【Mihono Bourbon : Cancer, Horses, and the Spartan Wind】
Esophageal cancer. The kind doctors say has a habit of spreading. Trainer Toyama had undergone surgery to have it removed. It was in that uncertain, fragile stretch of recovery that Mihono Bourbon arrived at his stable.
Even then, Toyama stood apart in the Japanese racing world. He held to a theory unusual for the time: “Speed is innate, but stamina can be forged.” It was this conviction—and the sheer volume of work he demanded—that earned him the label of a Spartan trainer.
Where other trainers sent their horses around the track twice each morning and called it a day, Toyama’s routine was double that—two laps, a brief pause, and then the same again, four laps in total, every day. Even after the clockers, stopwatches stowed away and patience worn thin, had packed up and gone home, the horses of Toyama’s yard kept working in silence. What Toyama was putting them through was interval training.
What Toyama was doing was interval training. Many thought it reckless. “That kind of work will break a horse,” they said. In those early years, the only owners willing to entrust him with runners were unconventional newcomers, the sort unbound by the orthodoxies of the sport.
“No one followed my methods,” Toyama later recalled. “It was lonely—painfully so.”
One reporter, whose job was to time the horses on the training track, remembered: “On the stopwatch they looked slow, unremarkable. By the second run, almost all of them were heavy-legged and spent. You couldn’t help but underrate them in your predictions.”
And yet, the Toyama barn kept delivering results. By the time one of his horses had won the Derby, even his doubters had to concede: “There’s more than one way to do this.” The stable’s work schedule was so far outside the norm that journalists created a rota just to cover Toyama’s horses, since they trained at different hours from everyone else.
Opinions on his methods varied sharply. “What a cruel man,” some said. Others countered, “If you’re thinking about a horse’s post-racing life, you should give it the best chance to make a name for itself. I understand what he’s doing.”
Whether Toyama was right or wrong is not the question we’ll settle here. Let’s move on.
While the trainer was Spartan, Mihono Bourbon himself could not have been more different—a colt so unhurried and docile that at the farm they likened him to an elephant. Now, this gentle soul had arrived in a yard where relentless drill was a certainty. One member of the stable staff, so smitten by Bourbon’s mild nature, admitted thinking, “Poor boy… how unlucky to end up in a place like this.” Such was the colt’s charm.
Yet once put into serious work, Bourbon changed. He could move—really move. Some horses finish their training too tired to eat, but Bourbon cleaned his feed tub without fail. His muscles grew ever more powerful, until his hindquarters were so developed that people said they looked “split into four.”
"If you can’t train a person, you have no business training a horse!" With Mihono Bourbon—already marked as a horse of rare promise—Toyama made a bold choice: he entrusted him to Yasunaga, a 25-year-old assistant trainer(exercise rider) in only his third year on the job.
Toyama believed it was a trainer’s duty to raise people as well as horses. “Of course he lacked skill,” Toyama said. “But if I handed him over to a veteran, he’d never improve. A horse retires in three years or so. A person, once made capable, can work for the stable for thirty. Any manager can see which is the better investment.”
Yasunaga was grateful. “I appreciated being allowed to do this, even with so little experience,” he said.
Toyama’s approach to jockeys was consistent—he gave the rides not to popular outsiders but to the stable’s own contracted riders. Train the people, and the stable grows stronger. 🧵1/5
There was a time when horses from the Miho Training Center were outperforming those from Ritto, where Toyama’s stable was based. After much discussion among the Ritto trainers, Toyama among them, they reached a conclusion: the answer lay in the hill.
They believed that Miho’s advantage came from its main racecourses, Nakayama and Tokyo, both featuring an uphill run in the home straight. That climb, they reasoned, was what hardened Miho’s horses. And so, the Ritto uphill course was built.
Its primary purpose was to strengthen, but it had another virtue. Nearly 80% of racehorse leg injuries occur in the forelegs, yet galloping on an incline is easier on the front limbs than running fast over flat ground. Hill work, then, was not only for conditioning—it was a safeguard against injury.
Toyama took to the slope instantly.
