Paul Reddam is Canadian, of course, so it was too easy a shot to miss. A horse they owned together ran second; ran great, Erik Johnson thought–and said so. “Erik, this isn't the Olympics,” his partner replied. “No-one cares about second place in horseracing.”
This was a few years back, early in Johnson's Turf career, with the 2010 Winter Olympics still fresh in the memory. The U.S. team had lost the hockey final only in overtime, to the hosts in Vancouver. So Reddam did not miss his cue: no silver medals in this business.
Well, Johnson already knew enough to remind Reddam that they'd be delighted if a filly ran second in a graded stakes. And actually he could also have told Reddam about his first-ever visit to a racetrack, as a kid vacationing in Del Mar.
His buddy explained a show bet: you got paid so long as your horse finished third.
“Wait a minute,” Johnson said. “You can bet on a horse that loses, and still win money?”
This he had to see. So he placed a $2 show bet. “And the horse finished second,” Johnson recalls now. “And I was mad because I thought it had to finish third to win.”
Once told his error, the boy was pretty well hooked. But then hockey happened, and Johnson showed a consistent propensity, the Olympics aside, for finishing first. Literally so, in the 2006 draft; and so often, through a 1,000-match career, that in 2022 he could crown long and devoted service to Colorado Avalanche with the Stanley Cup itself.
In the meantime, around a decade or so ago, he started playing up the winnings to build ERJ Racing LLC. Often hooking up with partners like Reddam, he has campaigned a bunch of classy runners: from Grade I turf miler Bowies Hero (Artie Schiller) to a Saratoga graded stakes winner like Comical (Into Mischief) to Mackinnon (American Pharoah), placed–bronze!–at the Breeders' Cup. And there have been inspired claims, too, above all Brilliant Cut (Speightstown) for $50,000 in 2020. She finished up running second in the GI La Brea Stakes and was sold for $750,000.
It was in the sales ring, in fact, that Johnson discovered a different kind of buzz; and the depth of his love of horses. He started to buy a few mares, boarding with his buddy Walker Hancock at Claiborne, and thought someday he might even buy a little farm of his own.
That ambition moved up the agenda, last October, when Johnson ended an 18-year career. At 37, he had reached the crossroads that can notoriously leave a chronic void in the lives of top-class athletes. But here we are, not six months later, and the only problem is how to juggle the fresh stimulations he has found in life. He's getting rave reviews as an ESPN analyst, which is keeping him engaged with a cherished community and familiar schedule. And he has similarly opened new horizons in the other sport he loves.
A few weeks ago, after working a game in Detroit, he took the hop down to Lexington for dinner with friends. Afterwards, a first: helping to deliver a Domestic Product colt, out of a Distorted Humor mare purchased three weeks previously at the Keeneland January Sale.
“I got to the farm and my nightwatchman says, 'Mare's water just broke,'” he recalls, palpably still energized. “I couldn't believe my timing. So I geared up, got the gloves on, and helped him deliver the foal. It was such a cool moment, just to see the colt come out healthy, the mare okay, and then him standing up nursing in the first hour. I know how much goes into it, how difficult it is just to get to that point. And he's turned into a total superstar. Coolmore came out the other day to take pictures, he's so good-looking. My wife Jackie was with me, too, and we both found it a really magical experience.”
This was precisely the kind of thing Johnson had in mind, when buying the farm just weeks after his retirement. Breaking a journey to Florida to take in a U.K. basketball game with Hancock, he took the prompt to browse the property listings.
“I was thinking that nothing was going to pop up in December,” he recalls. “And then I saw the Timber Town listing. How had I not seen this!? It had been on the market since May. Next day, even as I drove in, I was thinking to myself, 'I have to buy this place.' It was the middle of winter but I thought how stunning all those beautiful trees would look in spring. It just felt like it was meant to be, and we closed three weeks later.”
He enthuses about the counsel he has received: from Hancock, from Doug and Katie Cauthen, and even from another Canadian hockey fan–showing that some of them can be more constructive than Reddam!
