When the name Anthony Freedman comes up as an incoming call on your phone, it might not surprise that one might question the authenticity.
Notorious for not answering calls, but making one?
“Are you still writing shit,” is then the opening gambit without a general “gidday mate, how are you”, so you know it’s him. Not one to waste a word (or nicety), Anthony.
Yes, still writing, hopefully it’s not all shit, and for the next 45 minutes or so, we mull over a raft of issues worrying his mind, from the apprentice’s system in Victoria, to industry work practices, to work cover insurance, to pressure on jockeys, their workload and other associated expectations.
You see, the Daniel Day Lewis of horse training does really care. He might not be seen or even heard of these days, but then to no surprise, there is something a little different about Anthony Freedman, and he wouldn’t have it any other way, other than his own.
A uniquely gifted horseman to be sure, but a person not so much on the march to his own beat, as merely traipsing through life, comfortable with himself, close family and friends, his own self-styled norms, the wet lettuce handshakes, the Steven Wright deadpan, you sort of know him, but you don’t. Fools, or those he thinks of as slightly such, are not even slightly encouraged.
The widely understood nickname “Grumpy”, sits, but barely fits, to tell the whole of the Anthony Freedman, not that many, especially him, could, or would tell it.
I’ve known Anthony since the late 80’s when a journalist in Brisbane and he was first visiting with a horse called Warned (no mobile phones back then, not that it helps him much today either, but we met on Hendra streets, me a young journo looking for a young up and coming trainer, that you didn’t know then, and just a little bit more now.)
I’ve worked with and for him, raced with him, he was in my wedding party (as was brother Richard), our careers have traversed separately and at sometimes together professionally and personally, yet he’s always irreverently interesting. A Cup winning trainer now in his own right but already steadfastly invested.
So of course, you know that when Without A Fight added Anthony’s own Freedman name to the family’s rich Melbourne Cup honour roll, and this one proudly tied with son Sam, Anthony was at friend Simon Gillies Yal Yal Estate winery at Merricks, just as he was Caulfield Cup day, but really, Anthony didn’t need a superstitious escape to stay home.
He’s been staying home for years, now by design, previously by some demand.
“He’s not an easy person to understand,” says older brother Lee, “introverted, a razor-sharp wit, outstanding trainer, always has been, incredibly good at what he does but when he wants to be.
“He might not like the limelight, but he loves the infamy that comes with that.
“If he was in the Beatles, he’d be George.”
Lee, himself the winner of five Melbourne Cups each with Anthony as an understudy, was at Eagle Farm, three months into a knee replacement recovery, when Without A Fight won, called Sam straight away because he knew Anthony wouldn’t answer, though they have shared pleasantries since, recalls when he barred Anthony from the races.
“He was never any good at the races anyway, he doesn’t like the press or talking to owners and doesn’t take defeat well,” he said.
“We had the favorite in the Carbine Club one day (2009 it was, somewhat ironically called The Comedian, ridden by Dwayne Dunn) and it went pear shaped. There were excuses, the owners were upset, and Anthony ignored them, he was watching the tennis.”
“He can be cruel about some people, but what I do know is that he can be incredibly empathetic to people in trouble, especially with young children, I know he’s been up to see his granddaughter in Alice Spring numerous times this year,” Lee said.
The granddaughter is from his eldest son Charlie, not the slightest interest in racing, but very successful in film, arts and cultural programming, but almost exclusive as his father, preferring central Australia to the bustles of a hectic arty city life.
Anthony’s daughter (with wife Melissa), Matilda is based in Sydney working in communications and public relations, leaving Sam to carry on the family horse training tradition, just as his cousin Will does with another of Anthony’s brothers, Richard.
“Anthony is an intuitive horseman and that’s not the norm these days,” says Richard.
“He’s not fearful, he doesn’t care what people say or what they think, he does it his way, that’s the intuit.”
“Today is all about process and business and outcomes. Anthony is like an artist more than a scientist, like a million reclusive artists though, he only let’s go what he wants you to see, that’s the show and he loves it, I’ve seen the show for 50 years.”
“He loves that persona, enjoys it and keeps up the appearances, like a complicated game, but I know he has a very close circle of friends, his lieutenants, confidants and if you are on the outside, you are on the outside.
“I suspect I’m on the outside, but I texted him on Tuesday, he doesn’t return calls, he eventually responded, but I’ve got no doubt that race meant a lot to him. The vindication of his work with a horse like that, just 15 hands, third run in, that’s his genius, self-belief, but to do it with Sam no doubt meant so much more.”
There is the anecdotal story of some high-profile owners and breeders lobbing a “spread sheet” of yearling prospects to Anthony, the mouth-watering pages that would have any gleefully dreaming of the days ahead and the “helpful” planning of those associated. Not so Anthony. It wasn’t a case of “not my types” or “haven’t you got something else”, but Anthony let them know he was the boss, and his preferences were what mattered. Both the buyer and the breeder are still major stable supporters.
Both Lee and Richard, without hesitation, praise Anthony’s ability to eye a horse, either a yearling sale, or have that innate ability to prise the best out of one seemingly falteringly along.
Selecting horses like Naturalism for just $35,000, Super Impose ($40,000), Danzero ($60,000), Alinghi ($80,000), Mummify ($60,000), even a horse I had a share in True Glo for $40,000 as yearlings and turning them into Group I performers is merely a dot point on the point being made. It’s no fluke or hunch such outcomes, still continue today.
“He can see things in horses I can’t see, that’s always been him,” said Lee.
“He can be hard at the ball in a strange way,” says Lee, he’s not demonstrative, but I think I know how the thinks and what he goes through.
“Sure, he can be hard to work with, but I know that we have both had our issues with depression, it can be quite severe, I was more public about it, I wish I hadn’t been, especially in racing, you get cancelled quickly but it’s obviously something we have both had to deal with and work through, especially difficult when we worked alongside each other.
“And we still are. We speak most weeks but he’s never one to dwell on yesterday,” said Lee.
Offered, not asked, what an epitaph for Anthony would be, Lee cheekily knows Anthony would like this:
“If I can get someone else to do it I will.”
Thankfully that can be Sam, and thankfully, Anthony has taught him everything he knows, but to paraphrase Bart Cummings to his son Anthony, “not everything I know”. Only one Bart, only one Grumpy.
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