JC / Railbird

Miscellany Archive

Updating

Rolling out a new look on Railbird today, just in time to get back to writing about Curlin, opening week at Oak Tree, and the run-up to the Breeders’ Cup. Over the next couple days, I’ll be refining and tweaking different parts of the site. Pages have been tested in Firefox and Safari on the Mac, in IE7 and Firefox on the PC, but if anything seems terribly wrong or broken, please leave a detailed comment. Otherwise, enjoy, and don’t overlook the new footer, which is where all the links etc. are now stashed.
9/27: Thanks for all the feedback on the new site design. A few suggested changes have been made, a few others remain under consideration. Overall I’ve tried to reduce the clutter and simplify the structure, which is why the footer is the new links location. I still like my old site design. It felt distinct even after three years, but it had also begun to feel inflexible and limiting. More changes are on the way, most to do with content and focus. Racing, of course, will remain my obsession, there’ll just be a bit more posted about technology and media issues (especially as those relate to racing), and more graphics and videos. I’ll resume blogging on Monday with some thoughts on the Vegas summit and weekend action …

Everywhere but Here

Nothing to read here? Check out the Raceday 360 Wire, a new site that scours the web looking for freshly posted blog entries, photos, videos, etc. related to thoroughbred horse racing in (almost) real time. A smattering of enhancements are already planned; comments and suggestions for more are welcome. Regular blogging will resume shortly …

Varieties of Greatness

Yesterday, the Nadal-Federer Wimbledon final that went to the Spaniard after nearly five hours of intense play.
In 2006, the first Nadal-Federer Wimbledon final, which David Foster Wallace limned in words as sublime as the action on court. One example:

A top athlete’s beauty is next to impossible to describe directly. Or to evoke. Federer’s forehand is a great liquid whip, his backhand a one-hander that he can drive flat, load with topspin, or slice — the slice with such snap that the ball turns shapes in the air and skids on the grass to maybe ankle height. His serve has world-class pace and a degree of placement and variety no one else comes close to; the service motion is lithe and uneccentric, distinctive (on TV) only in a certain eel-like all-body snap at the moment of impact. His anticipation and court sense are otherworldly, and his footwork is the best in the game — as a child, he was also a soccer prodigy. All this is true, and yet none of it really explains anything or evokes the experience of watching this man play.

We talk so much of greatness, and every now and then, the real thing comes along. In tennis, in writing, in racing

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