Preakness
For the past 4 or so years, I've made the 4 hour trip down to Baltimore on Preakness Saturday. Get up early, get there by the 5th race or so, and stay till the end.
This year, I won't be going. Due to a combination of events, it just didn't work out. And while I'll watch it on TV, it's just not the same. You miss the smell of horses, however foul it may be. You miss the drunken spectacle. You miss the camaraderie.
But, most of all, you miss the races. Horse racing on TV just isn't the same. You can't appreciate how amazing these animals are, how incredibly muscular and fast they are. You can't appreciate two horses going down the stretch, side by side, stride for stride. You can't duplicate it. You can't find that exhilaration on TV.
Si, I'll sit and watch on TV. And, all the while, I'll wish I was there. Wait till next year, I guess.
Thanks for returning to The Blog of Champions!
Horse Racing: A Love Affair
I sat idly in the car, traffic halted to a stop. Car horns were blaring. Beggars on the sidewalk looking for anyway to make some extra cash. As we inched up, revolution by revolution, you could see the outline of it. Each revolution brought you a little closer to the final destination. My eyes widened a little bit. After the agonizing traffic passed, we made the turn into the parking lot, and walked towards the entrance. We were here.
You probably have no idea of where I am right now. That's okay. I'll tell you. I've just walked into the paddock entrance for the Preakness Stakes, the second leg of the Triple Crown. I'll be honest: Outside of the three Triple Crown races, I don't have much interest in horse racing. But, for three races in May and June, I become transfixed. My eyes are glued. I read everything I can. I research the horses. For three races in May and June, I am horse racing's biggest fan. This story is of my first introduction to live horse racing, the first time I've seen the fastest sport on Earth in person. This story is the beginning of my love affair with horse racing.
My cousin gave us the press passes. My cousin works for CBS in Baltimore, and he was able to pull some strings for us. I happily put on my press pass. This gave me access to everything. I could see the horses up close. I could see their muscles, their beauty. Horses are different up close. There's a certain strength to them, a certain grace to them. You don't see that on television. You don't get to appreciate the animal. You don't get to fall in love.
I've always wanted to be a sportswriter, so going up the elevator with reporters from ESPN left me star-struck. After placing our bets, we walked to the camera stand, 70 feet above the track. The track. The beautiful beige track, the pristine conditions. The track may not seem like anything special. But this track has hosted greatness. This track will continue to host greatness. This track, beige and pristine, is the symbol of greatness.
Sitting 70 feet up gives you a different view of the race. Most people at the track are in the "infield", a drunken mass of humanity. The "infield" sees the race on a big screen. I see the race from up above, watching over these beautiful horses.
There's a buzz in the air. Barbaro had just won the Kentucky Derby convincingly. He was the heavy favorite to win the Preakness as well. Everyone placed their bets on him. Not me. I went with a long shot, Bernardini. I didn't think he would win. To be honest, I just liked his name. I was rooting for Barbaro. I wanted to be a part of history.
The horses went into the starting gate. Each horse struggled with this momentary confinement, anxious to get on with the race. The crowd silenced at once, not wanting to disturb the horses. The gun fired.
"And they're off!," the track announced exclaimed, those three famous words marking the start of any horse racing. I was perched about a quarter of the way through the race. I had a perfect view of the finish line (the horses went around the track one time, and then went a quarter of the way more to the finish line. I saw the first part of the race and the finish line up close). As the horses dashed out of the gates, their hooves kicking up the pristine track, the jockeys jockeying for position, our eyes instinctively focused on Barbaro. He was the star. He was the only horse that really mattered.
The horses were heading up to our perch. All 12 horses ran in an uncanny unison, their heads bobbing as if it were one. It became hard to distinguish one horse from another. But, somehow, we knew which one was Barbaro. Our cameras ready, we again focused our eyes on Barbaro. It's now, in hindsight, that I wish I never kept my eyes on Barbaro. I wanted him to win, but I had money on Bernardini. That's who I should've focused on. Not Barbaro. Because, you see, this next moment will be ingrained in my mind for the rest of my life, unable to shake this indelible image out. But, in the moment, the only thing that mattered was Barbaro. Barbaro was in the middle of the pack, looking for an entrance to break through, to showcase that world class speed, to make a fool out of the other horses. That never happened. All of the sudden, the jockey pulls up Barbaro. Barbaro's legs bended backwards. He was down. The horse who would be great had just collapsed to the track, his career definitely over. His life was all but over as well. Barbaro was right in front of us. We had a view of the whole thing. We saw the panic in the jockey's face. Pain can be detected from anywhere, even from 70 feet up.
