Ah, Michael Douglas, in *Wall Street*, standing there with that commanding presence, delivering the now-iconic line: *“Greed is good.”* A declaration of ambition, desire, and ruthless self-interest that became a rallying cry for an entire generation, and perhaps a reflection of the very soul of American business. *Greed,* he tells us, is not something to be ashamed of, but a driving force that propels us toward success, power, and, yes, wealth. It's a mentality that permeates every facet of our culture—so much so that we barely even question it anymore. We see it in boardrooms, in stock market swings, in the relentless pursuit of the next big thing. And, let me tell you, it is no different in the world of horse racing.
Ah, the auction sales. Now, there’s where greed rears its head with a hunger and ferocity that even Gordon Gekko would admire. You see, these auctions aren’t merely about buying horses—they are a battlefield of egos, wallets, and aspirations. Trainers, owners, agents, they all descend upon these sales with one goal: to find the next champion. The horse, of course, is secondary to the value that can be extracted from it. And the price tag, oh, the price tag—let’s not pretend it isn’t a statement. In this game, *greed is good*, because the higher the bid, the greater the potential return, the greater the glory, or so they say. Every bidder, with eyes locked on the prize, is thinking of the future earnings, the headlines, the triumphs at the track. They are not buying a horse—they are purchasing a potential fortune wrapped in muscle and blood.
But therein lies the danger, the inherent flaw in this mindset. In horse racing, as in the world of finance, greed has a way of clouding judgment. Buyers throw down millions, hoping to secure the next Triple Crown contender, but what they don’t always realize is that the most expensive horse isn’t necessarily the most talented. Some of the best horses are overlooked, undervalued, and sold for a fraction of their potential. But *greed*—ah, greed blinds them. It convinces them that the bigger the price tag, the greater the guarantee of success. It is a seductive, dangerous force, one that can lead to great triumphs, yes, but also to ruin.
So, when you watch these sales unfold, remember: the auctioneer’s gavel is not just slamming down on a horse. It’s also slamming down on a principle—the belief that more money, more power, more *greed*, will lead to success. And for some, it does. But for others? Well, they find themselves holding an empty purse, their hopes dashed on the cold, unforgiving track.
It’s a high-stakes game, my friend. In business, in racing, in life. Greed drives us all, but as *Gekko* so famously said, *"The point is, ladies and gentlemen, that greed, for lack of a better word, is good."*
Ah, *greed is good*—how truly *good* is it? Let me tell you, it's all about the optics. The *perception*, if you will. You see, when a colt is purchased for $3 million, the sound that fills the room is like a thousand hornets descending upon a hive. It’s electric. The air crackles with the energy of anticipation, with whispers of *"Is this the next Triple Crown winner?"* or *"Look at that pedigree! This horse will pay off tenfold!"* And for some, the buzz is a symphony, a soundtrack to their dreams of riches. For others? Well, they're nothing more than cheerleaders, caught up in the excitement—living vicariously through the transaction, their hands clean, their wallets not a bit heavier. But they cheer all the same, swept up in the frenzy, because they know it’s all part of the show.
And let me tell you, these auctions—these spectacles—*have always* been something far more complex. They are not just sales; they are *a drama in many acts*. It’s *Jules Verne’s Mysterious Island* meets *Robert Louis Stevenson’s Treasure Island*, a concoction of mystery, intrigue, showmanship, horsemanship, and, dare I say, *collusion*. There’s a little bit of everything. There are the high-rolling players, the ones with the deep pockets, the ones whose names grace the history books—but they’re only part of the equation. The true masterstroke happens in the shadows, where deals are whispered and alliances are forged, a dance of cunning and power behind closed doors. This, my friend, is where the *real* game is played.
And then there’s the show—the sleight of hand. *The David Copperfield illusion* that makes you believe one thing while another is unfolding beneath the surface. The optics of a $3 million colt might have you believing this is a horse destined for greatness, but the reality? Well, the reality is much more complicated. *Voila!* A wave of the hand, a little smoke, and you’re left staring at something that seems grand, only to discover that the true magic lies in the deception. The illusion is perfect. The audience is captivated. And in the end, some will walk away richer, while others will be left holding a horse that never lived up to its price tag.
It’s the perfect blend of *greed, optics, and illusion*, and the show must go on. But the question remains: how many of us are truly in on the secret? And how many are just along for the ride, watching the lights and shadows, not quite seeing the truth beneath the surface? In the world of high stakes and high prices, *greed* may very well be good—but the game, my friend, is much more than what meets the eye.