It was there, on that incline, that Mihono Bourbon was forged. His hill gallops were on another plane. As a two-year-old, he was recording times that older, seasoned horses could only achieve when fully driven. His work became a topic of conversation in every corner of the training grounds, and by the time he lined up for his 1000-meter debut, he was sent off the heavy favorite.
He did not disappoint. From the tail of the field he swept past them all, winning with ease and in record time. In the saddle, Kojima felt the thrill of Classic dreams: “This horse is something else.”
Bourbon crushed his next start as well. By then, he was tackling four hill runs in a single day—madness, especially for a two-year-old. Such a regimen was unheard of.
In the Asahi Hai Futurity Stakes, Kojima tried to hold him second, thinking ahead to the Classics. But Bourbon fought the restraint, refusing to settle, burning through his stamina. He held on by the narrowest of margins—a nose—and while still unbeaten, he left his team with a whisper of doubt: “The Satsuki Sho is 2000 meters… will he last?”
Toyama, considering Mihono Bourbon’s pedigree, his tendency to throw his head and charge on when restrained, and his abundance of raw acceleration, declared: “At heart, Bourbon is without question a sprinter.” He carried himself as though he aimed not for the Derby, nor even for the Satsuki Sho. “If a horse loses simply because of the distance, then you’re not making use of his gift,” he said.
Whether this insistence—that Bourbon was essentially a short-distance horse—was Toyama’s true belief, or merely a spark meant to light a fire under his young training rider Yasunaga, no one could say for sure. In any case, Bourbon’s next start, the Spring Stakes, became Yasunaga’s chance to convince Toyama: Take him to the Satsuki Sho.
Before the race, Toyama said: “He’ll win. But depending on how he wins, I may still fail him.” For Yasunaga, who dreamed of seeing Bourbon in the Classics, it was a formidable test.
The day of the Spring Stakes arrived. The favorite was a blue-blood colt from the powerhouse Shadai Farm. Bourbon, unbeaten since his debut, was the public’s second choice—heavy going and the extra 200 meters compared to the Asahi Hai, making it 1800 meters, fed uncertainty.
Toyama told Kojima: “Run your own race.” In other words, do not strangle Bourbon for the sake of the distance.
Bourbon went straight to the lead. He kept the pursuing Sakura Bakushin O at bay and drew away, winning by seven lengths. As Bourbon surged clear, Bakushin O, who had tracked in second, burned out and faded to the rear—underscoring just how overpowering Bourbon’s run had been.
“This,” Toyama said afterward, “means he can press on with speed and take the 2000 meters of the Satsuki Sho.”
The green light was given. Or perhaps, all along, Toyama’s earlier doubts had been theater—an act to foster Yasunaga’s growth. In any case, Yasunaga felt the weight lift from his shoulders. 🧵2/5
𝐊𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐀🐎𝐂𝐫◉𝐢𝐱_𝐝𝐮_𝐍◉𝐫𝐝
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The Satsuki Sho felt decided before the gates had even opened. Mihono Bourbon went straight to the front and powered home on sheer speed alone. Who had ever said a Classic contender needed to learn to rate? His victory blew apart the conventions that had governed front-runners for decades.
Toyama stood firm: “Mihono Bourbon is, at heart, a sprinter!” Then he added: “But in the end, the essence of racing is the quality of speed—and Bourbon has it in abundance. I don’t like to speak too far ahead, but judging by the way he ran in the Satsuki Sho, even at the 2400 meters of the Derby he will not stop. He can lead all the way there too.”
Bourbon’s preparations for the Derby intensified. In the barn, he remained as quiet and gentle as ever, astonishing the reporters who visited. On the training track, however, he worked as hard as any horse could.
At one point, Toyama—perhaps mad with ambition—sent him up the hill five times in a single day. Even Bourbon, uncomplaining as he was, had to surrender that time.
Midway through his preparation, signs of strain appeared, and Toyama shifted to pool work. The media whispered rumors of Bourbon’s health being in jeopardy, but in the end, he recovered and returned to his four daily hill runs without issue.
Derby Day at last. Though there were murmurs of doubt about the distance, Mihono Bourbon was, of course, the overwhelming favorite. He would start from the outside—gate 15—a draw from which no Derby winner had ever emerged.
