The Legend of Zippy Chippy

by William Thomas

  Arrogant winners put themselves above the game – and then out of it, once they suffer a loss they cannot handle. At the moment, Tiger Woods has missed the cut in three of his last four major tournaments, including the just completed British Open. When a reporter asked the thirty-nine-year-old if retirement might be in his future, Woods shot back: “I don’t have an AARP card yet!” That would be the American Association of Retired Persons, who returned his shot with a hole-in-one tweet: “Tiger Woods. It’s better to be over fifty, than it is to be over par.” Ouch!

  Not the stars but the stayers and the plodders, the Jim Nelfords and the Zippy Chippys, reap riches from their sports because they worship the game itself and not necessarily their place within it. There’s an awful lot more to be gained from feeding off playing the game with teammates than from drinking from the cup all alone. Real success comes from playing the game, not from laying claim to the trophies and record-setting stats it offers.

  Displaying great modesty, Nelford concluded, “Embracing the journey is more important than the details of the destination, even when you happen to arrive at a hall of fame.” Golf has shaped Jim Nelford’s life, but it’s his good-natured and relentless competitive spirit that defines who he is: a hall of fame golfer and a very happy man. Who would you like to instruct and mentor your kids in golf, or even in the greater game of life? Tiger Woods or Jim Nelford?

  Celebrity and winning being the tenets by which we measure success today, Jim Nelford will never be inducted into the World Golf Hall of Fame in St. Augustine, Florida. Maybe, just maybe, he should be. And that is precisely how Old Friends farm sums up the life, career, and retirement of the remarkable Zippy Chippy: Winning means way more than coming in first.

  “THE REAL DEAL”: A TITLE ABOVE

  HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION

  You hear it a lot in sports and life, the high compliment of being “the real deal,” a person who is genuine, honest, and worthy of serious regard.

  Michael Gerard Tyson was a fearless and destructive boxer, the youngest-ever heavyweight champion of the world. Referred to as “the baddest man on the planet,” as a person Tyson was a plug. It’s believed that “Iron Mike” – “I’m on the Zoloft to keep from killing y’all” – may have had anger issues. Volatile and erratic in and out of the ring, Iron Mike was never a threat to win the title of Sportsman of the Year. “I try to catch [other boxers] right on the tip of the nose,” he once said, “because I try to push the bone into the brain.” Living a lopsided life – an almost invincible fighter by night, a villainous human by day – Mike Tyson was not the real deal.

  By contrast, undisputed world champion Evander Holyfield was not just a great boxer but also a gentleman, calm and quiet with a self-deprecating sense of humor. So much so that his nickname was actually “the Real Deal.”

  On November 9, 1996, Holyfield fought Tyson for the first time, and as the 25–1 underdog surprised everybody but himself when he defeated “Iron Mike” with a technical knockout in the eleventh round. In a rematch the next year, a desperate Tyson bit Holyfield’s ear in the third round. The referee was about to disqualify Tyson, but Holyfield didn’t want to win that way and the fight continued. Incredibly, Tyson then bit Holyfield in the other ear and spit a chunk of his flesh onto the canvas. This time the referee disqualified Tyson, who, fearing he’d get his ass kicked again, had actually planned this exit strategy. After this childish, insane act, Tyson’s former trainer called him “a very weak and flawed person.”

  At a speaking engagement shortly after what became known as “the Bite Fight,” Holyfield got to the podium after the MC ended his generous introduction with, “Ladies and gentlemen – the Real Deal.”

  Holyfield’s first words into the microphone were, “Hey, did that guy call me ‘the Real Deal’ or ‘the Real Meal’?” Tyson versus Holyfield, cannibal against character. Holyfield retired on his fiftieth birthday, showing great respect for the sport. “The game has been good to me,” he said, “and I hope I have been good to the game.”

