Andre Fabre: how a quiet genius became the emperor of French racing

On November 5, 1993, a posse of British journalists on the Santa Anita back stretch were contemplating Europe’s prospects on the eve of the Breeders’ Cup.

The portents were not favourable. The previous time the show decamped to Santa Anita, Dancing Brave had sunk without trace, with connections citing the combination of an arduous journey and a climate in total contrast to the autumnal chill back home. The sense of despondency was acute.

Andre Fabre picked up on it instantly and demurred. He enthused about how the challenge should be approached optimistically, how the collision of Europe’s best horses with their American counterparts was exciting, and that winning would be all the sweeter for the immense logistical hurdles.