Second at Saratoga

Wed, 2 Sep 2009 00:00:00 -0400

Katskill Bay raced a beauty at Saratoga today, finishing a narrow second. In the effort, KB clocked his career-best Equibase figure (101), emphatically reemphasizing his preference for the dirt over the turf. Katskill’s last start, his debut at Saratoga, played witness to the worst finish of his career. On Wednesday, not only did Katskill return to the dirt, but he also had Maylan Studart back on the mount. It is so great to have Maylan back! Back on what she has proclaimed to be “her favorite horse.” Mine too, Maylan.

Maylan has once again show she is tenacious, opptimistic, determined, and talented. Everyone involved with Katskill Bay is lucky to have Maylan on the team. Congrats Katskill! Congrats Maylan! Its great to have the duo back, dancing in tandem, stretching for the stars.

In other Saratoga news, Steve Zorn has an interesting piece on his blog entitled, “Inside the Inner Sanctum.” Zorn provides an inside look into the most recent Jockey Club Roundtable, which he attended. Particularly, Zorn talks about how the “Roundtable” is more a scripted night of speeches than a true dialogue. But he offers some keen insights around the nights key topics of discussion: horse retirement measures, race track safety, and drug regulations. Check it out.

Finally, if you are like me, you are probably suffering from P.T.D (Post Travers Depression). With this year’s season at the Spa nearing an end, I thought this video may prove a welcome panacea for your paralyzing languor. The below clip is a wonderful ESPN piece about one of my ultimate heroes, “Old Smoke” John Morrissey:

For another Travers, another season at Saratoga, we thank you Old Smoke!

This Thing of Ours

Sun, 30 Aug 2009 19:45:13 -0400

Why is it we often learn world history before we learn about that of our very own family? I knew which countries won World War I, or the year when settlers founded Jamestown long before I ever knew the names of my great grandfathers.

I first learned the names of my great grandfathers, when I was in sixth grade. In Health class, we were given the task of creating a family tree. In search of a “good grade,” I was forced to fill the role of investigative journalist, prying family details from my parents like a dog digging for a bone.

Over the years through school assignments, anecdotes, newspaper clippings, and other means, details about my family’s past have slowly revealed themselves with the persistence of a leaking faucet- all to comprise a murky, and I suppose barely satisfactory story of my family’s history.

And yet, unavoidably, many details of one’s filial past do inevitably become lost, obscured in the recesses of cloudy memories. But the destructive force of time’s incessant march renders that which does prevail all the more beautiful.

In the details of my own filial past, what I have recently come to learn with great joy is that I am not the first Brown to be an owner of a racehorse. My great grandfather, Dr. Lawrence Gatewood, was an avid horseback rider. I first learned this from my grandfather. When I told my father what I had learned of Dr. Gatewood’s affections, more details about this passion of Dr. Gatewood’s started to trickle out from behind the curtains of the past.

My dad’s brother, I came to learn, had in his possession a letter Dr. Gatewood had received from an associate. The letter documents that my great grandfather, like me, was an owner of racehorses. Blood runs deep, I suppose.

The letter begins: “Dear Lawrence, I am enclosing a check for ‘Major’ the Belgian stallion whom Hull bought from you the time he went for Bell Toll.” The reason my uncle Beau had always kept the letter is not because he is an avid horseracing fan like myself, but rather because the gentleman writing the letter, George Bolling Lee, is apparently a direct descendant of Robert E. Lee. My uncle is a Civil War buff.

The letter is dated March 25, 1941. A little less than nine months before the Japanese’s attack on Pearl Harbor. It was only a few weeks before Hitler would pounce on North Africa; and in the ensuing month would take Zagreb, Belgrade, Thessalonika, and Sollum, expanding Germany’s world dominion.

One can imagine Mr. Lee, trotting casually to the front desk at The Plaza, on that afternoon in March, to drop the letter destined for my great grandfather:

Mr. Lee’s stomach growls with hunger, as he heads out of the hotel front door, headed to a small restaurant on the Upper East side. He puts on his hat as he walks past the doormen, and out into the streets filled with yellow, honking taxis. Mr. Lee raises his shoulders, his belly protruding still over his belt, as he inhales the mixed scent of flowers and horse dung coming from just across the street at the edge of Central Park. The horse dung triggers Mr. Lee’s thoughts back to his horse Bell Toll.

The letter continues, “I was down in Virginia this weekend and have gotten ten to twelve mares, mostly half bred, for Bell Toll. He was in very bad shape, but is now picking up. I would like very much if you could give me his history, that is his racing record, when he retired from racing and whether he won any races or not, etc. If he has some favorable record back of him, I might advertise him the first of April in the Middleburg Chronicle and get some thoroughbred mares for him.”

So Bell Toll did indeed race, but he could have raced as a quarterhorse for all I know. I have Bell Toll’s pedigree, but I can’t find any evidence of him in the Jockey Club’s Registry.

Unfortunately, I do not have the return letter, or any letter discussing horses, from the pen of Dr. Gatewood. How wonderful it would be to be able communicate with my great grandfather through the act of reading. Are there many things more blissful than skipping back in time, immersing yourself in the letters, books, thoughts, and minutiae of years long dead? Especially when those documents contain the penned phrases of an ancestor?

I do, though, also have in my possession a picture of Dr. Gatewood. He is sitting atop a beautiful horse, dressed in dapper riding attire. He has on a black top hat and riding coat, and beige riding pants. The air looks cold; and Central Park sparse. The only thing dotting the rolling landscape, receding in the distance below the legs of Dr. Gatewood’s horse, are a few bony, leafless trees. The photo was shot not a more than a few hundred yards from where I used to live in Manhattan. I don’t know what horse he is riding in the picture. But I like to fancy that picture is of Dr. Gatewood in the winter of ’40, atop Bell Toll, the year before my great grandfather shipped him to Virginia, where he passed to the ownership of Mr. Lee. While the horse in the picture is likely not Bell Toll, I must say that it is certainly more fun to imagine it is.