He ran the Derby the same way he always had: from the front. The race fractions were astonishing: 12.8 – 11.7 – 12.3 – 12.2 – 12.2 – 12.2 – 12.5 – 12.5 – 12.3 – 12.6 – 12.0 – 12.5
In those days, the turf at Tokyo Racecourse was slower than it is today, making the feat all the more impressive. One track analyst went so far as to say that Mihono Bourbon might be the strongest Derby winner in history.
He held a steady 12-second pace throughout—like a precision machine. In the stretch, he was alone in front, the others fighting only for second. He cruised past the post four lengths clear.
“This was simply a case of a horse whose ability was on a different level,” Toyama remarked afterward. “Now I might consider the Kikuka Sho. Of course, if a stayer like Mejiro McQueen emerges after the summer, who knows what will happen.”
The runner-up in the Derby was Rice Shower, a 16-1 long shot.
Like Tokai Teio the year before, Mihono Bourbon had captured the first two legs of the Triple Crown undefeated. That autumn, he entered the Kyoto Shimbun Hai as a prep for the third jewel, the Kikuka Sho. Once again Rice Shower finished second to him, but the margin had shrunk to a length and a half—closer than in the Derby.
At last, Toyama spoke the colt’s name aloud: “That horse worries me.” Jockey Kojima, too, began to show open wariness toward Rice Shower. 🧵3/5
At last, the Kikuka Sho. Toyama still held to his belief that Mihono Bourbon was, at heart, a sprinter. At a press conference attended by ninety reporters, someone asked him: “What’s the point of entering a sprinter in a 3000-meter race?”
He answered: “It’s pitiful for Bourbon. Of course he doesn’t want to run it. Sending him to the Kikuka Sho is simply the will of the humans involved. If there’s any meaning in it, it’s nothing more than human greed.”
Even so, Bourbon was the overwhelming favorite. Many newer racing fans, drawn in by the Oguri Cap boom, had never witnessed a Triple Crown achieved in real time. Bourbon’s pedigree was modest—humble, even—which only deepened the public’s attachment to him. A “weed” of a bloodline, reaching for greatness through sheer effort—it was the perfect story.
Everyone was waiting for the birth of a Triple Crown champion.
Then came trouble. The Kyoei Bowgun camp, whose horse had flopped in the Kyoto Shimbun Hai, abruptly abandoned their plan to pursue the middle-distance path and instead targeted the Kikuka Sho. They announced: “In the Kyoto Shimbun Hai, we missed the break and the race was over before it began. This horse has to lead to run his race, and of course he’ll lead in the Kikuka Sho as well.”
Bourbon, too, was a front-runner. The declaration was effectively a challenge for the lead. You could almost hear the Bourbon fans groaning: “There’s no way Bowgun can win the Kikuka Sho—why interfere?”
For Bourbon’s team, already wary of the extended distance, the last thing they wanted was a pace battle that would burn precious stamina. Yet they also knew Bourbon was at his best when leading; with a horse in front of him, he tended to fight the restraint, wasting his energy. It was an unwelcome predicament.
Toyama’s instructions to jockey Kojima were blunt: “Ignore Kyoei Bowgun and go straight to the front.”
Kojima hesitated. If the distance was already a question, could Bourbon survive a head-to-head battle for the lead with Bowgun?
Then Bowgun’s rider, Matsunaga, came to him with a declaration of his own: “I’m going to lead—no matter what.”
Both horses were at their best in front, which is why Bowgun’s trainer had ordered Matsunaga to “stay ahead of Bourbon at all costs—even if it means going too fast.”
Matsunaga, a young rider, could not refuse his trainer’s demands. That meant pushing the pace into dangerous territory if necessary. Yet he also didn’t want to be remembered as the man who ruined a senior jockey’s Triple Crown bid. So, out of courtesy, he told Kojima in advance: “I’m going to lead—no matter what.”
If there were no early duel, Bowgun could open a long gap on the field, and Bourbon might settle. Kojima recognized the thoughtfulness in Matsunaga’s words. But he also knew that if Matsunaga said it so plainly, it meant he would not—could not—yield in the Kikuka Sho.
