Well, great.

You know this post? The one from about a month ago? The one where after I wrote it I walked around quite assured that it was this century's coming of "Shooting an Elephant"?

Yeah. It's dead.

The entire metaphor, the entire brilliant, carefully constructed day-job-as-lethal-starting gate metaphor, is officially crapped up. Rock Hard Ten, damn him, has overcome his raging case of Gate Phobia.

He did it on Saturday at Hollywood Park in the Strub Stakes. You should have seen the look on this pony's face. Where before the gate crews attempted to pet and cosset and in general woo him into the slot, a new starter-- a Red State voter, I'm thinking-- took hold of the Rock with a Thou Shalt Not Screw With Me hand and for a week proceeded to scream at him until he understood who was in fact the boss. And once race day came he yelled "BACK BACK BACK BACK!" right up in the Rock's grill and then slapped his overgrown ass directly into the gate. No bucking. No spinning. None of this pansyass "I AM GOING TO GET INTO THE GATE! WITHOUT ACTUALLY GETTING INTO THE GATE!" crap. No, Rock Hard Ten trotted into that box. He TROTTED. And then meekly stood there while another horse had his bridle replaced.

Puss.

Well, he did win by three and a half lengths. I think he surprised himself. "Ohhhhhhh, so this is what happens when I don't diva out during the loading! Well, live and learn and screw Blondie's essay up."