PrintThe man was still as he sat in his golf cart. His body looked sinewy, but also old, like an elastic band that is drying up. His voice however, as it came over the loudspeakers, was strong. “Where did they go?” he asked.
The crowd looked around. The kids the man was enquiring about had been absorbed into the grandstands, but now they were being summoned back. They were teenagers acting as jump crew, and they had obviously, mistakenly, believed the session over.
“Where are they?” His voice was louder now, not angry, but accusatory and demanding. “I told them not to leave.”
A hush, as they say, fell over the crowd.
Everybody watched as the kids separated themselves from the crowd, urged forward by their parents, but not eager to be the center of attention. They pulled away from their families reluctantly and walked down the steps to the ring.
“Hurry!” The man's voice bellowed over the loudspeakers and settled slowly over the stands, “Hurry!”
We all watched as one by one the kids broke into a run. As the first one got to the golf cart he slowed down and paused by the cart. It looked like he was talking to the man, but the other kids ran right on by, heading out to the jumps. And then, over the loudspeakers: “Don't think. Don't think!”
The boy who had stopped next to the golf cart turned red, a red I could see from 300 feet away.
“I'm here to think!” the man declared, looking out at the crowd now and seeing that he really had its attention now.
“In a few years you can think,” he finished, motioning the kid away with a small wave of his hand.
George Morris is known for saying exactly what's on his mind.
The Water Jump
Next is the water jump, and George has the riders all in a light seat. “The modern way of riding,” he says. When a boy can't quite get it right, he gets on.
“It's simple,” he says as he canters down to the jump. “See.” His breathing comes clearly over the loudspeakers as he canters around to jump it again. “Simple,” heaving breathing, “simple. You can't knock it down.” More breathing. And then as he approaches the jump he lets the reins loosen a little, but maintains his pace. “See?”
There are three components to a water jump: “pace, distance and tape.” A horse needs a good pace coming in; the rider needs to see a good distance and then ride past it, getting in close to the base; and finally jump the tape. Keep riding; like a runner hurling his chest forward, there should be no letting up until the finish line.
The next horse to try doesn't quite clear it. There is a small splash as his hind legs dip into the water. George calls Mr. Madden down from the stands. “Come'ere Frank,” he says. “Give me a hand.”
They stand on either side of the water, about two thirds of the way down. Each one bent at the waist, arms straight. Each one holding one end of a blue and white rail. The horse canters down, the last few strides are longer and faster. The horse jumps, then stretches. He seems suspended for a second as the pole is lifted. As the horse hits it, the two men drop the pole.
George looks out at the crowd: “Rapping...” I can't wait to hear what he has to say. “...done carefully...” This can be a touchy topic. “...makes a safer jumper.”
And with that, the subject is over. The kids are dismissed, and the crowd disperses. “That was sort of anti-climactic,” a skinny girl a row ahead of me says to her friend. “Yeah,” her friend agrees.
