“Overconfidence is a slow and insidious killer.”
When Superman first arrived in Metropolis, the citizens were awestruck by his talents. Whether he was challenged with single-handedly expunging crime from the city’s streets, plucking menacing asteroids out of the sky or defeating yet another supervillain’s plot for world domination, the Man of Steel proved equal to the task. There was nothing this super man couldn’t do, no problem too great, no trial too taxing for his considerable powers. After all, Superman possessed X-Ray Vision, which allowed him to see through solid objects, the power of flight, which permitted him to travel from Bolivia to Baton Rouge in seconds, the superhuman strength to crush mountains and a virtual invulnerability to physical harm, whether it be from bullets or bulldozers. The Man of Tomorrow was nobody to fool around with. As Jim Croce famously said, “You don’t tug on Superman’s cape.”
Unless, perhaps, you have a bucket of Kryptonite at your disposal. Yes, Kryptonite, the ore form of a radioactive element from Superman’s home planet Krypton, flung into space when Krypton exploded and somehow finding its way to Earth in alarming quantities, landing in places apparently known only to bad guys. Exposed to the deadly Kryptonite, Superman is but a shadow of his old self, weak and slobbering as a Bowery bum, waiting for rescue by the likes of puny Earth people like Jimmy Olsen and Lois Lane, for crying out loud. This Kryptonite is bad stuff. Left unattended, it can be toxic.
We have our own form of Kryptonite in the racing business. It’s called Overconfidence, and some supervillain obviously dumped a bit of it in trainer Doug O’Neill’s neti pot before the Preakness Stakes. The conditioner of superhorse Nyquist admitted after the race, “I didn’t think we could get beat, to be honest with you,” and the favorite’s handlers acted like it. Jockey Mario Gutierrez immediately gunned the favorite out of the gate and into the lead, ignoring the speed-favoring propensities of his rivals. Unlike the Kentucky Derby, which was littered with closers, the Preakness featured a number of horses which preferred to run on or near the lead. In the earlier race, Nyquist’s rider was content to sit just off a suicidal early pace set by Danzing Candy and take over in the stretch to win. Even so, Nyquist’s close attendance to a pace which featured a half-mile in 45.72 seconds left him tired at the end, though able to hold off a late-charging Exaggerator by a length-and-a-quarter. Danzing Candy finished an exhausted 15th.
Perhaps O’Neill thought his new rivals would recognize the futility of dueling on the front end with his champion. Maybe the trainer felt if Nyquist roared to an early lead he could control the pace. And he might have been right if it weren’t for a kamikaze named Uncle Lino, who sped from the gate and went stride for stride in the early going with Nyquist, getting his head in front by the first turn. At this point, Gutierrez recognized the danger and attempted to get his horse to rate as he had in the Derby. Too late. Nyquist, having been sent at the start was having none of this change of plans, charging back into the lead with a half-mile in 46.56. If that seems okay in light of the faster Louisville half, consider the shape of the race track, a sea of mud.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, rider Kent Desormeaux on Exaggerator was having a pleasant day at the races, having taken a path along the rail which no one else wanted. His brother, trainer Keith, was perplexed. “I don’t mind telling you I was worried,” he said. “I didn’t know what Kent was doing down there. It looked like the deepest part of the track.” Not so, said Kent. “I warmed up along the rail,” he pointed out, “and it was fine. I had a dream trip. I was on the fence and they all stayed wide. These turns, you want to paint the fence. We did, they didn’t and, not for nothing, knowledge is power.” Kent Desormeaux has never been shy in discussing his abilities. But this time—and not for nothing—his plan might have won him the race. Exaggerator took far fewer strides than his competitors and it paid off.
Nyquist eventually passed a staggering Uncle Lino, who wound up seventh and was hauled back to his barn in a horse ambulance, the victim of his folly. Weakened by the long battle, the champ grudgingly gave way to Exaggerator in mid-stretch and was nosed out for second by a look-what-I-found Cherry Wine, who blew up everyone’s ticket. While most race analysts talked about the winner’s love for a sloppy race track—and there is no doubt he enjoys the mud, as also evidenced in his mammoth Santa Anita Derby performance—this Preakness was more about the old saw, “Pace makes the race.” If Nyquist had repeated his Kentucky Derby tactics, waiting to attack until late, it might have been a different story. If Gutierrez had decided to utilize the rail, we might have seen another outcome. But maybe not. Exaggerator is an excellent racehorse in his own right. He stayed far closer to the front in this race and had less to do at the end. He handles all surfaces well and his pedigree suggests that the longer distance of the Belmont will be no problem. With Nyquist declared out of that race earlier this week after coming up with a fever and a high white blood cell count following the Preakness, Exaggerator becomes a huge favorite to annex the third gem of the Triple Crown and possibly the three-year-old championship. The Belmont field without Nyquist would appear to offer no significant challengers. Why, it’s almost enough to make a man….Overconfident!
A Florida Man Needs No Introduction
In ancient times, the University of Florida used that bit of braggadocio to pump up the quality of its male students. In latter days, it has become apparent from a simple scan of the morning newspaper or any of Carl Hiaasen’s novels that the sentence still applies, although for vastly different reasons. Florida could now justly be called “The Wacko State,” thanks to characters like the group below.
