Joe Hirsch
Joe Hirsch (February 27, 1928 – January 9, 2009) was an American horse racing columnist and the founding president of the National Turf Writers Association.
Biography
He earned a degree in journalism from New York University, then served with the United States Army for four years. He joined the staff of the New York Times but remained only a short time before going to work at The Morning Telegraph, then the companion paper of the Daily Racing Form with which he became associated in 1954 and retired from as its executive columnist in 2003.
Often referred to as the "dean" of Thoroughbred racing writers, Hirsch is one of two American writers (the other is John Englehardt) to win both the Eclipse Award for outstanding writing and the Lord Derby Award in London from the Horserace Writers and Reporters Association of Great Britain. He also received the Eclipse Award of Merit (1992), the Big Sport of Turfdom Award (1983), and The Jockey Club Medal (1989), and was designated as the honored guest at the 1994 Thoroughbred Club of America's Testimonial Dinner. The annual Grade 1 Joe Hirsch Turf Classic Invitational at Belmont Park was named in his honor, as are the press boxes at the Saratoga Race Course and Churchill Downs racecourses. The Breeders' Cup Ltd. presents the Joe Hirsch Award to a member of the media for their coverage of the Breeders' Cup.
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Your Little Lies
by: JerichoFairy tales and gasoline aren't as different as they seem
Both will someday be just but a dream
You're Novocain. With your loose lips, I'm numb beyond my fingertips
Not that I care to feel; life is hardly real
You say love passes by, but you wait in the corner of my eye
Like cuts that have no wounds and knots that have no ties,
You plead to plead to me with all your little lies
Lightning breeds electric needs: I cannot bear that you can be
Laced with greed to fuel eternity
Photographs in magazines take you where you've never been
Covet all you see. Lie just to believe.
Say words but make no sound. Slip until you're underground.
Like cuts that have no wounds and knots that have no ties,
You plead to plead to me with all your little lies
In sentimental ruins, where thoughts that have no fire
Burn without desire and mourn without the cries...
Like cuts that have no wounds and knots that have no ties,
You plead to plead to me with all your little lies
Sentimental ruins, where thoughts, they have no fire
You plead to plead to me
All your little lies
And all your little lies
And all your little lies