The Saratoga Yearling Sales

Tue, 18 Aug 2009 19:43:13 -0400

In 1917, auctioneers held the first yearling sales at the Saratoga meet, now an annual fixture. Ever since, the yearling sales have formed the apex of the Saratoga summer social and business calendar. While The Travers, or “the summer derby,” draws the biggest crowds at Saratoga, for those in the business of horse racing no week is more important than the days in early August, when the world’s most promising 2 year-olds hit the auction ring.

It was the golden chestnut, Man O’ War, who put the Saratoga yearling sales on the map, when he sold for $5,000 in the summer of 1918. He won his first six starts as a 2 year-old, before racing in the Sanford Memorial Stakes (one large reason Saratoga is known as the “Graveyard of Champions”), where he lost to the aptly named Upset. It would be Man O’ War’s only official loss over his 21-start career. In the few summers after the great Man O’ War pranced through the auction ring at Saratoga, there was a general sense of gaiety and promise in the Adirondack Mountain air. World War I was over. Eyes shifted once again towards the horizon. The Jazz Age was quickly approaching.

Hugh Bradley, in his wonderful and romantic history of Saratoga entitled Such Was Saratoga, captures best the mood at the yearling sales in those early years after The Great War.

For several hours the bidding and buying continues, while orchids wilt and once-gleaming shirts show signs of the light and the August dew. Outside, the red flag which has summoned all to the auction still hangs listlessly on its staff.

Far away, beyond the trees in the lots where cars are parked, there are clicking sounds, an occasional braying laugh. Chauffeurs are amusing themselves, sometimes with dice and sometimes with the maids who stroll over from the great houses on Union Avenue.

On the level of a historian and fanatic for Saratoga, I have long been fascinated with the time period Bradley brings to life in the above passage. My fascination really begins with the period starting in 1880, lasting up until the market crash in 1929. I don’t suppose it is too uncommon to be fascinated with a time that came before you existed. Is it?

Take Ronald Lauder, of the Estee Lauder family, for example, who is obsessed with the late 1800’s in Austria. So much so, that Lauder bought and converted a Vanderbilt Mansion on 5th Avenue in New York City to house what is now the Neue Galerie, a beautifully quaint and authentic museum dedicated to the time period and country for which Lauder has such a passion. Of all the places in the world, of all the eras and epochs, why Austria in the 1880’s?

Who knows where our fascination with a place and time really comes from; but regardless, I do often long to be there in Saratoga in the 1920’s. Frankly, I think I would have preferred to be with the chauffeurs, rather than inside the ring. How fun it would have been: dice clicking, letting out “an occasional braying laugh” into the summer night, time feeling endless and full of promise as the maids strolled “over from the great houses on Union Avenue,” and joined me and my companions.

Perhaps, what makes “then” seems so alluring is that “now” in a way is such a tough time- in the auction ring at Saratoga that is. Lost in Bradley’s whimsical, nostalgic, and hauntingly beautiful recounting of the yearling sales of yesteryear, are the economic realities owners, breeders, auction houses, and consignors face at yearling sales in harder economic times, such as today.

Post-bubble years are not quite as carefree and glorious as those years immediately following the sale of Man ‘O War were, leading up as they did to the Roaring 20’s. In the leaner years, recent excesses and buying binges become apparent. The fat that previously hid without effort underneath a baggy, winter sweater now hangs over too-small swimming trunks, baking under the summer beach sun.

Steve Zorn, in his top-notch blog The Business of Racing, highlights better than anyone the hard realities of this summer’s yearling sales at Saratoga. Particularly, he highlights how Sheikh Mohammed’s above average buying served to mask some of the more daunting, underlying economic realities of the current climate:

But the biggest single influence at this year's sale was the presence, and the purchasing, of Sheikh Mohammed himself -- appearing on the grounds for the first time in over 20 years. The Sheikh, acting through his main man, John Ferguson, and together with closely linked buyers Shadwell and Rabbah, bought a total of 22 yearlings, for $14.5 million, an average of $660,000. That was more than double the Sheikh's typical buying at Saratoga; in 2008 he and related entities bought 10 for $4.4 million, and in 2007 they bought nine for $5.5 million. So virtually all the increase in the sale's gross can be attributed to one man.

The Sheikh, as Zorn argues, intended to create the illusion of health because the Sheikh now has an ownership stake in Fasig-Tipton. Who knows what impact the Sheikh’s purchase of Fasig-Tipton will ultimately have on horse racing? For now, as Zorn argues, the Sheikh’s purchase of F-T and influence on the Saratoga yearling sales seem only to be masking some unfortunate, underlying economic realities. Only time, though, will tell.

And perhaps some person, despite the tough economic headwaters the horse industry faces today, will nonetheless still long, hundreds of years from now, for the post-bubble Saratoga of the late Ought’s, like I do for the Saratoga of the 1920’s. Perhaps he or she will long for days-gone-by, when Sheiks in white strolled under evening’s slant light and through the green shedrows behind the Oklahoma Racetrack. For the days when disillusioned Wall St. bankers, as they stood wondering if things would ever return to the way they were, sipped feverishly on Red Bull’s at Siro’s, as day turned violently to night.

Come to Saratoga Long Enough...

Fri, 7 Aug 2009 19:02:17 -0400

When my dad and I arrived at Saratoga, we headed right to The Washington Inn. The Washington Inn, centrally located on Broadway, has become our residence of choice over the years at The Spa. Yes, because it is centrally located. And yes, because it is a beautiful, old, converted Victorian home perched on a hill. But mainly, we stay at The Washington Inn because of its delightful, hard working, and gentle-spirited proprietor and overseer, Ginny. When we arrived in the lobby of The Washington Inn, almost 365 days since we had been there last, Ginny was where I hoped she would be. Waves, handshakes, or hello’s were not good enough. We gave each other a big hug. It was great to be back at The Spa. Come to Saratoga long enough and you may get a bear hug from Ginny.

