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The Secretariat Maneuver
On the sunset of a pretty grim year, let’s have a little lightness, if you please. My father, who passed away when I was 21 (that was quite a while ago) once told me this story. He had read about it, I believe, in Sports Illustrated.
The story concerns Secretariat – arguably the greatest thoroughbred racehorse of all time. In 1973 he won the Triple Crown — the Kentucky Derby, the Preakness and the Belmont – along the way setting a Derby record of 1:59 2/5 (no other horse has bettered two minutes) and beating Twice a Prince by 31 lengths in the Belmont Stakes. He was, as one aficionado put it, instantly recognizable with his glistening chestnut coat, three white stockings and his regal bearing.
It is often the case in sports that the spoils of exceptional athletic achievement extend beyond the years of that achievement. The broadcast booth, the lucrative endorsement, or (if nothing else avails) the cushy job greeting customers outside the Sands Hotel – these are all the perks that derive from those few moments of triumph, those superlative feats of muscle and mind that dazzle the world. Let Springsteen ridicule those “glory days” – but those glory days (if they are glorious enough) can at least pave the way to a comfortable retirement.
In the case of outstanding racehorses, of course, the wages of immortality are just that: more immortality. More to the point, win a lot of races and you can have all the fillies you ever dreamed of. Being put out to pasture in just the most splendid manner possible (and with the most enchanting company) was the happy fate of Secretariat.
But there was a problem.
At first there were just rumors. Secretariat was, how to put it, finishing out of the money in his new job as a stud. Owners of well-bread fillies paid ridiculous prices for a shot of that glory, so to speak, but Secretariat – for reasons known only to Secretariat – was holding out. It was not that Secretariat would refuse to associate with his new friends of the fairer sex. No. By no means did Secretariat shun the company of the ladies but, in the words of General Jack Ripper, he denied them his essence.
Being a nanophysicist and a lifelong geek, I should say that it is well known that the superb athletic specimen, the mesomorph, the, (mind if I just say it?) jock, often comes up a little short when it comes to the moves and the grooves. Any quasi-successful Don Juan knows that romance requires a little bit of dedicated grey matter, whereas jocks, after all – who sometimes don’t have much grey matter to begin with – have dedicated nearly all of theirs to getting the most out of those massive muscles.
Such seemed to be the case with Secretariat.
The initial diagnosis, much to the horror of Secretariat’s owners – who were themselves contemplating green pastures filled with fillies – was that Secretariat was sterile. There weren’t no liquid gold in them there hills after all. It looked like Secretariat was the end of the line. And while, with a household name like Secretariat, there was no issue of a short trip to the glue factory, still, it looked like Secretariat’s retirement might in fact be out front of the Sands Hotel greeting customers after all.
But the mighty colt’s handlers did not give up. The fact was, it was soon discovered, that Secretariat was perfectly capable of getting the job done, as it were. The problem was not the equipment but the approach; not, as they say, the meat but the move.
You see, you could tell the pretty girls all day long that Secretariat had broken two minutes in the Derby – they were not impressed. What they wanted was a little sweetness. A nibble on the ear. A playful bite on the neck. A little “come on, come on, come on … get away, get away, get away.”
What girl doesn’t want that? Doesn’t demand that?
Secretariat was just a little too linear in his approach to the job.
The solution that Secretariat’s human friends devised was pure genius. What they did was procure a romantically darkened barn with a warm comfortable stall, some soft hay, perhaps a little Coltrane … maybe, being the ’70s, a lava lamp? And then they found the sexiest, most popular young stud that they could find. And they put female X into the penthouse with male Y … but only long enough to get female X ready.
Because young Johnny boy, of course, was (forgive the mixed sports metaphor) always held at third base and never allowed to score. At the precise moment when Trixie was just whinnying for it, the handlers slipped Johnny boy out the front of the stall and our hero into the back of the stall and … it was over in a flash – satisfaction all around.
Except of course for Johnny boy.
