Being born into the Irish horse owning community is often a poisoned chalice.
- you will never have to associate with poor people beyond those who use the Tote at Fairyhouse or the Curragh
- from an early age you will be decked out in the finest deck shoes, hounds-tooth scarves and the obligatory wax jacket
- not only will you live on a vast estate but you will have permission to ride your steed over the local community's land while chasing a fox or a stag with your hounds
- more than likely you will have met your life partner by the age of 9 at the pony club or in a weighing room.
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The downside becomes clear on the few instances you step out of the golden circle of tax incentives, furlongs and guineas
- The name given to you by your parents in attempt to widen the gap between you and those who don't go to the likes of Clongowes and Gormanstown.
Fozzy Stack is such an example, the poor chap has been lumbered with the same moniker as the bear from the Muppet show -
While we sit back and admire Fozzy for getting on with his life despite this burden, we have to admit to appreciating the Irish Horse racing community for what they give us day in day out, wonderful, wonderful names.
More on Fozzy Stack and his horse Noll Wallop here. And for good measure here is a feature on Fozzy's fashion tastes from the Irish Times Magazine.
