Along The Rails

We can gravely refer to such moments as “The Jeremy Rose Whip Incident,” and nobody laughs or thinks we are referring to a Skinemax title.

I’m not a fan of the idea of somebody applying a thin piece of leather at high velocity to any part of my anatomy, but then again, I’m a human-person, and I smoke no packs a day, and am therefore rather tender-skinned.  Horses, not so much.  Horses were designed to stand around outside and rumble through woodlands and rough ground.  A whip to a race horse, if properly applied, is going to feel like a flicked finger to me:  Not exactly a loving pat, but nothing to squall to an attorney over, either.

That said, you DON’T WHIP YOUR MOUNT IN THE FACE, JEREMY.  For crap’s sake.  That’s not where the skin is so tough. God put the eyes there, you know?  Lay off, kiddo.  Whithers or nothing.

Rose says that the face-strikes were unintentional.  Okay.  But the stewards still sentence him to… anger management courses.  That‘ll learn him!

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