THIS enormous animal stalks by me.

Shaking its head, huffing and puffing like it’s trying to do its Big Bad Wolf impression. The incredible muscle definition, like it’s been sculpted. The rich brown colour, a colour that reminded me of Sees chocolates that were always in my house back home in California.

It’s a horse. A thoroughbred that is about to grace the spectators at Leopardstown Racecourse with its long, powerful, ground-shaking strides.

To any of the regulars at Leopardstown, it’s not an uncommon sight. But for me, a naive American who has never seen a horse, let alone been to the races, I’m in awe.

It’s been a night of new sights. Walking around the stands, I am greeted by the sprawling 3km grounds.

Houses seemingly miles away are mere metres off the course.

To my left, a Microsoft building looms over the stands. In the middle, well, a golf course, of course!

How can one place house all of this? Leopardstown does, and it doesn’t need to explain.

Sporting sights

I’ve been in Dublin for three weeks. I’m here for a month on a study abroad trip from the University of Oregon where I, along with the 14 other students, am focusing on sports journalism.

I’ve seen St. Pat’s play Bohs at Richmond Park. I’ve seen the county pride in full effect at Croke Park. I’ve witnessed the premier track and field event, the Morton Games in Santry. But nothing could prepare me for the night at Leopardstown.

On a tour of the grounds, my first stop was a talk with Eamonn Behan, one of the farriers. I stood in the straw next to the stables, smelled things I didn’t need to, learned about the shoes, how many nails are in the shoes, that shoes can be tight, that a horse can be lame after a 20-minute truck ride, and that, if something does go wrong, although rarely this occurs, it can be pointed back to the farrier.

With no farrier, the horse doesn’t run. Farriers make the race possible.

“No foot, no fun; no fun, no run; no run, no mon [money]; no mon, no good,” Behan told us with a sly smile.

Next stop, track foreman Roy Butler. Standing in the perfectly cut four-inch-tall ryegrass, Butler detailed the meticulous work that goes into keeping the turf track watered, cut and cared for.

From soil to the rain, I got it all.

Being from California, the place where front lawns become hay bales in the summer because of our seemingly constant drought, I was shocked at the attention Butler put into this.

But, if the horses can be injured on hard ground, then one needs to be out on the grass every day, surveying and tweaking when needed.

Casual scene

Stepping into the stands, wanting to see every bit of the course as possible, something shocked me. Leopardstown was casual.

Cian O’Brien, a local I spoke with in the stands before the last race, had this to say about the culture of the races: “[It’s] an after-work event… It’s not even [about] what you look like or how much money you spend. So you’re actually enjoying yourself, making connections with people.”

My peers spent the night being caught up with betting. While some won more than others, I found you didn’t need to bet to have a great experience.

I also couldn’t bet because my bank kept declining my card.

On my way out, I saw Allie Sherlock performing next to the parade ring.

Sherlock is a singer/songwriter from Cork, who made her name busking on Dublin’s Grafton Street. She was the entertainment for the Thursday concert series, which runs after races at Leopardstown during the summer.

Sherlock was great, but I didn’t stay. After the long day, I wanted to get back to my accommodation at University College Dublin.

But one thing will be in my memory forever: the sound of the crowd slowly rise as they watched the horses charging around the corner into the home stretch and bless the observers with their impeccable athleticism.

This is horse racing, this is Leopardstown, and I would love to come back one day.