The Courier-Journal from Louisville, Kentucky • Page 16

page 4 a jockey's week A jockey knows it best: Life's more than a race ready, and whatever I do, I wanna do right. "What happens is, the jock has to ride two or three years past his prime, then he loses his credibility on the track. That's what I'm tryin' to prevent. I'm 32, which ain't old. But no SOB can prove to me that I ain't gettin' older ever day.

So the fact I can't own a horse is keepin' me from progressin' in my chosen profession. Makes me mad as hell, and I'm just about to the point where I'm willin' to try to do somethin' about it. Wednesday. A threatening cloud hangs to the left as Patterson drives his pickup down Dixie Highway for an afternoon of racing at the Downs. He has six mounts ahead of him.

"Think I'm gonna get my little ass all wet and muddy today? Rain and mud, ain't nuthin' but aggravation. Who in the hell wants to get wet and muddy? Not even the horses, I'll tell you. They call some of them mudders, but that means they just dislike it a little less than others. "And when it's cold and wet, that's a bitch. You get wet and then go back in the jock's room and get warm and dry.

Then you come out and get cold and wet again. First thing you know you've got a kg cramp durin' the race and you're steering with one hand and bea-tin" the calf of your leg with the other. That ain't no way to go through life. "Look at the sun over there! Damn, come on sun, I got six mounts today. That's too damn many.

Usually I won't take more than three or four. Hell, I rode for 10 years ever' time the gate popped opened. I don't have to do that with my finger, lightly mind you, and make him flinch. So if you hit him in a sensitive place, you're gonna make him flinch and get a negative response. Some jocks would beat a horse on the feet if they could reach 'em.

"I've even seen jocks whip 'em around the eyes. That's stupid. If you're gonna hit a horse on the head, whack him between the ears, or reach down and tap him on the nose. He'll get the message. You don't have to put out his eye." At home, in his new $18,000 Airstream trailer, he relaxed and continued to discuss the ins and outs of riding horses for a living.

"When I started out as a kid, off the farm in Jolley, Iowa, I used to get my paychecks, cash 'em and carry the money around in my pockets. Got so I was carryin' at a time. Fig-gered that was the best way to keep up with it. But when you hit 30, you better have some money stashed away somewhere. "That's why I'm hopin' to get out of it, maybe this fall.

Tomorrow mornin you an' me will head out to Lasater Farm and I'll show you my colt. Paid $25,000 for him at Keeneland last fall. If he's good enough, I'm gcima quit. Right now he looks like a marin' son-uvabitch." Tuesday. Patterson is happy, a man at peace with himself, as he drives his pickup down the fenced avenues of Lasater Farm where his powerful colt is boarded.

"Look at them pastures. This is Kentucky, horse country. Don't let nobody tell you it ain't. Where else in the world do you see bluegrass pastures like these. This is where the horses is, this is horse country.

He finds his colt inside the barn and puffs up with pride. "You big lug," he says, wrapping his arms around the burly colt's neck. "You got the life of Riley, ain't you? Gettin' a little heavy, too. But why shouldn't you? You ain't doin' nuthin' right now not to. But you ain't sloppy, and that's what counts." The thousand-pound colt and the hundred-pound man are one, oblivious to those around them.

"I remember the first time I got on this colt. We come out of the barn and get on the track. He jogs a little and I think, 'He's fluid, that's I been on a horse long enough to feel one under me. Suddenly he stops and jumps sideways. I almost cried.

I think to myself, 'Oh, hell, he ain't quick, he ain't But comin' the wrong way back around the track, I stop and look where he's jumped. Must have jumped from here over to them rakes. Twenty feet, it seemed like. I pat him on the head and say, 'Boy, you covered some ground with that On the way back to the Downs, Patterson's anger and frustration over not being able to own a racing horse and ride at the same time surfaces. "If I keep ridin', I gotta sell that colt," he says.

"That's the rule, no jock can own a horse. Ain't that a bitch? Only jocks and criminals can't own a horse. I'm supposed to do everything with a horse but own one. "Race track owners own 'em and run 'em at their own tracks. Racing commission members own 'em.

That don't bother me. But why in the hell can't I own one? like they're questioning my tegrity, the only thing I have anyway. "What they're doin' in effect, is keepin' me from progressin' in my profession. They're makin' me a second-class citizen. I'd like to train, but how-in-the-hell am I gonna learn all the ins and outs if I gotta keep ridin' and can't? "If I quit ridin' right now, I got my credibility and probably could get a string of horses to train.

But I ain't By JOHN FLYNN Couritr-Journal Staff Writer It's Derby morning and Garth Patterson has chosen to ride his motorcyle to work. But in a few hours he'll be on Best Person for the 103rd running of the Kentucky Derby. Fifteen years he's been riding, too long to get too glad or too sad over any horse race, as he likes to put it. He realizes that Best Person is a long-shot, needing a bolt from the blue to get on the board. But he's a pro, one of the best, in fact, and his mind is on professionalism as he prepares for his second Derby ride.

"The Derby's the Super Bowl, the greatest race in the world," he says. "But it ain't the end of the world. I'm ridin' in it because I'm a professional, not because of the prestige. Fact is, if you let prestige get in the way of your professionalism, you ain't gonna be prestigious very long." Now 32, with more than 2,000 victories behind him, including stakes and claimers, he has a unique way of putting things into perspective. He is as relaxed as a tortoise.

Leave the worry to others, he says. If he has a single nerve twitching it doesn't show. "Can't make too many plans in this business," he claims. "Doubt even if the trainer will give me any instructions. I'll ride the horse my I'll try to get down to the rail before the turn, even if I have to stop somebody.