  Except for the “serious regard” part, Zippy Chippy possessed all the admirable qualities of someone who’s the real deal. Okay, there were some pretty crazy stunts, and a few very dramatic acts of defiance, and that truck he tried to total, and … let’s just refer to Zippy Chippy as “the Real Heel” and leave it at that.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Life Lessons the Zipster Taught Us

  Unhappy? Seriously, quit your day job! In 1979 I was living on the coast of southern Spain, in a small villa above the town of Mijas, near Málaga. Off in the distance the Mediterranean Sea shimmered in deep turquoise, and beyond that, on a clear day, you could see the snow-capped High Atlas Mountains of Morocco. My rent was less than four dollars a day, and I was making eight dollars an hour teaching tennis at the three-star Hotel Mijas. Champagne cost only a few pesetas more than a bottle of water. I was trying to become a writer. I had just resigned as a salesman from the 3M Company. Life was good.

  After my morning lessons, I’d sit in the square drinking agua con gas y limón, watching the town slowly slip into a coma called siesta. Among the African wood carvers and Moroccan jewelry makers selling their wares on the sidewalks was a Dutch artist whose work I did not think was very good. His paintings were all too bright, with square houses and stick-people figures – a genre of artwork common in Holland, and on refrigerator doors everywhere. I’m sure more than one tourist or local walked past his display and whispered that tired and contemptuous cliché, “Don’t quit your day job.”

  He had only four months left, he told me, to realize his dream of becoming a full-time, working artist. Otherwise, he would have to return to his well-paying position as an art designer for a large printing company in Amsterdam. He tolerated his regular job, but he wished with all his heart to be known as a painter. He yearned to be his own man, not someone else’s department head. He refused to assume the title of painter until he was able to actually make his living from his work. This stint in Spain was his last shot.

  As his departure day neared, I noticed he was looking a little more desperate – unshaven, clothes rumpled, hair much longer than when he arrived. He had moved a couple of times into cheaper digs.

  “I’ve never been happier in my life,” he assured me, and his beaming smile confirmed it. For the moment, he was sustaining himself by the strokes of his brushes. Two commissioned portraits had come his way – not his specialty, but art all the same. He was scraping by, from hand to canvas to mouth. Finally, he was making a living from his own creativity and hard work rather than at the orders of others. Every day, in small ways, he was earning the right to call himself a painter. He had dared to make a lunge for the Holy Grail, and the world around him was finally cooperating, albeit reluctantly.

  When I left at the end of the summer to return to Canada, he was still there, still hanging in, a month past the one-year deadline he had set for himself. And happy. I finally broke down and bought one of his paintings and gave it to my landlady as a going-away gift. Good for you, Dutchy, I thought as I buckled up my seatbelt for the flight from Málaga to Montreal. Then I put a pen to my Iberia Airlines boarding pass and wrote, “Dutch painter – It is better to fail at what you love than succeed at what you do not.”

  If you’ve been thinking about leaving a lucrative position in order to fulfill the dream that’s been in your heart for what seems like forever, and, most importantly, if this daring move does not put in jeopardy those who rely on you for income and support, then you should really take the leap. Seriously, quit your day job and do it before it’s too late. I did. In 1978, I was a salesman for the 3M Company in Burlington, Ontario, when my boss, a good friend and a Brit by the name of Richard Smythe, fired me. The company was divesting itself of sales and service employees and replacing them with store-front dealerships. Because I was no longer an employee, Richard then offered me a dealership. The plan was to split Canada in half, I’d own a dealership in Toronto and he’d operate one in Vancouver. “Milli
onaires in five years,” Richard assured me.

  I turned the offer down and set off to Europe to become a writer, a life-changing decision. Richard and the Toronto guy became millionaires in three years. But that guy, the one who took my place? He didn’t start his career picking and carrying grapes in Burgundy and celebrating in Spain over his first published piece. He didn’t make his money at ten cents a word teasing his wee Irish mother in a book and documenting the weird world of his unfaithful dog Jake or spending three summers at racetracks and hanging out with Zippy Chippy. I did and loved it all. Money is what you need to pay the bills and cover a reasonable lifestyle. Zippy got that.

  Not always focused on winning, Zippy had a lot of opportunities to think about other things on all those trips around the track. Here, then, are the life lessons Zippy Chippy passed on to all of us.