Shortly after arriving at Saratoga, and checking into the hotel, we took a Capitaland Taxi to the track. We shared the cab with two gentlemen from the Inn. They were buddies from Philadelphia. Naturally, we started talking Saratoga. Meet someone at Saratoga, and you always have at least one thing in common. Later that afternoon, as my dad had gotten up from our table to go to the bathroom, he saw one of our buddies running frantically. “How’s it going?” my dad asked. “Great!” our buddy replied. “I am headed to the winner’s circle!” Saratoga Russell had just won the eighth, an Allowance for three year olds and up. Our buddy was a part owner of Saratoga Russell, through a West Point Thoroughbred horse partnership. Come to Saratoga long enough and the stranger you share a cab with to the racetrack may very well be standing in the winner’s circle later that day.

Manny is the maestro behind the reservation desk at the Turf Terrace Dining Room- a sprawling dining area on the third and fourth floor of the Saratoga Racecourse grandstand. Manny and his lieutenants’ all dress in tuxedos- homage I suppose to days gone by, when men and women honored each day with fancier garb. This year Saratoga loosened its dress policy for fans on the Turf Terrace, permitting men to wear neither ties nor jackets. Manny, though, was still in his tuxedo. My dad and I wore suits and ties. Tradition is not something to take lightly at Saratoga. As maestro of the reservation desk, Manny is the guy who assigns you a table ticket, which is passed from him to a “Captain,” who then escorts you to your table, and the watchful eye of your waiter. In another life, Manny could have been a Hollywood actor- his snowy hair is tightly cropped, designer glasses sit neatly on his nose, his skin is ruddy and wrinkle-free. Short and stocky, Manny has a torpedo-like efficiency behind the desk. “E9” he scribbles furiously on a cream colored ticket- and off you go. Come to Saratoga long enough and you realize Manny is an important guy to know.

Our second day at the track, dining on The Turf Terrace, a Captain named Mark manned the table where my dad and I sat. Mark, we came to find out, was a horse owner. He had come to own the share of a few ponies over the years through some horse partnerships. One of his horses, named “Big Al” Mark told us, had an upcoming race at Monmouth. Mark spoke about Big Al with a fatherly pride. “You can’t forget that name,” Mark proclaimed with the pithy, sharp accent of a Harvey Keitel character. “Big Al,” he belted. Come to Saratoga long enough and you’ll realize some of the waiters double as horse owners.

A dinner joint in Saratoga I have come to adore over the years is Penell’s. Not far from the track, and off the hustle and bustle of Broadway- the main drag that runs through Saratoga- Penell’s is a no frill Italian joint that caters well to the horde of sun-drained track goers barreling through its doors on any given night during racing season. The décor is simple: dim light, wall-to-wall carpeting, a simple, polished wooden bar, a weird, faux Italian fresco donning the wall of the restaurant’s entrance-way. Every time I go to Penell’s I order the same thing- the lasagna. It is superb. For about the third year straight, I ate only half of it. Come to Saratoga long enough and you realize that one order of lasagna at Penell’s is enough for two.

My dad had always instilled in me a sort of snobbery towards trotters. When he and I would go to the OTB, my twelve year-old eyes would sometimes wander with curiosity towards the trotters running at Yonkers or Presque Isle. “Don’t watch that,” my dad would say, redirecting my attention towards the third at Santa Anita or Hollywood Park. So it was with great intrigue, in the bar area of Penell’s after finishing dinner, that I watched a tall, slender, guy in his 20’s, call a sports book on his cell, and bet $200 on a trotter race. By the time the 10th at Saratoga Raceway started, a horde of the gambler’s buddies had come inside to huddle around the high roller at the base of the small tube television atop near corner of the bar. The gambler’s horse was drawing dead halfway though the race. He turned to his buddies, reminding them about how he had won $2,900 earlier in the day. His buddies were paying little attention. Come to Saratoga long enough and you’ll see drunken guys lay $200 on a trotter race and act like its no big deal.

My dad had never been to The Parting Glass, a no-frills pub located in the heart of Saratoga Springs. The Parting Glass is my favorite watering hole in Saratoga, for it is where horsemen and women in Saratoga pass the night hours during racing season, as they wait eagerly for the morrow’s first thudding hooves. The Parting Glass is free of the crowd just in town for a party. When we arrived at The Parting Glass, we realized there was a meeting just adjourning. We asked a waitress what was going on. She then introduced us to Tom Gallo, the owner of The Parting Glass. Later we bumped into Tom again by the back bar, where my dad and I were sipping on some Guinness. We chatted about the state of the sport we all loved. It was great to know that the man behind the bar I had come to love was a horse fanatic. Over the years, Tom has lived in Aiken, Florida, Lexington, and Upstate New York chasing his passion. And it was actually his wife that got Tom into the horse business in the first place. Come to Saratoga long enough and you know that behind The Parting Glass is a class-act, named Tom Gallo and his wife, who are horse people first and bar owners second.

Mike Lee Stakes and Maylan Injury

Fri, 19 Jun 2009 14:47:46 -0400

The day, I am sure began like most, an orange, early-summer sun burning off the morning fog, baking the The Belmont Park backstretch, and its buzzing of activity- jockeys hand-riding green 2 year-olds along the inside rail, water smacking against the empty bottom of a plastic bucket, a pick-up truck stalling out, a trainer scribbling a to-do list on his yellow legal pad, knocking his morning cup of coffee over on his New York Times. Maylan came to the track early, walking barn-to-barn, prospecting trainers for morning rides. For a jockey, particularly for a young jockey trying to prove their merit, morning rides are essential to gaining favor with trainers, to growing a book of business. Maylan probably found a few rides, the morning’s fresh air coursing through her nostrils, mud hitting her goggles. As she galloped off the track, Maylan probably stopped to think about how lucky she is, being able to wake up every day and do the thing she loves most.

After the morning rides, she headed back to Rodrigo’s barn to talk about one of the three mounts she had set aside for the afternoon’s card, when according to the account of the local newspaper, “she went to pet [a two-year old] and he reared up and his leg came down on top of her.”

In one second, a second so seemingly like all the others that day, Maylan went from happy and healthy to “in stable condition.” And yet is this not the contract that all race riders sign the day they decide to follow their heart? Jockeys, horse racing’s quiet heroes, are nothing less than courageous warriors, whom put their bodies on the line, each and every day in their attempts to tame 1,000 pound beasts. Thankfully, Maylan is now “comfortable” in the hospital, which coming from a horseman may mean she has only a few broken ribs.

