Arc de Triomphe in October could be in the cards. For those not familiar with the Arc, in terms of international importance, it makes the Breeders’ Cup turf look like an added-money stakes on a Thursday afternoon.

Instead of following the same path and winning the same races as last year, Curlin’s connections have decided the time is right to see just how good their colt is. It’s obvious that Curlin has accomplished all that he can on the main track. His dominance over the best dirt horses in the world is all-encompassing and vividly clear. I find it refreshing and genuinely exciting that his sights will now be set on greener pastures, and not the ones in the Kentucky countryside.

No Hammer

Posted on June 11, 2008
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Of course, it’s raining. It’s Ireland. The sun lasted a day and a half and it was hard to believe it was really the Emerald Island. Now, I believe. The second day of the Goffs Sales winds down to a close, don’t bother checking the results, I kept very quiet. Nearly stabbed at a big, beautiful gelding by Bahri (Best Attack, anyone?), but the more he walked the more I walked. Finally, out of the ring and to the coffee stand. If he had form, I would have excused it, but to bring an unbroken 3-year-old home, he better be perfect. The hard part is getting the buzz of thinking about buying a horse and then stifling it somewhere in your horse-dealing soul. Not easy.

It’s an interesting sale, and totally foreign to what Americans consider a good premise. These are store horses, unbroken 3 and 4-year-olds, they’ve seen a lot of grass and no saddle. We’re a fast-food nation, so it’s hard to get a lot of momentum. The British and Irish don’t litter their corners with Burger King, McDonald’s, Kentucky Fried Chicken and Long John Silver’s, so it’s understandable that they bid with both fists; Nicky Henderson, Ginger McCain, Venetia Williams, Willie Mullins, Charlie Swan . . . everybody’s buying but the Americans. I’ll work on it for next year.

The sales make real theatre here. Like a Greek Sunday dinner - everything’s on the table. The auctioneers cajole, jive, tease and rattle buyers, and then call them out when they buy one. Thank You Mr. Clancy, they’ll say to all the world. Or, amazingly, “Not today,” when one doesn’t hit the mark. At home, it’s all mystery. Here, it’s all game. Fair game.

They’ll say things like, “You’ve been shaking your head all day, it’s meant nothing so far, how about one more bid?” or “It’ll take you a monkey to get back,” and “He’s a cracking individual, he walks for fun.” And my favorite, “Now, that’s hesitation,” to a scared bidder who finally raised.

Home tomorrow. Sadly, no horse in tow.

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