Ah, yes, the *VIBE*—(See Saturday, March 15th, Race 8 At Gulfstream) that infectious, almost tangible sense of awe that surrounds a horse purchased for $3 million. It wraps around the room like a thick, heady fog. You feel it—the hum of excitement. *"Wow,"* they say. Someone thought enough of this horse to part with three million dollars of their hard-earned cash. It feels like an endorsement of greatness, doesn't it? As if that price tag automatically confers greatness upon the colt. But, my friend, when you start peeling back the layers, *ah*, you begin to see a different picture entirely.
Now, it’s a bit unfair for me to judge a single example, and truthfully, it’s none of my business—but that won’t stop me from using the knowledge I’ve acquired over the years to *not* contribute to the circus. The big top, the fanfare, the glittering lights—it’s all a spectacle designed to captivate and distract. But the trick, you see, is to slice right through all that and see the *scoop* beneath it.
Let me indulge you, just for a moment. Picture this: a breeder of the golden horse, a pedigreed colt with bloodlines that scream *champion*. He sends this horse through the sale ring, perhaps with a knowing smile, perhaps with a glint of hope. Now, the breeder negotiates to keep a piece of the horse—how much, exactly, remains unclear—but the fact is, he can sell the rest and make a small fortune. It's business. It’s *profitable*. But here’s where things get a little murky.
The colt runs through the ring, the bidding starts, the tension mounts. The auctioneer’s voice quickens, the paddles fly, the room swells with energy—and then, *boom*. The hammer falls. $3 million. Just like that. Everybody involved makes money.
But here’s the thing. The auction says $3 million. *The carnival says $3 million.* But is that really the *reality*? I ask you. The price paid in that ring—does it reflect the true value of the horse, or does it reflect a *show*, a performance, an illusion? The breeder makes a fortune, the trainer smiles, the buyer is convinced they’ve found their next superstar, and the bloodstock agent is likely counting their commission. *Everybody’s happy.* But is it real? Is the colt really worth $3 million, or have we been swept up in a carnival atmosphere, a great big *illusion* that everyone, knowingly or unknowingly, buys into?
I can’t speak for others, but I know this much: *Greed is good*—and, yes, Gordon Gekko, that smiling, slick-talking character from *Wall Street*? He's grinning ear to ear right now, from the great beyond, knowing that this is exactly the kind of game he championed. Money moves, money talks, and money *creates* reality. And in this case, reality and illusion have become one and the same.
So, my friend, when you see that colt go through the ring and the bids climb higher, remember: there’s always more than meets the eye. There's the show, and then there's the truth behind the curtain. You don't have to buy into the spectacle to see the game being played.
Ah, yes, *everybody’s happy*—the breeder, now part-owner, the new investor, the racing fans—oh, those *cheerleaders* on the sidelines with their skirts and pom-poms, chanting, *"1, 2, 3, 4, who do we appreciate?"* Their voices ringing in unison as if they’ve all just discovered the next Secretariat, the next *big thing*. They’re wrapped up in the hype, the pageantry, the performance. It’s all part of the show, isn’t it? The excitement of a big purchase, the thrill of the unknown, the idea that they, too, might ride the coattails of victory.
But then there’s *us*, those of us who are sitting back, arms crossed, perhaps sipping a drink, silently rolling our eyes, taking it all in with a more critical eye. We look at that horse, the one with the *$3 million price tag*, and we see what it is: just another horse. *No more, no less.* The bids and the fanfare don’t make it special. They don’t elevate it. In fact, they may very well distract from the truth: that no matter the price, no matter the pedigree, no matter the glowing reviews, a horse is still just a horse.
We’ve seen this before, haven’t we? It’s the same song and dance. People get swept up in the spectacle, the optics, the *illusion* of greatness. They celebrate the money, the prestige, the potential for glory. But we know better, don’t we? We know that true greatness isn’t bought with a price tag. It’s earned on the track. You can dress up a horse in a $3 million coat, but if it doesn’t run, it’s just another horse. The crowds may chant, the owners may smile, and the cameras may flash, but for those of us who see through the smoke and mirrors, we’re already on to the next race. *Eyes open, always.*
And there’s the rub. While the world spins around that auction ring, with everyone caught up in the noise, we’re already looking at the next step. The horse, like all others, will have to prove itself—on the track, under pressure, when the real game begins. The fanfare fades, the price tag becomes irrelevant, and all that’s left is the horse's true ability. That’s where the rubber meets the road, my friend. And while the pom-poms are still waving, we’ll be the ones watching quietly, seeing if this $3 million colt can actually *run*.
So, yes, *everybody’s happy*. Until they aren’t. Until they realize the horse is just that—a horse.