The hearts, I know, of Katskill’s entire connections are certainly with Maylan and her recovery. We all eagerly await the time when her heart, temporarily derailed from the pursuit of its most confiding passion gets to return to that course on which it feels most right. For a quick return, we pray.

Maylan’s injury, though, means that with Sunday Stakes race, Katskill will enter the starting gate with a new rider Alan Garcia will be aboard). While this will surely be a setback for Katskill, I would encourage all enterprising readers to make it to the window prior to Sunday’s race. Katskill will surely go off at long odds, and let me say that there is plenty going on under the surface to believe Katskill will present great betting value.

I hope Katskill goes off at 44-1 like he did last race, only to finish 4th with the world’s worst trip, and 91 speed figure. Katskill goes up this time against some former foes (Slevin and Monte Carlo)- horses that Katskill has certainly shown he has the stuff to beat. The race Sunday has a small field of only six horses, and KB will be firing from the 2 post. He has never finished worst than 4th in his career. This is now his third start at 7 furlongs, and it will come off his career-best figure, and a great workout. Recommended bet: KB across-the-board.

Ultimate Past Performance - Mike Lee Stakes

Sweet Summer Bird

Tue, 9 Jun 2009 11:38:31 -0400

As the Belmont field broke from the starting gate Saturday, I was not where I have been for the last three years- firmly planted on the Belmont rail. But rather I was walking down Laugavegur, the main drag the cuts through the heart of Reykjavik, Iceland. I was there for a bachelor party. With the time difference, Belmont post time was after 10 PM in Iceland. And while at that time in Reyjavik the sun still hung high over Mt. Esja, and daylight cloaked the night’s revelers walking in and out of the clubs and bars lining Laugavegur, the natural pulls of the long, overindulgent evening with my friends made it difficult for me to find a place that might be broadcasting the Triple Crown’s third leg. But despite even my greatest efforts, such a search would have proved nearly impossible in Reykjavik.

There is no horseracing in Iceland, but oddly enough there are many horses. Horses were imported to Iceland long ago, and now the population of domesticated horses numbers approximately 80,000, which is a staggering number when you consider the population of Iceland is only around 320,000. I suppose no Icelander, however, ever felt the urge to hold a summer meet around a dirt oval track. The horses in Iceland are obviously not thoroughbreds. And their manes hang long and unkept. They are used instead to primarily cater to tourists in search of pleasant horseback rides across the beautiful, varied landscape of the Icelandic countryside- lava fields, moss covered rocks, waterfalls, aqua rivers surging down from the mountains, geysers, and glaciers in the distance.

After my return-trip Iceland Air 757 touched down in New York, and pulled to its gate at JFK, I turned on my cell phone. A weekend worth of text messages peppered my inbox like a barrage of gun shots. One stood out, “What do you think of summer bird? Desormeaux has had a good day.” The message was from a railbird friend of mine, who I went to the Derby with years back, and which he had sent to me minutes before post. He must have wondered why silence greeted his pre-race hunch. Stateside, I would have without question been firmly planted in front of the race, eagerly replying to him with my own opinions.

With a devilish brew of jetlag and hangover overwhelming me, as I read my friend’s text, I realized I had forgotten all about the Belmont. I had not checked who had won the race in my hotel’s internet cafe. This realization provided a swift and powerful reminder of how the world of horseracing, when you are immersed in a culture that cares little for its happenings, beats on in an alternate plane- unbeknownst to you.

When I got home, I watched the race replay, and sure enough Summer Bird with Desormeaux aboard, at odds of 11-1, charged clear of the dueling Dunkirk and Mine That Bird on the rail. “Man,” I thought, “Dillard hit it. Man. If only I hadn’t been in Iceland...”

Feeling cursed, now aware of the hunch that came through when I was thousands of miles from a window, race out of sight and mind, I went to bed exhausted. Happy to be back in a land where racing matters.

Katskill Bay's Homecoming

Fri, 15 May 2009 12:17:44 -0400

While Saturday marks the 134th running of The Preakness Stakes, it also marks the running of a $43,000 Allowance race at Belmont Park. Saturday, Katskill Bay will be coming off the longest layoff since he began his racing career, as part of preparation for what will be his second stab at stakes company on May 31st.

Earlier this week, Katskill Bay gave his connections every reason to be optimistic, when he put in some eye-popping work, running 4 furlongs in 45 seconds flat! Katskill’s work was Belmont’s best work at 4 furlongs that morning by miles. Looks like our colt is happy to be back on his home track. While Katskill won’t be racing in the second leg of the Triple Crown, don’t tell him that.

The first time I ever saw Katskill Bay was an unseasonably warm day in November, and Katskill was holed up in barn #67 in the expansive Belmont stable area. I was eager to meet the horse that marked my entrance into the ownership ranks, so I took the Long Island Railroad from Penn Station, and got off at the Belmont stop. It was a Saturday morning, and post time for the first was still a few hours away. As I walked along the long ramp that connects the train stop to the track, I noticed a railbird taking in the morning workouts, steam rising from his morning cup of coffee, the day’s Daily Racing Form folded, and tucked in the back pocket of his worn jeans. Walking towards the track that morning, it occurred to me, I am an owner now. I have a reason to come to the track well before the first, and to leave long after the last. I felt life at the track starting to expand beyond the rail and the betting windows before my very eyes.

Barn #67 was hard to find. To access the barn area at Belmont from the track, it is necessary to walk through a long underground tunnel that connects to the main track area not far from the paddock. To enter the tunnel, I had to flash my owner’s registration card to a guard, whose eyes looked sleepy in the morning sun. I flashed my certification with an amateur’s eagerness. As I emerged from the tunnel and into the barn area, the frenetic pace of the city seemed as far away as Kansas.