The race went on, but it wasn't the same. The long strides of the hoses didn’t matter. The jockeying for position didn’t matter. All eyes were transfixed on Barbaro. Would he be okay? Would he race again? Would he live? No one knew the answers to these questions. It didn't matter who won or loss. It didn't matter that Bernardini did win, and that my bet was successful. It didn't matter. Barbaro was hurt. His life. Money, wins, losses, never mattered.
There was panic in the crowd. The concern for Barbaro was immense. He made our way back down to the paddock, anxious to catch a glimpse of the hurt star, anxious to see the horse for just one more time. We didn't know if we were going to see him again. Turns out, we didn't. He had been whisked off in an ambulance, his life in danger, and they were doing everything they could to save him. We drove away, our day at the races, marred with sadness.
It turns out that Barbaro did survive, even if he did die a year later. Barbaro became a national treasure, even if he was injured and not racing. Barbaro's death was mourned by a grieving nation.
Even though my first experience with horse racing was marred with sadness, I fell in love with the sport. I fell in love with the horses. I fell in love with the strategy, the stories. I fell in love. Each year after that first race, we've made the trip down to Baltimore, got stuck in the same traffic, and took our familiar perch 70 feet up in the sky. Each year, the horses are different. The stories are different. The winners are different. But every year, there's a chance for greatness. Every year, there's a chance for history. Every year, there's a chance for something special. One year, I'll be at the second leg of a Triple Crown winner. And one year, I'll witness history.
A Bird Won At Belmont-Just Not Who We Thought
So a Bird did win at Belmont. Just not Mine That Bird. No, Summer Bird, with Kent Desormeaux at the helm, stormed from behind to beat Mine That Bird and Dunkirk to win the Belmont. There was talk that Calvin Borel made his move too early, that Mine That Bird needed to wait before exploding down the stretch. I'm not well versed enough on horse racing strategy to give you full details on what Borel should or should not have done. But I can say that, Summer Bird, Mine That Bird's half-brother, looked like him, storming down the stretch, seemingly out of nowhere. As the race was unfolding, I wanted Mine That Bird to win. I wanted Calvin Borel to get the personal Triple Crown, even though I thought I wouldn't. But, sometimes, it doesn't work out the way we want. Summer Bird, Kent Desormeaux, were very deserving. Dersormeaux has never won the Belmont-- not with Big Brown, not with Real Quiet. He needed this win. The Hall of Famer needed this win on his resume. He needed it. Horse racing needed Mine That Bird, it needed Calvin Borel, it needed a superstar. It didn't get it. It never seems to. A sport that is so gracious, so beautiful, never gets the breaks it needs to enhance its popularity. We'll have to wait until next year. Next year, a horse will captivate us. We'll hope it has the goods to win it all. Hopefully, we won't be disappointed. As a horse racing fan, I can't take it anymore.
Can Borel Get The Personal Triple Crown?
With the Belmont Stakes today, the big buzz is whether Calvin Borel can win a personal Triple Crown. He won the Derby on Mine That Bird, jumped ship and won the Preakness with Rachel Alexandra, and is ready to go to the Belmont with Mine That Bird once again. If he wins today, he will be the only jockey to win the personal Triple Crown. Can he get it? I think he can. The longer course is suited for Mine That Bird, who is one of the best finishers I have ever seen. If he had a little more length in the Preakness, he would've beat Rachel Alexandra. But if he wins, what is the reaction towards Borel? Is it one of achievement, knowing that his jockey is one of the best out there? Or is it a melancholy, knowing full well that if he stayed on Mine That Bird, there would be an excellent chance of winning the Triple Crown for horses? I might lie in the melancholy realm. If Rachel Alexandra never ran, Borel would've stayed on Mine That Bird, and would've won, and we would be having a very different discussion. I'm not discounting Borel as a jockey. He's is one of the best. Amazing talent. I think he's a bandwagon jumper. But, if Mine That Bird wins, will we be celebrating the horse, or the jockey? I don't know. And that's why this Belmont is so intriguing.
