Lots of people looked at the people in their finery at the Steeplechase, but few saw my favorite gallery, the jockeys and stable hands.
The jockeys had their own tent just downhill from the finish line, where they carried their saddles to the scales under the watchful eyes of the stewards after the race. The stewards made sure the jockeys, with their saddles and blankets, weighed the same as the start of the race, to verify they were still carrying the lead weights assigned to them for handicapping. The stewards made sure girlfriends didn’t give jockeys a hug on the way to the scales and slip weights back in the saddle blanket that didn’t make the trip around the track.
Anyhow, the mood in the tent was relaxed and cordial. Most jockeys were from the UK, and this fellow was no exception. Straight out of a Dick Francis novel, he had a cast on his leg. Since he couldn’t race, he was looking marvelous in his suit. I think those eyes are Irish, but that’s just a guess.
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