The Paddock Collection - Eggplant

PADDOCK COLLECTION

The sport of kings.

Who cares about the kings.  The paddock is for us, the masses.  From ostrich-plucked boots and starch-pressed jeans to tank tops and fedoras, we gather…and hang over white fence rails and stand on park benches.  We eye, we note, we nudge…and change our minds.  We take it all in.  The well-heeled, the amateur, the family, the old man that sits under the tree and never goes in to see the race.  We lean in, we read lips, we strike up intended conversations…step away from others.  We circle, we draw, we whisper, we whistle…we sing if we think we know.  We discuss, we debate, we diverge, we decide something about…oh, here they come!

They paw the ground and prance, and parade and whinny.  Rear up, stalk and stare.  They sulk like boxers.  Led by sheepish grooms…around and around.  They bite and buck and nuzzle.  They heat up and washout, they handle themselves professionally.  For us.  They bask in our eyesight.  Two-year-olds, four-year-olds, hard-knockers, speedballs, closers, mudders, dwellers, future also-rans, future Horse of the Year all go by us, before us, for us.  They nod and neigh and acquiesce to saddle cloths and sashes, stirrups and bridles, and the inevitable call, "RIDERS…UP!"