Mine That Bird Is Favored
Mine That Bird is being favored at this weekend's Belmont Stakes, with 2-1 odds. If you remember, he won the Kentucky Derby at 50-1 odds, and came in second at the Preakness. Clearly, this is an amazing horse. Now, he has Calvin Borel riding him again. I do have to be skeptical of Borel's motives. He jumped ship to win the Preakness on Rachel Alexandra. Now that she's not riding, he's back on Mine That Bird. He is clearly a front runner, band wagon jumper. But he's a hell of a jockey. And a lot of times in sports, the only thing that matters is talent. Either way, it's been an amazing journey for Mine That Bird. From obscurity to being favored. From nowhere to stardom. From humble to beginnings to fame. It's why horse racing can be so inspiring. It inspires us, even when are odds are low, to keep fighting, because we know we can beat them. We can beat the odds. Mine That Bird did. I'll be rooting for him Saturday. I haven't decided if I'll be rooting for Calvin Borel. His treason bothered me. But Mine That Bird has captured America's hearts. He's captured mine. I sure hope he wins. Sometimes, we need these stories. We need it now.
What A Sports Weekend
I guess you can say I had a great sports weekend. I've been updating a lot on my Twitter account, but I'll provide full details. Friday afternoon I get last minute tickets from my cousin to the Yankee-Twins game. Of course, I was ecstatic. Haven't been to the new stadium. This was the same cousin that I was going to go with Preakness to, so I brought a change of clothes in a backpack and was going to stay over at his apartment. This is important. Remember this. We get to the stadium, and it's majestic. They really did a a great job with it. It takes up the sky. It's breath taking. And that's just the outside. I was eager to move inside. Little did I know, it would be more difficult than I thought. Remember that backpack? Apparently, Yankee Stadium frowns upon this. They said that men are not allowed bags unless it's a diaper bag. I was flabbergasted. They didn't even search the bag! They just 'no'. Actually, they said for seven bucks I could go across the street and store my bag at a locker in a bowling alley. I'm sorry, but I'm not going to spend 7 bucks at a bowling alley, and I'm sure as hell not going to go there at 11:30 in the South Bronx. You pay so much money, how can you suggest that? Offer a place in the stadium. It's only, what, a bazillion dollars? Crazy. Luckily, we had a second bag, so we took my clothes out, rolled the bag up, and stuffed it in. We got in. I wouldn't mind if they searched it. In fact, I would prefer it. As we were talking to a guy near us who had similar difficulty with his bag, he sneaked in a bottle of vodka. So they cared that I was bringing in a t-shirt, but they wouldn't care if I had alcohol? Insane. Fortunately, this one was really the only problem with the Stadium. Besides the weird food places and shops (farmers market, art gallery) it was great. We sat way up but you could see everything perfectly. And the game was great as the Yanks came back to win. Nothing better. The food was great too. Those garlic fries are still in my dreams.
Saturday was a day at the races, and what a day it was. We got there around the seventh race (the Preakness is 12th). We walked around and saw Mine That Bird, and his trainer. It was great. The actual Preakness was outstanding. Mine That Bird came so close to winning, as he snook from behind. I couldn't believe that he came that close. He was so far behind for so long. And let's face it: Rachel Alexandra is a hell of a horse. It doesn't matter that she's a filly. She was amazing. This is a Triple Crown caliber horse. Amazing. As for Calvin Borel, who I criticized for jumping on the bandwagon earlier, you can't deny his ability. It's amazing he won two Triple Crown Races on two different horses. What a jockey. He may be a front runner but he knows how to ride a horse.
It was quite the weekend. We even saw ZZ Top outside the hotel! I have to admit that was a bit odd. But all in all, a great weekend. I hope you enjoyed the Preakness as much as I did.