A rooster darted in front of a still steaming pile of manure. A blue, rusty bicycle rested, unlocked against a white barn’s peeling wall. A row of fern bushes hung along a wooden rafter beam, which supported the barn’s thatched roof. Orange red leaves and yellow hay brushed about the tarry pavement at my feet. A short, Mexican man walked out and into an inner courtyard, his eyes staring forward. Image after image began to coalesce into a canvas of daily happenings, which suggested to my virgin eyes a self-sustaining, equine world of bliss, of which I had previously been utterly ignorant. I had been coming to the track my whole life, but never had I tried or been enticed to enter the world of the backstretch. As I meandered deeper and deeper into the barns, in search of Katskill, I was overcome with the feeling that I was taking steps I would never be able to retrace.

I passed what looked like a little trackside kitchen that catered to workers on the backstretch. I noticed through the kitchen’s glass, a pool table. I imagined a crew of backstretch workers ending their day where it began, among the barns, but in the evening chatting over a rack of pool rather than a pile of manure. “You won’t believe this little colt in my barn,” I fancied a Barn #67 worker saying. “He is going to be a champion, mi amigo. He has got it.” The man chalks his stick, and eyes his next shot.

I finally encountered the barn, where the grail of my morning adventure, Katskill, rested in his barn. My exchange with his trainer, Rodrigo Ubillo, felt both awkward and brief. It was enough, though, to introduce me to this world within a world. I had met my horse and his trainer. I was in deep. I hope swim time will last forever.

Saturday, Katskill returns home. He appears to be firing on all cylinders. He appears happy to be off the harsh, inner dirt at Aqueduct; and rather, only a short trot from his bed to starting gate. Saturday, while most eyes will be peeled to the happenings at Pimlico, I will be glued to the simulcast signal from Belmont, intrigued by a certain inconspicuous homecoming, hoping at this homecoming a colt named Katskill will be crowned king.

Mine That Who?

Tue, 5 May 2009 13:46:22 -0400

Lining the inside rail, from the eighth pole to the finish, are hundreds of black cameras that look like a murder of crows. High overhead, a group of single-engine planes hover in the airspace over the track, dragging banner advertisements: Kroger, Woodford Reserve, Yum! Brands. Behind the black cameras, lining the turf course, are a row of what, in the overcast, afternoon’s haze, look like a band of security guards, or perhaps infantrymen and women. Behind the row of uniformed men and women, closer to the manmade winner’s circle of white-painted wood that Churchill Downs had put in for Derby weekend, stood the Louisville marching band clad in white, red, and black uniforms.

Beyond the winner’s circle was a sea of colors: the infield patrons, quiet in the distance. Plumes of smoke, the smell of meat grilling, bass sounds from an amp emanating out and above the throngs of infielders, oblivious to the race about to begin.

The horses emerge from the tunnel, which runs like a vein from the main track to the paddock behind the grandstand. The lyrics of “My Old Kentucky Home” appear on the infield jumbo-tron, then echo through the crowds, who are singing the iconic tune off-beat like besotted revelers at a pub belting the words to an Irish-bar ballad. “By'n by hard times comes a-knocking at the door...” Boyz-II-Men and former members of N’ Sync, or maybe Backstreet Boys, I am not quite sure, flash up on the jumbo-tron, all bellowing the lyrics. Hard times don’t seem “a-knocking” on Kentucky’s door, at least not today, not on Derby Day.

The field of 19 horses prancing down the main track in a tight line, underneath a grey, stormy sky and across a mud-slicked track, look like a rainbow-colored thread of yarn. The loud drone of the crowd in the air spooks a few of the horses.

In front of me, a man drags on a gargantuan cigar, and drowns his dry-mouth with a swallow from his fresh mint julep. A couple wrap their arms around one another, and sway to “My Old Kentucky Home,” off-beat to the song, both smiling. The man leans over and smacks and awkward kiss on the cheek of his woman, who looks like she has fake breasts. My stomach is full of butterflies, as I play out the the race in my head for the ump-teenth time. This time like all those before, though, Friesan Fire romps home 3 or 4 lengths clear.

The starting gate bursts open. You can hear the stampede. Track management must have put microphones near the track to accentuate the sound of pounding hooves, making them sound thunderous. The butterflies in my stomach swell. I can’t find any of my horses in the rumbling herd. “Where’s Friesan Fire?” I ask, turning to my friend. I stand up on an aluminum folding-chair in our box, and lean forward. An iron beam that supports the third floor of the Churchill Downs’ grandstand, and on which I am resting my right shoulder, is the only thing that keeps my body from falling on the fans below me. The crowds now seem quiet, silent almost. I hear “Pioneer of the Nile,” over the loudspeaker, that horse that I trashed in my Derby Analysis. He is towards the front. I look furiously for Friesan Fire. “Where’s Friesan Fire?” I say again, this time to nobody really. The horses turn for home. I am confused. A horse starts to emerge from the rubble of the pack, now really emerges, along the rail. The horse pulls, pulls away. The crowd is really quiet. All I know is that it is not Friesan Fire. I look back for my horse, the favorite. He prances across the finish line second to last. 18 of 19. “Who was that who won? The 8?” I ask. I look down at my program, “The 8. Mine That Bird?” Next to the horse’s name, a huge X.

A gentlemen in front of me slaps his packet of Brisnet Past Performance sheets on his hand, his chin dropping. He throws his papers to the ground. Beer, which covers the cement floor at his feet like a confluence of jungle rivers, soak right through his papers and bleed with the red ink that covered them.

“Did anyone have that horse?” I heard someone in our box ask.

“Ooo, I did,” Caroline said from where she sat in the chair behind me. How could she see the race sitting down like that, I thought. From where I stood, I must have been blocking her the whole time. Maybe she just sat down. I jumped down from the chair I had been standing on, “how did you pick that horse? It was 50-1.”

“My aunt and I call each other bird,” Caroline said.

In a flash, all the Derby prep races I had watched, over and over, shot through my mind. I thought about the hours I had spent hunched over the Daily Racing Form. The hours I spent analyzing, writing about the race, the thousand times I had played out the race in my head. All the ways it could go. I thought about the filly, One Caroline, who as a short favorite the day before had lost in a stretch duel. Caroline had not been at the track yesterday; but surely, had she been at the track, she would have bet on One Caroline and lost? I thought about all of the pundits, the experts, the columns, the blogs, the television shows, the interviews, the radio talk shows, the podcasts, the twittering. I saw all the pundits in my mind, dejected, at tracks and OTB’s around the country, watching the lucky few heading to the windows to collect. People who had enough sense to realize that a lot of times this game doesn’t make sense. People who call their aunt Bird.