Have you ever tuned in to the July Fourth Nathan’s Coney Island Hot Dog Eating contest and wondered if this would be the day someone would finally eat himself to death? How can Joey Chestnut not be comatose—at least—after ingesting SIXTY hot dogs? Well, it’s finally happened, folks, only it wasn’t in New York. Nope, our beloved Florida holds that honor after good old Eddie Archbold, 32, choked and died while gobbling dozens of roaches and worms during an insect-eating contest in otherwise boring Deerfield Beach. Eddie beat out 30 other damned fools in a valiant effort to take the grand prize, a lovely ball python. Nobody told us whether the runner-up now inherits the snake.
Benjamin Seigel, whose reptile store sponsored the contest, called Archbold “a super nice guy” and “the life of the party.” Ben was too modest to mention that he was often the life of the party himself, a fact attested to by his later arrest for smacking employees around with a bearded dragon lizard. Apparently things are picking up in Deerfield Beach.
Meanwhile, over in usually sedate Naples, Bob Pekar, 52, was busy pestering a neighbor lady on Ingraham Street. First Pekar jumped in her pool, then sat in her fire pit, rubbing ashes all over his face. After that, Bob jumped up and ran around the block, claiming to be a 400-year-old Indian. Eventually, he returned to the lady’s driveway, wished everyone a happy New Year and drove off in the woman’s car, promptly crashing it and fleeing from police. He was ultimately found swimming in a lake at a nearby subdivision and hauled back to the Reservation.
In Jupiter, 18-year-old Danny Laneve and his highschool dropout girlfriend decided it might be a good idea to try some of this LSD stuff. It must have been pretty decent acid because Laneve immediately tossed off all his clothes and began running around screaming that everyone was going to die, smashing mirrors and breaking windows. Naturally, some spoilsport called the cops. When they arrived, they found Danny and the girlfriend “in a daze,” wildly swinging their arms at one another. When he saw the police, Laneve ran toward them and, when told to get on the ground, complied by falling backwards. His love interest than ran over to help and Danny bit her on the finger. He was finally sedated, hobbled and taken to the hospital. One of the neightbor kids was duly impressed. “Where can I get some of that stuff?” he wanted to know.
In Delray Beach, a man doing work on his lawnmower was beckoned over by Jose Rodas Flores, 27. When the guy puttered over, Flores pulled a machete from his jeans and started chasing him. The Lawnmower Man tootled away but Jose jumped on a nearby bicycle and took pursuit, soon tumbling off due to alcohol-induced incoordination. Deputies found Rodas Flores hiding at his nearby residence in nothing but his boxers. The machete is still missing.
In never-a-dull-moment Daytona, Volusia County Fire Services Battalion Chief Michael Inglett was headed to the station when he noticed crazy old Richard Keefer, 35, running down the middle of the road. Richard, high on bath salts, decided it might be a good idea to dive head-first onto the hood of an approaching Kia, which left three nasty dents on the thing, not to mention a large crack on the center portion of the windshield. The Kia driver lurched to a stop and started screaming and Chief Inglett pulled over to assist. When he got there, Keefer was sprawled on the hood, uncommunicative, so the fireman called the cops. Infuriated, the hood-jumper grabbed Inglett’s uniform shirt and slapped him, refusing to let go. The Chief punched him in the face but Richard hung on so Inglett whacked him with his radio. Two sympathizers soon showed up and helped subdue the perp. Keefer was charged with failure to appear on a retail theft charge, battery on a firefighter and criminal mischief on a Kia.
Two West Palm Beach nitwits are facing charges for spending the night with an owl. Authorities even have the film (taken by the nitwits) to prove it. The video shows the two driving around drunk at 3 a.m. “’bout to take this thing home and eat it up just found it in the road.” The two are then heard laughing about how they just wanted to take the bird for a ride. Even though they eventually let the owl go, the species, the Great Horned Owl, is protected and the bird molesters are facing charges. Meanwhile, the owl has a great story to tell.
Last and least, silly John Arthur Benedict made a big mistake in Lee County the other day. Benedict, who is 69 and should know better, was driving around in his white Ford Crown Victoria, replete with strobe lights, a spotlight and “police interceptor markings,” having a fine old time stopping people just for the hell of it. Unfortunately for John, one of the cars he stopped was occupied by two undercover detectives in an unmarked Sheriff’s Office SUV. Benedict thought the stop was all in good fun and tried to pass it off as a senior moment but the cops were not amused. They locked him up and impounded his vehicle pending forfeiture proceedings. John Arthur is out on bond looking for some strobe lights.
(Thanks and a tip o’ the Hatlo hat to Court Lewis for his detective work.)
The Time Is Nigh
One month til the Big Wedding, if you can call a ten-minute ceremony Big. They’re warming up the mules at the Grand Canyon for the Honeymoon trip to the bottom, and from what I hear the 7 1/2 hour descent is no honeymoon, especially if you wind up with a mule which likes to live on the edge. After that, it’s a couple days in Sedona, then off to Monument Valley, where we’re hoping to meet John Wayne. Big John, like Elvis, tired of it all decades ago and quietly disappeared deep into Navajo Territory, leaving it to his minions to fake his demise. We’ll be back by the Fourth of July to make sure the neighbors don’t run our horses through the fences with booming firecrackers. Sooner or later, we’ll post the info on the wedding so the six of you who are interested can watch it live. My sister Alice promises to wave to all you Republicans out there so that alone should be worth the price of admission.
That’s all, folks….