Calvin Borel Changes Horses
Calvin Borel was everyone's darling last week. He won the Kentucky Derby on a 50-1 longshot. Mine That Bird was going try to win the Preakness as well. But Calvin Borel had different ideas. Rachel Alexandra, a filly, won the Kentucky Oaks by over 20 lengths. Her owners want to enter her in the Preakness. Calvin Borel rode her at the Oaks. He wants to ride her at the Preakness. Is this treason? Is Calvin Borel leaving Mine That Bird for greener pastures? He sure thinks so:
She's a once-in-a-lifetime horse
I have a problem with this. Borel is an incredible jockey, and Rachel Alexandra sounds like an incredible horse. But Borel has an obligation to Mine That Bird, to his trainer, to his owner. And while there are no contracts, something has to be said. If Rachel Alexandra wins, will we be celebrating the horse, or Borel? What if Mine That Bird wins? As a horse racing fan, you're used to seeing the same jockey on the same horse for these three important races. You get to learn their stories. You see a love affair between horse and jockey. But with Borel jumping ship, it seems like he's divorcing Mine That Bird. It seems that Borel is leaving for greener pastures at the first chance he gets. That jubilant display after winning? Maybe Borel was excited because he knew he was going to race Rachel Alexandra. How can we root for someone who is going to change when something better comes along? And as fans, shouldn't we do the same? If the jockeys (or athletes) are bandwagon jumpers ,why can't we be? Why do fans get criticized for becoming fans of the hot team, when, in reality, athletes do the same all the time. No one criticized Marian Hossa for joining the Red Wings after they won the cup. They praised him for going to a winner. Yet, when I tell a friend that I suddenly like the Suns because Shaq got traded, he laughed and called me a front runner.
I don't know the whole story. Maybe Borel knew Mine That Bird was a fluke, and he could never win again. Maybe he had an obligation before the Derby that if Rachel Alexandra was entered, he would change. Maybe everyone knew that. But I don't know. So I can only go on my gut. And my gut says Borel gave up the chance to make history, to go for the Triple Crown. As a rider, isn't that what you want? You wouldn't tell Kent Desormeaux to jump on Da'Tara before the Belmont because he knew Big Brown wasn't going to win. No. You go for history. You go for the Triple Crown. People, especially in these times, want great stories. Borel on Mine That Bird was a great story. The longshot winning is always a great story. But going from the longshot to the favorite? Not so much.
My Thoughts on the Kentucky Derby
As I wrote before, I love watching Triple Crown races. The excitement, the emotion, the storylines. This year was no different. Here is a video of the race:
First off, where did Mine that Bird come from? He was nowhere to be found for most of the race, but Calvin Borel skillfully weaved his way through the pack, when, suddenly, Mine That Bird flew down stretch. I was in shock. Watching it with some family members, I was still stunned as they were cheering. I couldn't believe it. The $9,800 horse, with a trainer just in a motorcycle accident, who drove this gelding from New Mexico to race in the Kentucky Derby, just won. Just beat the field by 6 3/4 lengths. It's surreal. It's the kind of story that makes you appreciate life just a little bit more. It's the kind of story that makes you think about how fortunes can change so quickly, how a 50-1 long shot can rise to the top in two minutes. It makes you think, 'Hey, I can do that too'. And that is what makes sports so great. It provides hope. Mine That Bird provides hope. Calvin Borel provides hope. Chip Wooley driving across the country to race a horse he knew could be great, provides hope. In the mess we've been in the past couple of months, we need hope. I think we finally have it.
Triple Crown
I don't watch horse racing. I'm really not that interested in it. But, for 3 races in May and June, I'm riveted. It starts Saturday with the Kentucky Derby, the Run for the Roses. And, when it starts Saturday, for two minutes, I will be transfixed. There's something about horse racing, that for these three races, has my undivided attention. There's something about "And They're Off!" that gets my blood pumping. I sit in front of my TV, waiting for that gun to blast, because I know, for only two minutes, I will be watching something amazing. It's history. (Usually) Every year, I head up to Pimlico to watch the Preakness. It's one of my favorite traditions. After rummaging through the drunken parade, when I finally get to see the race, I forget about the smell of beer, and I focus. I see the finish line, I see the powerful strides of every horse lunging for the end, hoping for a photo finish, hoping for drama, hoping for a second leg of a triple crown. I stood with a devastated intrigue as Barabaro limped to the ground. I stood in awe as Big Brown blew away from the field. I watched in shock as Big Brown finished last at the Belmont. Horse racing, even if it's just for three races, is something magical. It's captivating. Even for three races, even for 6 minutes, it's something amazing.