On Sunday, I watched the replay. Calvin “Bo-rail” Borel making that Street Sense move along the rail, past the hover of black cameras. I rewinded the coverage just to listen to Tom Durkin’s call one more time. Durkin, who has covered thousands upon thousands of races across his lifetime, simply can’t hide his shock as he announces the winner. “Mine That Bird,” Durkin says almost in full-laughter, “has won the Kentucky Derby. An impossible result here.” For most of us, impossible indeed; but not for everyone.

Watch a replay of the Kentucky Derby
Read Hunter S. Thompson’s take on the Derby, “The Decadent and the Depraved”

Final Kentucky Derby Analysis

Thu, 30 Apr 2009 10:18:44 -0400

Who I’m rooting for?
People ask me who I am rooting for in the Derby, I tell them, “I am rooting for 20 horses to finish the race, and return to their stalls uninjured.” Last year’s Derby was a disaster for the sport, due to the tragedy which struck the filly and second-place finisher, Eight Belles, and because of the subversive way in which PETA subsequently used that tragedy to draw awareness to their cause. I think PETA is a noble organization with a worthy cause, but to raise awareness through attacking a horseman like Larry Jones, and through holding up sensationalist signs and propaganda at future horse racing events, is no way to conduct any operation. The sport of horse racing has erred in many ways. There are lots of things that can continue to be done to improve the life of the horses which race and compete. At the same time, though, Eight Belles was a horse that was well-treated for, and who loved to race. Running an anti-drug activist and old-school horseman like Larry Jones out of the game is certainly not the way to improve the lives of horses.

So please, please on this day when so many unfamiliar with the sport are tuning in for the only time of the year, many for perhaps the first time in their life, this day which creates so many new fans, please, please don’t let anything happen to the horses. Please don’t let PETA use a random, unfortunate tragedy to kill a beautiful, wonderful, timeless sport that gives life to so many. That is what I am rooting for.

Derby Future Selections All Gone
The Derby is upon us and all three of my early Derby selections have fizzled off the Derby Trail like a block of sugar in a glass of hot tea.

Quality Road was just scratched from Saturday’s race due to a quarter crack. No excuses. I should have factored this into my analysis. Bad feet runs in Quality Road’s family.

And then there was Mr. Fantasy. I Want Revenge kicked Mr. Fantasy right off the Derby Trail with his crusher in The Gotham Stakes (G3) back on March 7th. I assure you, though, you have not heard the last of Mr. Fantasy. Last Saturday, Mr. F put together a scintillating performance at The Withers Stakes (G3) at Aqueduct, and what I understand from a member of the West Point partnership that owns Mr. Fantasy, the colt’s connections have him pointed to The Preakness (G1) to possibly play the role of Triple Crown spoiler in just over two weeks time.

Patena was simply a bust. After IEAH Stables purchased Patena he ran 8th in the Louisiana Derby and 10th in the Toyota Bluegrass Stakes, causing trainer Rick Dutrow to say that the plan for Patena was to take him back to New York to “regroup.” Consider the 2009 season so far for IEAH. They have made three notable acquisitions: I Want Revenge (a 50% stake), Patena, and Stardom Bound. Collectively, I would guess IEAH has spent anywhere from $9 - $20 million on these acquisitions. All they have to show for it is half a Derby starter. Stardom Bound will not be starting in the Kentucky Oaks, and even if she was she is half the horse of heavy favorite Rachel Alexandra. Even with the financial windfall that Big Brown provided IEAH last year, there 2009 approach has to have put them in a precarious financial position headed into the second half of the year. Absent an I Want Revenge Kentucky Derby win, at this pace, I would not be surprised to see a headline in the near future that speculates financial trouble for the IEAH clan.

Final Selections for Saturday
When I refer to a “threshold of interest” below, this is a term I coined for what I believe to be the “true odds” facing a given horse. If a horse is bet beyond its true odds, then it is not advisable to bet that horse. All recommendations must be given with this caveat, that if the given horse is bet beyond their “threshold of interest” then they do not present value, and should be avoided. By definition (horse gambling is pool-based gambling), if one horse is over bet, their should be be an under bet horse elsewhere. But regardless of betting strategy, below is my predicted order of finish.

1 - Friesan Fire
2 - Dunkirk
3 - Desert Party
4 - Chocolate Candy
5 - I Want Revenge

Friesan Fire - There is no horse in the Derby field bred better for the Triple Crown than Friesan Fire. This is the most “Classic” bred horse in the field. The progeny of A.P. Indy, Friesan Fire’s sire, have the second-longest average winning distance (AWD), at 8.2 furlongs, among the progeny of all the sires who have a starter in this year’s Derby. Also, Friesan Fire has the highest Genetic Strength Value (GSV)** at 77.40 of any horse in the Derby field. The last three winners of the Kentucky Derby presented by Yum! Brands (G1), Barbaro, Street Sense, and Big Brown, were all the the highest GSV in their respective fields.

I am usually cold on the Louisiana Derby (G2) as a prep race, because its winner must endure one of the longest waits between races until the First Saturday in May. The layoff for Friesan Fire, though, has seemingly done nothing but to strengthen this son of A.P. Indy. On Monday, Friesan Fire put in a bullet workout, going 5 furlongs in a mind-numbing :57 4/5. Not to mention, Friesan Fire romped in the La. Derby on a sloppy track, and Saturday’s forecast is as of now calling for a 60% chance of rain.

Friesan Fire is trained by Larry Jones, who would rather forget the months after last year’s Derby, when he had to deal with a lot of undeserved criticism and scrutiny from PETA and other animal-cruelty activists as a result of the death of Eight Belles. Ask anyone in the business about Larry Jones, and they will tell you, “He is a true horseman.” I believe in karmic outcomes, and that is why I think Friesan Fire will take Jones to the winner’s circle this year, and make up for the hell he had to deal with, unfairly, last year. No one treats their horses better than Jones. Jones’s horses live a charmed life.