  • Life is like a horse race – the bell rings, we’re off and running, and before you can blink, you’re at the finish line. Make the trip the way Zippy did – slow but sure, and looking around at what all the others miss. In short, take the long way home. The end of the journey comes way too soon.

  • As Zippy demonstrated time and time again, never bite the hand that feeds you. Bite him in the back. That way he can still fix your supper.

  • Chase your dreams relentlessly, unflinchingly, the way Zippy Chippy chased a thousand horses around and around a track, believing he would win one day.

  • Never give up. As Zippy might say, Oh man, I got horses in front of me, horses behind me, and a horse on each side of me. Boy, am I going to tuck into the ol’ feed bag when this day is done.

  • See all the way down the track to the finish line. You struggle and stumble, you compete and get beat, and what? You’re losing sleep? Pull … eese! You’re alive and kicking, and if you weren’t, you wouldn’t be on your feet. There are a whole bunch of people your age who should be alive, but they aren’t. You are. Appreciate the basics – lungs, legs, and brain still working – feet, don’t fail me now! Get back in the race and finish it as best you possibly can. Go slow. Get it right. It takes as long as it takes. Seek serenity. If slow is sublime, then quiet is exquisite. Create your very own little corner of tranquility and retreat there as often as you can.

  • Life is not a beach, it’s a bitch, and sometimes “losin’ real close” is plenty close enough.

  • Remember, when Zippy dwelt, Felix explained that he was just letting the other horses go ahead of him. Courtesy and respect are very much in demand these days. Also, opening the door for others leaves you with the option of locking the bastards inside.

  • Do not take failure to heart. Failure is not coming in second. Failure is refusing to show up for the next race to give yourself a chance to come in first.

  • Never, never – as ornery as they might be at an early age – have your children gelded. That’s just wrong.

  • Be frugal with yourself, the way Zippy was with wins. Be generous to others; they probably need the rewards it brings more than you do.

  • Win if you can, fail if you have to, but have fun. Kids do not have a monopoly on play time.

  • Remember Casey Stengel’s secret to good management: “In any group, you’ve got those who love you, those who hate you, and those who are undecided. The key to leadership is to keep the ones who hate you away from those who are undecided.” That’s why racehorses are separated by stables.

  • Straighten up and fly right. Zippy may have lost one hundred races, but he never once got lost out there or tried to take a shortcut. “Find yo purpose and hang on.”

  • Give yourself small rewards for little victories. Eventually you’ll carry the day, the way Zippy earned his platinum retirement package, and Pop! goes the cork on that cold bottle of champagne. (Do not spray it. Sip it!)

  • Loyalty is the essence of love and life. During their careers, Felix could never part with Zippy, and in return, Zippy gave Felix more losses than he had given all of his previous trainers combined. It’s the thought that counts.

  • Be the first to congratulate a rival for winning. Zippy would have done that, if he wasn’t so damn far back all the time.

  • Be strong enough to face the world each day and smart enough to know there’s always tomorrow. Be foolish enough to believe in miracles. Be wise enough to know miracles come with calluses and lower back pain.

  • If you think you are a loser, you are. But remember, Zippy Chippy lost one hundred races in a row to make you, by comparison, look like a champion. Someday he will die for our misguided vanity.

  • You could do a lot worse than patterning your life after the fun-loving and tenacious Zippy Chippy. But if you notice a guy following you around with a shovel, you’ve gone too far.

  • Horses live in packs and talk to each other constantly. (There is no proof whatsoever that Zippy taught the others how to curse.) Surround yourself with good people, and you almost can’t help but become one.

  • Look out the window. At nothing. Daydream. It’s time well spent. I’ve had a great life, and I’ve carved out a pretty good career from making fun of my ex-brother-in-law, my pets, and my wee Irish mother. She became furious when she saw the working title of my book about her life: All Humor Needs a Victim and Your Mother Should Come First. So I changed the title to Margaret and Me, because at eighty-nine years of age, she could still get a lawyer! At least two of my report cards from my early days of public school had comments like, “If William spent half as much time studying as he does gazing out the window, he would be an A student.” Sorry, Mrs. Leach, but A students become accountants; daydreamers become lovers of life. My mother always smiled at me before she signed off on those report cards.

