When I first decided to become someone who writes about our sport of show jumping, I looked to the famous sportswriters of the early- and mid-century who worked during the...
I was given an assignment by my editor: “Imbibe the Show Pony.” “The Show Pony?” “WEF has a signature drink now.” I did some googling and found the press release:...
I’ve turned melancholic. I sit in a chair facing the sea, unmoving like a sentry. I spend long minutes, maybe hours, watching the water and trying to find words to...
It is a truth universally acknowledged that one can be brilliant at riding a horse or brilliant at love-making, but not both. “And I don’t ride,” I often add suggestively...
“Your brain is three pounds of Jell-O.” The doctor was speaking, holding a colorful model of a human brain in her hands. Is my brain three pounds of Jell-O? I...
We are in the thick of it. Mid-WEF, thick like syrup. You have three places to go every day, and more in the evening. Nights go late at fundraisers, galas,...
You think you know the game. A rider enters the ring. She is riding a horse. Together, they negotiate a series of obstacles—jumps—and come out with a score based on...
A menacing face hangs over the arena—huge eyes hollowed out by shadows. It is Ben Maher, looking as grim as anyone ever has. Flash! Boom! Pow! Bam! A veiny hand...
A regiment of kilt-wearing, bagpipe-playing Scotsmen enter the ring. Dozens-strong, unexpected, they give every neck whiplash as all eyes turn to them, a triumphant parade of pomp. A small troupe...
Somewhere in the reclaimed swampland of the Everglades, that glorious river of grass (although it’s actually sedge, not grass, and it’s technically a marsh, not a swamp), a columnist is...