Friesan Fire has been a different horse since jockey Gabriel Saez has been aboard (the tandem have won all three of their starts together). Some of Friesan Fire’s losses prior to linking up with Saez, the Nashua (G3) under Velazquez for example, came when Friesan Fire chased too brisk a pace too early. Under Saez, who has shown more patience, Friesan Fire has catapulted down the stretch with more panache. Friesan Fire runs with and Early Presser style, so I would look for him to be up towards the front of the stampede around the first turn, but not on the lead. You should see a “push-button” type move at the top of the stretch. Given Friesan Fire’s pedigree, I am expecting his push the last 1/8 of a mile to be stronger than that of the rest. I think at a morning line of 5-1, Friesan Fire looks awfully juicy. My “threshold of interest” with Friesan Fire is 2-1. But with the attention I Want Revenge is likely to garner at the windows, I do not anticipate Friesan Fire getting bet down to 2-1.

Dunkirk - What a talented colt. This horse would have been my favorite had he found a way to nudge past Quality Road in the Florida Derby, but when a horse makes a push to the front, and his opponent is able to hold off his attack, it is a bit disheartening. Granted Quality Road is an exceptional horse, and prior to his injury my Derby selection, it is still disheartening. A champion would have found a way.

I think Dunkirk could turn out to be a lot like Curlin was two years ago both on the Triple Crown Trail and beyond. Dunkirk, like Curlin did, enters into the Derby with a level of experience that is low relative to his peers. In the Derby, Curlin’s inexperience showed. He still managed to finish 3rd. He came back to win the Preakness, finish 2nd at Belmont, and won the Breeder’s Classic to go on to become horse of the year in his 3 year-old season. I think Dunkirk’s inexperience will also rear its ugly head on Saturday, but not enough to hold this immensely talented colt back too much. He has to figure into exotics. Although, I believe Dunkirk runs the risk of being over bet, given his flashy run at the Florida Derby. Do not let that Florida Derby time deceive you. Gulfstream had that track set up like grease lightning. Records were being broken all day. Past a “threshold of interest” of 3-1, I don’t have as much betting interest in Dunkirk.

Desert Party - This colt is one of two who will be wearing the Godolphin (the stable of Sheik Mohammed) Blue on Saturday, and I am looking for him to make a splash. Desert Party’s stable mate, Regal Ransom, was victorious the last time the two dueled in the $2,000,000 UAE Derby (G2), but more because of an error in judgment on the part of Desert Party’s jockey than a disparity in talent between the two. Desert Party likes to come off the pace, and in the UAE Derby he simply misjudged the strength of Regal Ransom’s push. Regal Ransom had the rail post, and was afforded a clean trip along the rail the entire way. With anymore distance, Desert Party surely would have run down Regal Ransom. Also, I always like to look for a bounce in performance when a favorite, and gritty competitor gets beat by a nose like Desert Party did to Regal Ransom in the UAE Derby. The other loss in Desert Party’s career came in the Hopeful (G1) when he tried to keep to the front. Vineyard Haven, though, was able to pull away convincingly. But that race was only 7 furlongs. The 1-1/4 mile will suit Desert Party much better, as it will allow him to hang off the pace and ultimately make a formidable push down the stretch.

The Sheiks don’t bring horses over unless they have a chance to win. For example, Sheik Mohammed’s brother, Sheik Al Maktoum, owner of Shadwell Farm, could have started his horse Mafaaz today, who was eligible to start with a win in the inaugural “win and you’re in” race at Kempton. But he didn’t start him. The Sheiks are realistic horsemen, who only take a swipe when they have got a shot. Desert Party’s Churchill Downs workouts indicate Sheik Mohammed has made a wise decision. He breezed a rather effortless 5 furlongs in :59 3/5 a few days back. He looks poised to make some noise. His morning line odds were 15/1, and if he gets bet down below a “threshold of interest” of 10/1, then I will stray away from this colt at the windows.

Chocolate Candy, I Want Revenge, the Field - It was tough to keep I Want Revenge out of any trifectas. At the end of the day, this horse did something even the great Secretariat failed to do, and that is win both The Gotham (G3) and The Wood Memorial (G1). And win he did. I Want Revenge won both, and he won them in entirely different ways. In The Gotham (G3) I Want Revenge was on the pace the entire way, and rather effortlessly pulled away from Mr. Fantasy down the stretch. In The Wood (G1) he made it much more dramatic, breaking absolutely dead-last from the gate, then midway through the race in the words of Tom Durkin found himself “in behind a wall of horses.” But young rider, Joe Talamo, in that half-crazy, half-genius way he so often does found a seam, and I Want Revenge found the Winner’s Circle. On paper, I Want Revenge has the speed, but I feel he is just not bred to go the Classic distances as well as Friesan Fire. Also, other than Imperial Council and Mr. Fantasy, on dirt, he has not gone up against much. If he won, I would not be shocked, but I simply can’t bet this horse as long as he is the chalk.

Chocolate Candy is another horse who I feel will really benefit from the extra distance Saturday. Pioneer of the Nile was moving backwards into the wire under a hard ride from Garret Gomez in the Santa Anita Derby (G1). Chocolate Candy surely would have passed him with only a little more room to run. Chocolate Candy also came 5 wide around the turn, and covered far more terrain than the winner, Pioneer of the Nile.

I am cold when it comes to the Bob Baffert horse, Pioneer of the Nile. I don’t think we’ll see the glistening white hair in the Winner’s Circle this year. In ’09, Pioneer of the Nile tops out with only a 95 speed figure. His career-best figure is only a 98. All his Derby prep this year has come on the synthetic surfaces at Santa Anita and Hollywood. I Want Revenge was able to translate well to the dirt, but why has Pioneer of the Nile waited until the Derby to race against 3 year-old company on the dirt? I think Pioneer of the Nile runs the risk of “stampede-itis” around the first turn more than any other horse, as he gets mounds of dirt kicked in his face for the first time in his 3 year-old campaign. I would not be surprised if he sits, like Colonel John last year, 16th or so and way off the pace around the first turn. Pioneer of the Nile’s running style is to press the pace early. I am afraid this horse’s race could be done shortly after begins.

