racingmeridian.com

The first rule of blogging should be to write every day. Okay, but that rule needs an amendment. No one should be attempting to structure coherent thought on the day after St Patrick’s Day. Simply put, my St Pats was amazing. How was yours? I spent yesterday drinking water and nibbling on spoonfuls of mashed potatoes. The “hair of the dog” philosophy may eventually lead to damnation, but I needed to return to the scene of the crime for a couple of pints just to get my short circuited brain functioning again.

Nobody parties with the unabashed abandon of the demented denizens of The Rail and, yep, we lived up to our reputation for excess with vivid passion on the 17^th. Hell yeah. A twenty one year old hottie sexually harassing Goose was met with, well, applause and stares. Amazing. Did a bartender get cut off? I won’t tell. Were toes broken? Can’t confirm that. Was there a German invasion, with Lex and Billy the Kid kicking the party into frenzy mode? Undoubtedly. Could the night be complete without an Englishman and an Irishman arguing? I say not. Did sisters nearly come to blows? Couldn’t be. Was that the rarely seen Mad Dawg delighting the throngs with his lunatic ravings? Yes, yes it was. Did lost items include cameras and cell phones? They’ll turn up. Did an idiot blogger leave with a smile, content to end his night before 11pm only to realize, upon arrival at Pape, that it was 3am and the subway station was closed? Surely not. Did we manage all this without the influence of Captain Len and the Magnificent Maria? Yes we did.

God bless everyone who woke with a paralyzing hangover and a savage hatred of their fellow man. I’ve never heard so many declarations of coming abstinence. My friends, you were all brawny and bold on St Pats, so your livers may well be entitled to a rest. The hug of St Pat is an iron grip, musty with whisky and soaked in laughter. We did the day right, and will be blessed by the beloved Saint until the Ides of March again give way to the rambunctious revelry of day the world turns Irish…

ICE…man, what a gyp if you were in attendance at the ACC last night. The New Jersey Devils opted to rest Martin Brodeur and instead play Yann Denis. The chances to bathe in the glory that is Brodeur are diminishing, and even a Toronto Maple Leaf win couldn’t disguise the disappointment of a lost opportunity… the Washington Capitals have opened an eight point lead on the San Jose Sharks and the Chicago Blackhawks in the overall NHL standings…Oiler winger Patrick Sullivan sports a plus/minus rating of -32, the worst in the League…

GRID IRON…writer Denis Dillon notes 15 NFL teams have tinkered with their quarterback arrangements this off season, the kind of mobility heretofore associated with the CFL. The biggest move, a trade of Philadelphia Eagle cornerstone Donovan McNabb, is rumoured to be the next development. The Eagles will place their hopes on the arms of relatively untested Kevin Kolb…Jake Delhomme was offered the chance to go to New Orleans to back up Drew Brees. He opted to sign with Cleveland in order to have a chance at a starting role. Jake made a mistake. He is no longer a starting quality QB and may not be able to usurp Seneca Wallace with the Browns…Fox Sports is reporting the asking price for Terrell Owens is five million per annum. Not sure what that phat contract gets you, other than a prickly, washed up wideout…

PONIES..here’s a twist; the Daily Racing Form has assigned Beyer Speed Ratings to Rachel Alexandra and Zenyatta after their performances last Saturday. Their scores, a 100, were identical.  Visually, Zenyatta’s rally left the crowd gasping, while Rachel’s inability to muster energy in the stretch left onlookers gloomy. Appearances can be deceiving. If Zarkava had not been in the race at the Fair Grounds, then Rachel would have won by 11 lengths (the margin back to the third place finisher) and the big showdown would be a go. If Zarkava had remained in California, bizarrely, it might be Zenyatta we were denigrating, and not the lovely 2009 Horse of the Year…the organizers of the Florida Derby were on the receiving end of the proverbial “groin punch” with the announcement by trainer Todd Pletcher that his star three year old Eskendereya was passing the race in favour of the Wood Memorial April 3^rd.  The renewal of the famous race, a Meridian favourite, has come up astonishingly weak with perhaps only the presence of Lentenor, a full brother to ill fated Barbaro, and Rule, another Todd Pletcher stud, providing any star power. Radiohead might have these over the barrel if the nine furlong distance is within his scope…

PUG LIFE…Floyd Mayweather and Shane Mosley will adhere to the strictures of the United States Anti-Doping Agency “gold standard” of drug testing as they prepare for their May 1^st fight. Both fighters have agreed to random testing of both blood and urine, including tests that will be administered after the fight. Will this type of move become mandatory for all big fights? Why not? Floyd Mayweather may actually have done something good for the sport. Manny Pacquiao is looking increasingly foolish, or worse, with his refusal to agree to comprehensive testing…just a reminder, there is a heavyweight title fight, featuring Vladimir Klitschko, on Saturday. American boxer Eddie Chambers has so enthralled his countrymen that not even one television network bothered to pick up the feed on the battle. Chambers can actually fight a bit so I’ll try to watch the scrap on Justin TV before heading out to take in the Florida Derby. In promotional materials the size difference between Saturday’s combatants is ludicrous, with Chambers looking more like Klitschkos tiny business manager than a prospective opponent. But Chambers has, despite his small stature, looked very impressive in his last two outings, besting Samuel Peters and Alexander Dimitrenko. Recent American invaders to Germany, particularly Kevin Johnson, Hasim Rachman and Lamont Brewster, have absolutely disgraced themselves with brutal, incompetent performances. Hopefully Chambers puts and end to that trend with, at least, a competitive showing. The possibility of the relatively light punching tactician scoring an upset is remote…