Wednesday, May 6, 2015

Under The Big Top

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Prelude

Training hours were finished, so Cosmic Saint was a little surprised the day before the 141st Kentucky Derby when she looked over her stall gate and saw them coming, shank in hand.  “What’s all this, Ethel?” she asked her next-door neighbor.

“Well, I saw that semi pull in a few minutes ago,” Ethel replied.  “They loaded a few from the other barns, already.  Looks like one of us is going to the track.”

“One of us” turned out to be Cosmic Saint, herself, given barely enough time to get her things together.  “Would it kill you guys to give us a little warning?” she groused as they led her down the shedrow.  “See you later then, Ethel….you too, Birdie….goodbye Veronica!  Always remember the good times we had in training school.”

“Where they takin’ you?”

“I heard somebody say something about ‘Jersey,” wherever that is.”

“Oh, I was there once,” Veronica bellowed from a distance.  “It’s right near Asbury Park.  Say ‘hello’ to Springsteen for me.”

And then she was gone, down the road, across the state to Interstate 95 and northward, carrying with her the hopes of her human sponsors, another candidate for greatness, another risk of failure, an adventure either way.  Godspeed, Serena—Kismet awaits.

 

Anatomy Of A Derby Day

Siobhan and Bill arise at the crack of seven, feed the horses and zip through breakfast.  It’s Saturday, and not only Saturday but Derby Day Saturday.  There are places to go, people to see, groceries to procure, grain to be stacked in the bed of the Ford 150 before the televised proceedings begin.  All Marion County is adither with Kentucky Derby parties and associated foofaraw, the hopeful training centers prepared to celebrate the Louisville success of their recent graduates.

In Louisville, itself, George and Freda are up early, dining in the lavish comfort of their pricey room at the Galt House.  “We’ve got to get going early,” George advises, “the traffic is a nightmare and parking is impossible.”  Outside, the streets are straining to contain the bedlam this metropolis endures the first Saturday of each May when the Derby comes to town.  Louisville is a smallish city whose infrastructure is inadequate to the task of quickly moving a blight of vehicles hither and yon, these things take time.  Even with an early departure, George and Freda languish amid the crawling tide, but everybody is happy, there is electricity in the air, plenty of time to do what needs be done.  The weather is perfect enough for a record crowd of 170,000+ to assemble.

In the stakes barn, the competitors converse over the events of the day.  “What I’D like to know,” wonders Tencendur, “is what the hell I’M doing here?  I have no shot.  I’m looking for a non-winners of two in Philly.”

“Talk about no shot,” complains Carpe Diem, “me and Materiality really got the shaft!”  Our trainer, Todd Pletcher, drew the two and three holes.  He must have been born on Friday the 13th, broke a roomful of mirrors and never heard about rabbits’ feet.  We’re going to get buried at the start.  We won’t see daylight for half a mile!”

Ocho Ocho Ocho just stood there with a smile of regret.  “How about me?” he asked.  “All my Hispanic homies are going to lay down hard-earned cash for nothing.  When this race is over, I’ll be as popular as the DEA in Tijuana.”

Meanwhile, Cosmic Saint’s horse van sailed northward, filled with unhappy campers.  “Who plans these trips?” one of them complained.  “It’s Derby Day, for crying out loud!  If we don’t get there in time, do you think they’ll let us out to catch the race at one of these rest areas?  Yeah, right.  And I’m Seabiscuit’s mother.”

“Derby, schmerby!” scoffed another.  “How the hell long does it take to get to this place.  It’s twenty hours and counting.  I think I just saw Canada in my rear-view mirror.”

In Louisville, George and Freda sip their nasty mint juleps and settle in their cushy seats.  In Fairfield, Bill and Siobhan turn on the television and open their Gatorade.  At Monmouth Park in New Jersey, Cosmic Saint and her new friends settle into their lawn chairs under a giant screen in the parking lot.  And in the starting gate at Churchill Downs, American Pharoah cranks his neck to the left, surveys the field and exults: “IS THIS GONNA BE FUN OR WHAT?”  It’s Derby Day!  There’s no other like it.

 

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The Pharoah Rises

For the third year in a row, The Flying Pie, that paragon of reliability, gave you the winner of the Kentucky Derby.  Our pick for second, Dortmund, finished third with a very gritty Firing Line edging him for the place.  We respected Firing Line, telling you he might be the best horse at 1 1/16 miles, a distance at which he was twice nipped by Dortmund at the finish.  This time, the tables were turned and we may know why.

In the two stakes where Dortmund prevailed, Firing Line was leading and Dortmund came flying at the finish.  This time, the tables were turned.  Dortmund inherited the lead at the start when Materiality was a step slow breaking from the gate from his miserable No. 3 Post Position, then was swallowed up by the swarm.  Almost nobody wins the Kentucky Derby on the lead.  Credit jockey Martin Garcia for slowing the pace to a pokey 23.24 quarter with the half in 47.34, but he had Firing Line on his hip or closer the whole way.  Dortmund wilted after being caught and American Pharoah battled past a determined Firing Line for the victory despite going unnecessarily wide in the turn.