  • Pack little, read lots, walk everywhere you can. (Okay, that’s my lesson in life.) Live lightly and remember the words of the great comedian Red Skelton who said, “You might as well laugh, nobody’s getting out of this one alive.”

  • Most important of all, be yourself. There is and forever will be only one Zippy Chippy. Like thumbprints and snowflakes, you are uniquely you. And we are all more like Zippy than we would care to admit.

  All together now: “Life’s battles don’t always go to the strongest or fastest man. But sooner or later THE MAN WHO WINS IS THE MAN WHO THINKS HE CAN!”

  TO DO JUST ONE THING,

  BETTER THAN ANYBODY ELSE

  Although Zippy Chippy could do one thing very well – lose – he rarely lost in the same way twice. On many days, his unique outings were more exciting to watch than the easy wins of other, more talented horses. But his consistency – the harmonious and principled application of continuous and non-successful effort – this was his gift and greatest strength. Skeptics may certainly doubt his skill, but never his will. Never a “die-er,” always a “tryer,” the Zipster was a trooper through and through.

  If Zippy had quit at fifty losses, or even sixty-five, his record would have been described as awful and no one would remember his name to this day. But instead he pushed on, he raced every chance they gave him, he honed his skills at not winning, and therein lies the beauty of his record: upside-down excellence in the face of recurring defeat. Now the sole holder of the title of the World’s Worst Racehorse, Zippy took his profession seriously.

  The importance of such noble effort was once beautifully articulated by the Reverend Martin Luther King Jr.:

  If it falls to your lot to be a street sweeper in life, sweep streets like Raphael painted pictures.… Sweep streets like Beethoven composed music. Sweep streets like Shakespeare wrote poetry. Sweep streets so well that all the hosts of heaven and earth will have to pause and say, “Here lived a great street sweeper who swept his job well.”

  Looking back on Zippy’s career, we can safely say, here ran a horse that lost races like no thoroughbred ever could. A job well done, Big Ears. Martin Luther King Jr., the poet. Zippy Chippy, the poet in motion. Okay, then: slow motion.

  POSTSCRIPT

  As a hiker and frequent visitor to the trai
ls around the Finger Lakes – and, okay, the bars – I had heard of Zippy Chippy, local hero and classic crazy-ass racehorse. I loved the story and immediately contacted Felix Monserrate, the longtime owner and trainer of Zippy Chippy, about the idea of writing this book. He was only too glad to meet with me near his home in Farmington, just a mile from the Finger Lakes Racetrack.

  Despite being sixty years removed from Puerto Rico, Felix still had an accent, and as he rattled off driving directions over the phone, I was scrambling to write them down: Exit 44, second light on Route 96.

  “Maddono’s,” he kept saying. No fool, Felix, I thought. I get the interview and he gets an expensive lunch at some high-end ristorante called Maddono’s. After two U-turns, I finally noticed the McDonald’s on the corner, right where he said it would be.

  When Felix was late, I approached the kid at the counter to ask to use a phone.

  “Help ya?”

  “Yeah. I’m here to see a man about a horse, and …”

  “Down the hall and on the left. Next!”

  When the payphone didn’t work, I went back to the counter and asked if there was a cell phone I could use to call the guy with the horse who was late.

  Handing me a phone, he said, “Don’t call Canada.”

  “How’d you know I was Canadian?”

  “You’ve thanked me three times already, and you haven’t even ordered anything.”

  So far this wasn’t going so good.

  Felix finally walked into the fast food joint, and from the reaction of that day’s clientele, I can tell you that in that part of New York State he’s more popular than “Ronno Maddono.” Everybody recognized him, and he took the time to talk to them all.

  Felix showed me his favorite Zippy Chippy memento, the scar on his back from the horse’s teeth. We got along like two kids at camp, and I walked away with his oversized white plastic satchel full of Zippy Chippy clippings, racing programs, and posters.