The conclusion was clear: if Bourbon fought for the lead against a horse under strict orders for a “no matter what” escape, the pace would inevitably become suicidal.
Kojima was left to wrestle with Toyama’s command—“Absolutely lead”—right up until race day. 🧵4/5
With the whole racecourse holding its breath for the birth of a Triple Crown champion, the gates for the Kikuka Sho sprang open. Kojima, carrying Toyama’s unambiguous order—“Absolutely lead”—broke as usual to send Mihono Bourbon to the front.
But Matsunaga, aboard Kyoei Bowgun and armed with the exact same uncompromising instructions from his own trainer, surged past in near-runaway fashion. Seeing the almost reckless pace, Kojima hesitated, and Bourbon found himself racing in second.
From the first furlong after the opening 200 meters, every split to the 1000-meter mark was in the 11-second range—a suicidal tempo for a long-distance race. At such a pace, it was nearly impossible to win the Kikuka Sho from the front. Matsunaga was executing his trainer’s “Absolutely lead” directive to the letter.
Behind him, Bourbon began to pull hard. With another horse in front, he could not settle—a fact that had been precisely why Toyama had ordered Kojima to go straight to the lead in the first place. Now, with Bowgun intent on leading no matter the cost, Bourbon was forced into the most difficult of races.
Past the third corner, Bourbon swept by the fading Bowgun, but the damage had been done—his reserves of stamina were badly depleted.
They straightened for home to a wall of sound from the stands. Bourbon ran with every ounce he had left. Behind him came Rice Shower and Machikane Tannhäuser, closing fast.
Though the Bowgun camp’s tactics had surely pushed him to the edge of exhaustion, Bourbon fought on. But Rice Shower—the consummate stayer—ground past him. Machikane Tannhäuser even seemed to get by for a moment, but Bourbon, with astonishing grit, fought back to reclaim second.
The Kikuka Sho ended under a cloud of murmurs and frustration from the crowd: “Bowgun had no chance to win—why did they have to interfere?”
———— After the Kikuka Sho, Mihono Bourbon was aimed at the Japan Cup. But injury forced him to the sidelines. That year’s Japan Cup was won by Tokai Teio.
On May 29, 1993, while Bourbon was still resting, Toyama succumbed to cancer at the age of sixty-one.
Bourbon suffered another injury during his recuperation and never returned to the track. The Kikuka Sho would remain his final race.
With his modest pedigree, Mihono Bourbon never became a popular stallion, and his career at stud was not a success. Yet his impact on Japanese racing was undeniable.
He was the horse who popularized the hill course—proof of its effectiveness. At the Ritto Training Center, hill training became a craze, and the gap in graded stakes victories between Ritto and Miho widened rapidly. Miho eventually built its own hill course, but perhaps it was already too late; more than thirty years on, Ritto’s dominance continues.
Today, training theory has evolved, and no one hears of the kind of Spartan regimen Toyama imposed. And so, it may be that we will never again see another “cyborg horse” like Mihono Bourbon. 🧵5/5
JRA Hero Poster Series 【Spartan Wind】Mihono Bourbon
Born of love, sustained by trust—this was the Toyama-style Spartan training. Through that grueling regimen, he forged a body of steel and a mind of unyielding will. His speed, untouchable even by the shadow of a pursuer, surged with the supple swell of thick muscle, overwhelming all who beheld it.
After the Kikuka Sho, one racing critic wrote: “Bourbon was clearly disadvantaged—only because some worthless horse insisted on going to the front…”
That “worthless horse,” Kyoei Bowgun, was taken in after retirement by an ordinary housewife with little knowledge of racing. She had happened across a magazine feature on the Kikuka Sho and found herself unable to forget one detail: that Kyoei Bowgun had lost his dam. On that day, watching the race on television, she had cheered for him as he led the field. Seeing him run, she suddenly thought, I’d like to own this horse.
For a novice, it was a reckless notion. But with help and support from others, Bowgun eventually moved to the Riding Club Arisa, and he lived a long life there. In truth, it feels almost like a miracle. From the 1992 Classic generation, he became the last surviving horse to have won a JRA graded stakes race.