American Pharaoh, by dint of his performance, is now being hailed as the Second Coming of Hindoo and a sure Triple Crown winner, and he might be.  Before we go ceding all this, however, we might take a moment to remember last year when California Chrome was applauded in the same manner and came up significantly short in the Belmont.

This time, it could be the Preakness which proves the curse.  The Pimlico race is one-sixteenth of a mile shorter than the Derby and will probably be run on a faster track.  Churchill Downs’ surface seemed slower with each race last Saturday and the Derby was run in a drowsy 2:03:02.  If Todd Pletcher decides to bring Materiality back in the Preakness, and it stands to reason that he would since that horse rallied to be sixth, beaten only 6 1/4 lengths despite being caught flat-footed at the start, a whole different scenario could develop.  Materiality is very fast, having won the Florida Derby almost wire to wire, and never worse than second in his other two races before the Kentucky Derby.  Pletcher’s other contender, Carpe Diem, is a similar runner, which might relegate Dortmund to third or fourth in the early stages of the Preakness, with Firing Line close at hand.  American Pharoah could not afford to waste the ground he gave up in the Derby.  Also, remember, he got a clean race in Louisville, unobstructed all the way from his outside post.  The Preakness will be a contentious affair.  If he annexes the second jewel of the Triple Crown, American Pharoah would seem to have a big advantage in the Belmont.  Nobody was really closing fast in the Derby, with Frosted making up the most ground, losing by three lengths after trailing by four-and-a-half just inside the eighth pole.

Before anybody can handicap the Preakness, of course, we have to see who shows up.  How much did the   Derby take out of Dortmund, a very big horse who may need longer than two weeks to recover?  Will Mubtaahij, relieved of the onus of traveling light years through the cosmos for the Kentucky race, benefit by racing twice in a row in the same country?  Will El Kabeir’s sore foot mend in time?  Whatever the answers, we’ll get a lighter race in terms of numbers, as we always do when the owners of the bottom eight or so horses come to grips with reality and place their charges in more propitious environments.  The odds on American Pharoah will be tiny.  Everyone else will be an overlay.  There will be betting opportunities galore for the discriminating investor.  With the aid of the always-dependable Flying Pie, that could be you.

 

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A Letter From Monmouth

To The Girls At Barn 4, Eisaman Equine:

Hola, chicas! 

just wanted y’all to know I finally made it up here and it’s not so bad after all.  Temperatures under 50 at night but all the way up in the 80s during the day.  We did get to watch the Derby and the track even served lemonade.  I was excited to see the big finish by my hero, American Pharoah, quite a hunk if you ask me.  The girls at the barn here tell me if you win enough races you might get to meet him in the breeding shed so I’m all out in my training, looking for that roll in the hay with the Big Guy.  (God, I’m SUCH a slut!)

Anyway, say hi to all my girls down there and tell everybody to come visit me if anybody ships this way.  The beach is only a mile down the road and the vendors there sell corn-on-a-stick and cotton candy.  This stuff is WAY better than sweet feed, though Trainer Eddie says colic is a worry.  Keep on truckin’!

Your Pal,

Serena (aka Cosmic Saint)

 

We’re Everywhere

Last week’s column was read far and wide, though regrettably neither in Klang or Honk, obviously no fans of horseracing.  We’ll get over it, happy in the knowledge that viewers showed up in: Samara, Russia, Vienna, Austria, Calgary, Canada, Stuttgart, Germany, Bekasi and Semarang, both in Indonesia; also Catania and Treviso, Italy and three cities in Japan: Chiba, Yokohama and Chuo, which, I guess, makes The Land of the Rising Sun Country of the Week.  Also, Ho Chi Minh City in Vietnam and Caotun Township in Taiwan.

Japan may be the top nation but Best City has to be Amsterdam and Top Borough is Amsterdam-Zuidoost, with a spectacular NINE viewers, all different, thank you very much.  Zuidoost means “Southeast” in those parts, so it’s easy to see what part of Amsterdam is on the ball.  We’re thinking of going over there and visiting the fabulous Heineken Music Hall or the Ziggo Dome or maybe even the fantastic Gaasperplas, an artificial lake the Dutch just decided to install one muggy day.

And speaking of everywhere, right now we’re in Johnson City, Tennessee, waiting for Siobhan’s niece, Kathleen, to graduate from medical school at ETSU.  How time flies.  We remember when she was just a little girl eating at the kids’ table and now she’s removing warts from senior citizens.  Anyway, if you’re happy you got your blog early this week, thank Kathleen.  We’re also going to visit with a previous year’s Internet Hero named Court Lewis and his lovely wife, Margaret, at their Rancho Grande in nearby Unicoi, which we think is some sort of combination of a Unicorn and a Pony.  We’re not sure what Court is doing up there, but we’re going to find out.  He has a radio program which is on every week but he plays a lot of reruns so he must have a side job.  Margaret, on the other hand, is secretive and communicates only via Court, so we want to make sure Court isn’t just making her up, which would be a grave disappointment, especially to Court.  If we notice anything interesting, we’ll take pictures.  If we don’t, we’ll take pictures anyway.  C’mon—it’s Johnson City. 

 

That’s all, folks….

bill.killeen094@gmail.com