Then we'll see what happens. "If you plan a ride from start to finish, then somethin' happens out of the gate, you ain't in no position to improvise. Improvise, ain't that a nice That's what a jock has to do, improvise. If you can't you'll get replaced quicker than a New York minute, you'll be a gone sonuvabilch." As the oddsmakers have predicted, he doesn't have enough horse on this day to improvise successfully, and Best Person conies in last. But it has been a good week for Patterson, who fortunately has learned that life's more important than a horse race.

Following are some scenes and moments from each day. Monday he put in a working day at the Downs. But as soon as he rode his last mount in the eighth race, he hurried out of the jocks' room and jumped in his new pickup truck. That way he beat the traffic heading out Dixie Highway to his trailer, which was parked next to a pay fishing pond. He steered the truck smoothly on the way, almost as if he were handling a horse.

"Yeah," he said, "I drive this truck like ever' SOB on the road's aimin' to hit me. Drivin's like ridin' anyway. Suppose I wanted to cut out of this lane into the left one and just as I started out, that car in front of me cut me off. I'd be hung up, right? So a good rider and a good driver stay out of trouble. "You take that Cauthen boy (16-year-old jockey Steve).

Ever wateh him? He sits a horse like he might fall off. He's just a kid and he ain't real strong in his arms and hands, either. But he knows how to steer, and race ridin' is steerin'. "I have people comin' up to me and saying, 'Boy, Garth, you really took that lane through the stretch'. That's a bunch of It's all horse down the stretch.

A jock can lose a race for you outta the gate and gettin' position, but he ain't gonna win it for you in the stretch. Jocks get too much praise and too much blame, in my way of thinkin'. "If I ever get to trainin' and ownin', which I want to do, I'm gonna whip the ass off the first jockey who beats a tired horse of mine in the stretch. "Most of these jocks don't even know how to whip a horse in the first place. A horse has got sensitive places, like a human.

I can jab a horse in the neck 1 innimn Minim mi wi mi inn i i irini "if I Staff Photo by Ford Reid Garth Patterson has been a jockey for 15 years. Friday he was in the paddock area, chatting for a while, above. Yesterday he was on Best Person for the Derby and came in lact. "Jocks get too much blame and too much praise, in my way of thinking," he says. Thursday.

Dark is coming and Patterson is relaxing in his trailer. He has learned today that Best Person will break from the No. 12 hole in the Derby. "What the hell, it don't make no difference what hole you come out of in a mile-and-a-quarter race. If you ain't got enough horse to get position in that quarter mile to the first turn, you ain't gonna go nowhere anyway.

"If my horse comes out of there not firin', all I can hope to do is ride him around the track without fallin' off. Too early to worry about the Derby anyway. Don't pay to get too glad or too sad in this business. I got a good horse, but he don't have enough girth yet to carry his body, in my opinion. Fellow jockeys Tony Rini and Bobby Breen come by for a visit.

"Garth," asks Rini, "why didn't you take 'em up on that offer to appear for an hour on local television? We wanted to hear what you'd say." "I don't need no TV Pat terson answers. "Let 'em get somebody that went to college. I ain't doin' much of nuthin till this Derby mess is over. Then I might write a letter or two." Rini and Breen depart and Patterson starts talking about the marvels of owning an Airstream trailer, a fine home, he believes, for a jockey who has no family. "This is some joint.

Got so many damn many drawers hid away I ain't found 'em yet. Got a movin' TV antenna. Couch there turns into a bed but I ain't figured out how to work it yet. But it works and that's what counts, ain't it? Ever'body thought I done a spur-of-the-moment thing by tradin' in my Cadillac Seville for a pickup and Airstream Didn't know I'd been thinkin' about it for five years. Got tired of payin' rent lm.

r-v um? There'd be nuthin' worse than bein' a Grade A medium egg in a grocery store. Medium? I'm doin' okay short. "Only thing is, I got the funniest little feet you've ever seen. Strange lookin' little pinkies, I call 'em. They're all pink, and wrinkled up 'cause I wear boots so much.

But that's okay, I'm still eatin'. "Jocks laugh and goof on each other about a lot of things. Not durin' Derby week, of course. Too many strangers around. But it'll be fun next week.

"Sometimes a jock is in a hurry for the next race and we'll tie the sleeve to his colors and fill it with whipped i cream. Oughta see him when he sticks his arm into it." Has that ever happened to Patterson? "That's how I learned it." to landlords who didn't want me there 'cause I'm a jock. To hell with 'em. Me an Bird'll do fine in this air condi-tionin', won't we Bird?" Friday. Patterson is with his friend, jockey Alice Knowles.

He has a huge plate of seafood laid out in front of him at a Dixie Highway restaurant. "I'm a lucky man. I can eat like a horse. Not three times a day. Usually only once.

But when I sit down I take in enough to waste me for 24 hours. "I make enough money to eat what I want. Mostly good meat. I been insulted because I'm short (5 feet 1), but I can't help it and the guy who insulted me can't help it, so I don't worry about it. "Matter of fact, I'd rather be short than medium.

Who wants to be medi 1 iiiiiiiiiiissi is Bird. Patterson own race horses. sell his colt, above. Bill' flilTiBlW 491 -B a a SfWk'1' 111! 'If "'4SSaaa ii -W Mmtin.it ififr -if fr Tip 'Tlr iTirniimr Photo by Carol Thompton is frustrated by not being able to If he keeps riding, he'll have to Patterson traded his Cadillac for a pickup and an Airstream trailer. In the Airstream, left, he can relax after work and talk to his parrot, whose name Photo by Carol Thompton.