SNOBELEN: You don’t get great by closing the gate

America first has become America alone, breeding a mean, insular spirit that permeates everything.

Published Sep 11, 2026  •  Last updated 0 minutes ago  •  3 minute read

A leather horse saddle displayed on a stand against a blue sky Photo by leekris /Adobe Stock

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Last week, Sharon pointed out that a couple of old saddles were gathering dust on a rack in the back of the barn. She suggested, mildly, that I might want to do something with those old relics.

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A lot of saddles have made their way through this barn over the decades, but somehow, I could never part with these two. Heck, they dated back to a time when I, and the Reining horse industry, were young.

I’m not big on nostalgia. The only memento I would hate to lose is a painting of a dog named Hatch, who made a lot of journeys with me. But I’ll confess that, along with a lot of dust and dirt, some old memories were stirred as I cleaned those saddles.

Long before the Yellowstone series brought stock horses to urban living rooms, Hatch and I hauled to shows in small towns across Canada and the United States. I learned a little about horse training and a lot about people.

I’ll confess to being starstruck on those first voyages to the U.S. The place was just plain large. Big ranches, big dreams, lots of horses, and plenty of ambition and confidence. In the stock horse industry, the U.S. was the big time.

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When I was barely out of my teenage years, we decided to put on a big-money Reining event in Toronto. That idea prompted a huge argument about the conditions for the show.

The burning question was whether to close the contest to Canadian horses or allow entries from the U.S. Some folks thought that it would be just plain foolish to allow Americans to come up here and sneak home with the prize money. But that view didn’t win the day.

In the end, the show was open to the world for one simple reason; you can’t get great unless you take on the best. Heck, that’s the same reason that Neil Young left Winnipeg and headed for the big time in Toronto and beyond. If he hadn’t, he probably still would be playing the Sultan with the Squires to packed bars in Brandon.

Back in the day, my American friends worked hard to advance the art of breeding, training and showing stock horses. The best of those old trainers tried to glean insights from watching other disciplines. They experimented and learned from failure. Most of all, they rooted for and learned from their competitors. It was a heck of a time.

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But, as I worked soap into old leather, I wondered if that time was now long gone. America has changed.

These days, competing against the best in the world is a distant memory for a suddenly frightened and insecure nation. America first has become America alone, breeding a mean, insular spirit that permeates everything.

Now America seems only able to win by ensuring that everyone else loses. It’s dismal thinking from a failing nation.

This new America is myopic, unable to see past its own, short-term interests. It is entirely self-centered, understanding the world only from its own, limited, perspective. It is a long, long way from the boldness and confidence of that pioneering gaggle of horse trainers I traveled with.

Canada now faces a choice: Should we close ranks and assume the same insecurities plaguing America, or embrace the challenges of competing with the best?

Heck, even old cowboys know the answer to that question. It boils down to asking if you want to be the best.

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