Backstory of the Derby
Every year there seems to be one great story. One great story that the American public latches on to. One great story the media peddles like concession stands do crackerjacks at a baseball game. It is not hard to guess what horse’s backstory will capture the hearts and minds of the people this year: that of General Quarters. General Quarters is owned and trained by a retired, Louisville science teacher named Tom McCarthy. A View from the Rail’s byline is “Horse racing through the eyes of a small-time owner,” and if any owner of a Derby starter embodies the notion of “small-time,” it is McCarthy. In 18 years as a horse owner, McCarthy has saddled only 13 winners. McCarthy won more purse money in the Bluegrass Stakes (G1) on April 9th than he had previously earned across his entire career up until that point. In his barn right now, there is one horse: General Quarters.

In 2007, McCarthy had tried to purchase General Quarters at a yearling sale, but was out bid, when Ken Ramsey paid $20,000 for the colt. Last May, however, McCarthy got a second swipe at acquiring General Quarters, when he appeared in the starting gate of a maiden claimer at Churchill Downs. After that race, McCarthy became the owner of General Quarters.

In seven successive starts, however, General Quarters failed to get to the winner’s circle for his new owner. But ever the teacher, McCarthy, never lost faith. Like so many of the quiet heroes, who like McCarthy toil for decades in classrooms around the country, never losing the faith in their students, the trainer Tom McCarthy kept the faith. He tweaked. He counseled. He consoled. He taught. He rewarded. He punished. He prayed. He schooled. He taught some more. And it finally paid off.

General Quarters broke through with a win at the Sam Davis Stakes (G3) on February 14, which he followed up with a win at the Bluegrass Stakes (G1) on April 9. The student, whose teacher never lost the faith in his abilities, is now set to compete on the game’s grandest stage.

And to think, of who the 75 year-old former school teacher will be up against. A Sheik for one. A one Sheik Mohammed who paid $2.1MM for his horse Desert Party at the Fasig Tipton sale in February of 2008, and $675,000 for Regal Ransom in the very same sale. McCarthy got outbid when General Quarters went for $20,000. He will up against the owners of IEAH stables, who for the second straight year have attempted to, not teach, but purchase their way into the Derby winner’s circle. The 2008 Derby winner Big Brown only became an asset of IEAH after he won a marque race for 2 year-olds, The Sanford Stakes (G1) at Saratoga. I Want Revenge only became an IEAH asset after he won a marque Derby prep, The Gotham Stakes (G3) at Aqueduct. All it took IEAH to get to the Derby was cash. McCarthy will also be up against Jenny Craig, multi-millionaire health tycoon, whose late husband dreamed of winning the Derby, but who never toiled in the barns and the claiming ranks like McCarthy has done for so long.

For Tom McCarthy getting to the Derby took patience. It was never about getting to the Derby. The Derby just happened. It was about the process. It was about a love of the sport. It took 30 years of teaching high school students in the Louisville school system. It took an obsession over the details. It took sleepless nights and endless faith. It took individual attention. It took the thought that in life it is never to late to create something, to start something new, even at 75 years young. It took a love of the game. “O Captain, My Captain!” Go Tom, go.

Tom McCarthy. Small-time. But now big time, running for the roses. Good luck Tom.

** - GSV is a metric created by pedigree historian George Smith whose purpose is to gauge the genetic strength and racing potential of a given horse

Further Reading:

With Smallest of Stables, Trainer Tom McCarthy Reaches Biggest Race. (New York Times, 4/12/09)
More on George Smith’s GSV. The Matchmaker Website.

Maylan in The New York Times

Fri, 3 Apr 2009 09:38:13 -0400

Every jock has a horse. A horse that’s special. Special horses aren’t ridden. Special horses invite conversation. Every jock has a horse that when they put their leg in the stirrup, and they swing their body over the saddle, they think, “Ah, home again.”

For 20 year-old Brazilian female jockey Maylan Studart, Katskill Bay is that horse. Maylan was featured in a recent New York Times article entitled a “A Long Way from Home, Moving at Great Speed.”

It was with a fatherly joy that I read in the article, “Asked whom she felt close to, Ms. Studart named Catskill Bay, a stallion also trained by Mr. Ubillo. ‘We have a silent conversation,’ she said. ‘I just understand him so much.’” My boy, Katskill! I never knew. I know every jock has a horse. I just didn’t know for Maylan, Katskill was that horse. (And yes, I wrote the author an email about the misspelling of Katskill).

Every jock has a horse. It is great to know that Katskill is that horse for Maylan. Perhaps, some day Maylan will move on to greatness- Eclipse awards, Derby wins, a Travers win or two to boot.

I can see it now, Maylan, breathless, her muddy goggles flipped above her helmet, just having jumped from her Pletcher, Derby-winning mount, a white smile and her blue eyes gleaming through an otherwise brown-mud covered face, out of breath, laughing, half-crying, making her way to the winner’s circle. Bob Costas grabs her shoulder, “Maylan, Maylan,” he pleads. “How does it feel to be a Derby winner? What a journey is has been!?”

“Yes, Bob,” she replies. “This almost feels surreal. I just think about all the horses along the way. As a jock, you always remember that first horse you speak with, Bob. That horse is always the most special. For me, that horse was a courageous, little colt named Katskill Bay. A maiden winner in NY, he never graduated to the big times. But every jock remembers that first special horse....”

Ah, my daydreams run wild.

It is great to see Maylan’s story finally getting some attention from a publication like The New York Times. It is great to play witness (albeit from the bleachers up in the nosebleeds) to a real-life, American dream story unfolding in your backyard. It doesn’t take a Pulitzer-prize winning writer to realize that Maylan’s story of courage is compelling. It is a story that I, as small-time a writer as I am an owner, chronicled on this site months ago. But it is the type of story that merits retelling again and again. It also doesn’t hurt that Maylan and Rodrigo are on fire, as noted in this post, having won 6 mounts in just over the last 60 days.

Maylan, against the odds, rides on. Maylan, a woman in a men’s game. All-the-while accompanied by that special horse. That horse Katskill, who Maylan converses with rather than rides.