by Trey Nosrac

As the years pass, fewer braggy Christmas letters pop up in my mailbox. Strangely, I miss people recounting their fabulous jobs, wildly successful children, beautiful houses, and vacations to exotic islands. Who doesn’t enjoy a festive card printed in calligraphy where people complain about the looming procedure to remove a wart from their lower back and the impending nose job of their teenage daughter? Who doesn’t enjoy another reminder that the Apple stocks Phil bought 20 years ago have risen yet again?

These days, I am down to five digital Christmas reports. Three boastful letters arrived via the U.S. postal system and two via text, including my annual Christmas letter from William (Tuck) Tuckerton. I enjoy Tuck’s report. It’s more like my life – nothing to brag about. Tuck’s letter is satirically anti-braggy.

MERRY CHRISTMAS AND FELICE NAVIDAD TO MY FRIENDS, FOES, AND CREDITORS ACROSS AMERICA

Well, here we are at the close of 2024.

The second wife is gone with the wind. Yes, Donna the Downer and her highly-organized self are toast. Once again, the racetrack occupies most of my days, working on the backstretch in the morning and gambling on horse races in the evening. I finally found the “good life balance” Donna was always whining about.

Of course, like many of you, I lost half of my friends and family due to the presidential election, so you may notice my email attachment file is much smaller. I imagine things will settle down, but that may take decades, and by then, the bots and influencers will rule the remnants of the world.

Here is a quick update on the filly I bought at Harrisburg last year. You may recall that her name is Miss Smorgasborg. She did not fill my fiscal hole. Miss Smorgasborg is beautiful but sored up after trotting a punishing training mile of 3:24 in May.

My new trainer, a woman I recruited online, said she saw enough promise in Miss Smorgasborg to hold over the filly till the 3-year-old season or until my money runs out – whichever comes first. Hope springs.

I bought another yearling at the Lexington Selected Sale. For the first time, I used the internet to bid. There was some static or delay in the phone connection between the sales arena and my cell phone, so the horse I bought was not precisely the one I was bidding on. I felt this connectivity snafu was a sign or something, and the yearling I finally ended up with saved me almost two grand from the one I wanted.

There are rumors of my racetrack closing, but Dave Merchant, a groom who recently arrived at our training center from Freehold Raceway, said not to worry because the casino folks have our back. So, I cut down on my anti-depressants.

My broodmare, Tootsie Roll, had her sixth foal last February. Heaven knows where I will sell the strapping colt when he grows up, but there is a lot to like in the fourth dam, and the buyers may not pay much attention to the first five foals not making it to the racetrack.

Greener pastures are calling. I have my eye on new harness racing hotbeds like Florida, Illinois, and Guam. I think these jurisdictions are on the verge of a Kentuckyish racing resurgence. I would hate to miss the wave.

Speaking of waves, I visited Dayton, OH, to see the harness racetrack and watch a horse race that interested me. Can you believe a hurricane from the Gulf of Mexico made it to Ohio and canceled the racing program? So, my equine vacation turned into a rainy 10-hour drive to see two Waffle Houses and the inside of a Motel 6 that did not have cable or wi-fi due to the storm.

A hectic holiday season is coming our way. I will travel to Buffalo for Christmas Eve with my sister Nora and her daughter Luna. Luna, a troubled lass with an astonishing array of nose rings and hoop earrings, is inviting her prison pen pal Raoul. Raoul just did six years for “Felonious Mischief,” which sounds like he robbed someone using a kazoo. Shopping for Raoul will be a challenge.

Grandma Fletcher will make the family Christmas scene in Buffalo. She is 91, not really my grandma, but is something like my stepfather’s second cousin. But Granny hangs on to our little clan like a barnacle and laughs at my jokes. She is also the only member of the clan with disposable income, so I’m planning to check in and see if she wants to get into harness racing. Maybe she will go halves on my next yearling.

Oops, I have to fly since the library only allows 20 minutes per computer.