When my father read about the Secretariat maneuver, his first concern was with poor Johnny boy over in the next stall. I mean, how would you feel? You’ve been making all the right moves and then suddenly some jock comes along and, whoosh, she’s gone! Who hasn’t had that happen at some point or another? Face it, you want to kick the bloody stall down.
As for Secretariat, he had, after his trouble breaking out of the gate, 28 foals in his first crop. There is debate on whether he has produced as many great winners as to be expected from such a champion. But his progeny have been by no means shabby on the dirt. He lived, one assumes, a happy life until he passed away in 1989.
All in all, he had a great run.
Published in General
Interesting story, thanks. I learn all kinds of stuff on Ricochet I never expected. (Now I understand what my wife means when she calls me her “stud muffin”. Sort of.)
We live near Santa Anita Racetrack in Arcadia, CA. My kids have gone to school with the children of jockeys and trainers. I don’t know much about horses or racing (though I will NEVER forget Secretariat’s win), but I’ve picked up some of the vernacular.
The horse that you speak of – the one who gets the female horse in the mood – is referred to as a “fluffer”.
It is well known in our circles that husbands who cheat on their wives are reincarnated as a horse to fulfill this unfortunate role.
Horse fluffer might be the worst job ever. Great story, though.
This just begs the question: who was the better closer? Secretariat or Goose Gossage?
The actual term is teasing. A teaser is used to a) put the mare at ease or 2) put the mare in the mood. This is so that the covering stallion doesn’t have to waste too much time with the “foreplay”. Thoroughbred stallions are bred a couple of times a day over a four month period and need to preserve their stamina. Not that my avatar gives anything away
But I was doing the fluffer thing years before I even got married! What sin did I commit???
Annefy,
Sounds like you are a little too close to the San Fernando Valley. The term “fluffer” is used in the, ahem, adult film industry. At least that’s what a friend once told me.
Turkey fluffer would give it a run for its money. No last minute substitutions, it’s all hand work. Sounds like a really fowl task.
Here’s Melanie Morgan falling off her chair laughing, and the late, great Lee Rodgers in a classic radio moment. Beverage alert.
Michael,
Not to pick nits, but two other horses have broken the two minute mark in the Derby. (BTW, being from Louisville, we refer to it as “The Derby”. The Kentucky is implied)
The 2001 winner Monarchos in 1:59.97 (they went to digital timing a few years before 2001) The other horse is actually interesting and little known. The horse ran a sub two minute Derby but didn’t win. That horse was named Sham, and it came in a very close second to…Secretariat.
I do indeed live close to the San Fernando Valley and have heard the term used in that industry as well. Another industry about which I can claim almost complete ignorance.
Like I said, I know very little about horses and racing. Am only repeating the term as used by the wives and girlfriends (and more than a few “ex” of both) of trainers and jockeys.
So, is Trump fluffing the electorate for Ted Cruz?
If that ear foreplay pays, David Cameron may have a post-PM career! More honorable than Blair’s.
Trump the Fluffer! Quote of the day! Huzzah! (I’ll bet you’re right, too.)
LOL. I thought you were going to tell us Secretariat was gay.
Nice story, glad it had a happy ending, for all but the fluffer.
I have to say, Annefy, one of the great things about Ricochet is that no matter what I write about, there is someone out there that knows more about it than I do! It is an instant learning experience.
Being a mesomorph, superb athletic specimen, and world class ass-kicker, all I can say is:
-Give me your lunch money
-Having worked hard on maturing and learning to employ “filters,” I shall refrain from swatting all them low n slow softballs you threw just right over the plate. On account of that’s me; I’m a giver.
You’re welcome, Mr. Nanophysicist.
I guess it must be my lucky day!
Is my lunch money enough? Or do you want me to run home and get 25 cents more?
See, that’s where my filters kick in. So, no. But you’se better have an extra ho-ho tomorrow.
Tom Wolfe’s book, Man In Full, has pretty vivid description of how race horses are bred. He didn’t use the word ‘fluffer’.