At the end of a long and unchallenged reign, when all enemies have been defeated, opponents subdued, and passions lived, a period of doubt begins. Whatever happens now, there will always be this benchmark, and these records will be filled with Fabre everywhere. When François Mathet died, like a key piece falling on the chessboard, it was probably thought there would never be another trainer of this calibre. Yet four years later, André Fabre had donned his mantle. He has never taken it off since. Today, when we try to project ourselves into the turf of tomorrow, that is to say, the post-Fabre era, we once again find it hard to imagine a successor, a record that could surpass his. Of course, other trainers can aspire to ascend, but they might not lack talent, rigour, intelligence, or observation. However, what matters most is the wind! Regardless of how well-designed, what vessel can now count on the natural power given by owner-breeders such as Sheikh Mohammed, Jean-Luc Lagardère, Daniel Wildenstein, the Aga Khan, and Khalid Abdullah to make a machine as capricious as a hydrofoil rise from the spray and fly over the water? The world of racing has no shortage of ships or captains. What is missing now is the wind. The wind that seeks its path by climbing mountains, rushing down hills, carving stone and breaking water, that drives away clouds, pushes driftwood to another continent, that tests shrouds, masts, and souls, that propels but also capsizes if the captain ignores it, the wind that rises when the crowd stands, roars, and gasps for breath to carry the horses. The wind that can do anything! It is this wind that we need for our captains to triumph. Ah! If only our climate change were but fleeting... Without wind, no Fabre, no more Nelson, Vincent or Aidan O’Brien, just little boats spinning in a pond. And the rest of us, looking as silly and helpless as chickens staring a polo mallet. So, fair winds, Monsieur André! May you carry us along for long enough that we too may find our second wind.