“Who’s Al Capone’s brother that’s just walked in?” This was something I asked friends I was with at the Kato Bar in Shatin Racecourse as a dapper little man walked in. The Kato Bar was where most met after the races before heading out with plans for the night which would always change. This was how Hong Kong rolled back in those halcyon days in the nineties.
As for the “Al Capone’s brother”, this was Brent Thomson and someone who didn’t mean anything to me at the time. To my friends who were part of the racing game, here was a superstar international jockey.
Me, I was newly married with a young wife and working at making my mark in advertising.
As for Brent Thomson, he was a fascinating looking animal- hair slicked back with not one hair out of place wearing an immaculately tailored suit, matching tie, and a great pair of shoes- handmade Italian leather shoes, I was to learn years later- and a statuesque blonde on his arm.
Apart from the blonde, what caught my attention was the long overcoat that was carefully draped over his shoulders. All that was missing was a machine gun.
Brent was in Hong Kong as the stable jockey for “colourful” Chinese Trainer Brian Kan Ping-chee. This was after the horrific fall of the charismatic and talented South African rider Bartie Leisher, below with Kan.
In the short time he rode in Hong Kong, apart from showing everyone a completely different style of riding and using very different tactics in a race, Bart Leisher opened the door to the South African “invasion” of riders and trainers that followed.
As for Brian Kan, no matter how bloody scary he could be, he understood the psyche of the Hong Kong racing public like no one else- then and now.
He and the carefully coiffed and stylish gentleman that’s still Brent Thompson might have made strange bedfellows, but the team worked- until it ran its course.
It couldn’t have been easy for any jockey to ride for Brian Kan, and though having passed away earlier this year, he’s still talked about with great reverence and respect. He was unique. He was the Godfather.
It’s an expression that’s been used often, but few are larger than life characters. Brian Kan was so larger than life that his life could fill another planet.
As for Brent, I would see him around town and always where the Beautiful People congregated.
We were in different camps, so to speak, but both somehow moved in the same circles and had that je ne sais quoi to be like Moses and make the Red Seas part to get the best tables in the house at places like the six star Club at the Grand Hyatt that was JJ’s.
If you’ve got it, flaunt it, baby, and it wasn’t unusual to see Brent on the dance floor busting some moves with, again, never a hair out of place, and a different jacket draped over his shoulders. He even danced with style.
Not being knee deep in the Horse Racing Chronicles, I had no idea about who he had ridden for in the UK and Australia, the legends that this legend of the turf had ridden against, the great horses he had partnered, the four Cox Plates he had won etc.
Even after we had got to know each other, which was during his last riding stint in Macau, one had to piece things together from bits of conversation.
Many today could learn lessons in humility from BT, though some who knew him back in the day when he was The Babe and living la vida loca in Europe might say that he was prone to superstar turns.
Brent would probably agree, and as with John Didham, ours is a longtime friendship based on trust, mutual respect and how some things are best left unsaid, because we just know.
I’ve got to know Brent best after his early retirement from the racing game.
He was 42, he knew it was time, and with timing being everything, came a once in a lifetime job offer from New Zealand Bloodstock.
As anyone who really really really knows Brent Thomson will tell you, he’s one of the most loyal friends you could ever hope to have in your corner. And this loyalty works both ways.
He and I have had some extremely funny and surreal times that are not for publication. We have met a strange variety of people in very different places, and with most of these adventures in life usually punctuated with BT whispering to me at some point in the night, “It’s all about us, anyway, isn’t it, pal?”
Frankly, after twenty years of hearing this line, I still don’t know what it means. And that’s fine. One day BT might explain it to me.
Do I worry about him? I am very protective over him as are others closest to him. Guess we’re always there for each other in any way that we can.
He remains a fascinating beast, still always impeccably well dressed, still possessing a wonderful head of hair and with that brilliant sense of humour intact. But let’s not think he suffers fools gladly.
Brent Thomson has been to the top of the mountain. The very top. He knows the view from there. He also knows and appreciates what it’s like to be grounded.
He knows everyone and carries hundreds of secrets with him. They’re safe with him.
He knows the ins, outs and sideways of horse racing, and I’ve learned a great deal about how things work from being around him. He’s a great source of information and teacher and confidante.
After all, he’s The Babe. He’ll always will be The Babe and there will never be another one.