“John Sikura has been a huge mentor over the years,” Johnson said. “He came over and said, 'You got to add a paddock here, got to chop all this brush down, I'm going to come plant bulbs and trees for you.' It's been huge to have these friends looking out for me. As everyone knows, in this business you really need people around you that are looking out for you, people you can trust. So it's just been so cool, having this extra time now, to be learning so much stuff that I didn't know.”
He's not getting carried away: what is now Timber Creek Farm was previously just the Sweezey family's yearling division, a 50-acre parcel with a house and barn. But that was no more or less than he wanted, for a boutique broodmare band of seven, as the next stimulus to an inquiring mind that has gradually sharpened its focus by exploring different the avenues of racing, pinhooking, breeding.
“Horseracing is not for everybody, right?” he says with a chuckle. “There's far more lows than highs. I think that's why so many people say the highs are the best adrenaline rush ever. And I can relate to that: when your horse is winning, or you're selling at an auction, it's a pretty similar rush to winning a game or scoring a goal.
“But now just to be there with the mares and the foals, off-the-grid if you will, has really been a blast for me in the first year of retirement. After being so disciplined and scheduled for so long, just to have some extra time on my hands and be around the horses has been incredible.”
While enjoying a less rigorous regime, he quickly recognized the need to stay active. With homes on the sea and in the mountains, that is no ordeal, but the way he is embracing new challenges–behind a microphone, in the foaling barn–actually draws on exactly those attributes that set him apart on the ice.
“There's no perfect science to it, right?” he says. “You can breed the best of the best and still get a complete pig. So it's a long, calculated game and you got to have people in your corner that are trustworthy, and of course you need a lot of luck too. But first and foremost, I just love being around these animals. And I think the biggest thing is that if you just do right by the horse, you're going to be rewarded.”
True, he wants the farm to pay its way. The basic model is to sell the weanlings every November, with due allowance for individuals that may need more time. But Johnson already knows that the rewards of smart commercial operation are not purely financial. What a kick he got, for instance, from Remarqued (Arch), in foal to Nyquist when purchased for $225,000 at the 2025 January Sale. During the ensuing months her value was transformed by her daughter Cy Fair (Not This Time), climaxing at the Breeders' Cup–immediately before she was sent back into the same ring, along with her Nyquist filly.
“We put a $299,000 reserve on the filly,” Johnson recalls. “And she brought $750,000. And a $700,000 reserve on the mare, and she brought $1.2 million. That was the coolest thing ever. I'm probably never going to sell a seven-figure horse again, but I want to try! I realize we got so lucky, but after that you think, 'Okay, let's do this on a bigger level now.'
“I think over time you figure out what really makes you tick. Like I said, I love being hands-on, being around the mares and foals, selecting stallions–obviously with advice from Doug and Katie. But I think the action of watching your horse sell is no different than seeing your horse cross the finish line.”
However positively Johnson has embraced retirement, some things will of course never be replaced. But it feels as though this whole adventure will come close.
“There's nothing better than when you're in the heat of a game, trying to close out, a one-goal lead, out there with your buddies,” he reflects. “And afterwards you're all mobbing your goalie, and then you go for beers and dinner, play cards on the plane. That's the stuff you miss, that camaraderie, the road trips. I was lucky enough to do it almost 20 years, but you snap your fingers and it's over. But I was lucky enough to win a Stanley Cup with all my best friends. To have those memories, and to have played as long as I did, I'm really grateful.
“And thankfully I have a lot of things I'm really passionate about, which has made the transition that much easier. It's been nice just to have that mental clarity, not to be so competitive and hyper-focused all the time. I can't wait to see these foals grow up, go through the ring, and then track their progress. Hopefully they make the farm proud. I'm just obsessed. We've cameras in every stall, and I check the app all the time. “Whenever I can get to the farm, I just can't wait. My soul just rejuvenates out there.”
As he says, it's the very opposite of parking your money on the stock market.
“You have to love it, or you might as well not be doing it,” he says. “It's a real, hands-on labor of love. I don't take any of it for granted. I know how lucky I am. And this isn't a flash in the pan. I hope to do this till I'm 80 years old. Whether we do anything bigger down the road remains to be seen, but right now we have a little slice of Bluegrass heaven.”
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