BREEDERS CUP PICKS for the AVERAGE GOOF by Guest Blogger James McManus

So let us recap this day.  Another great Friday at the Breeders Cup.  So good to see Bill Mott take another Distaff with the brilliant ROYAL DELTA.  Of the 6 races today, we had 2 winners, 2 second place finishers and a 5th and a 6th.  If you were smart you made enough money for dinner and drinks but it was not the killing it could have been.  Yes, I'm looking at you NAHRAIN.  How did you let a 27-1 shot run by you?  And STOPSHOPPINGMARIA was almost home, but the wire is the wire and a loss is a loss.  Any day spent winning enough money to cover drinks at the track and dinner in the evening is a good day.  If today was blended scotch, tomorrow is single malt so let's get straight to Saturday and my...

BREEDERS CUP PICKS for the AVERAGE GOOF
SATURDAY'S CARD WINNERS

There is a saying in Louisville at Derby time that no matter what the weather has been like all spring, on Derby Day it is always 75 and sunny.
I have walked the tunnel at Gate 3 that separates wheat from drunk on Derby Day and can assure you that no matter what the temperature is, the infield is always .18 and runny.  If you have not experienced the infield on Derby Day, imagine all of the grass you could ever want dotted with porta potties and mint juleps.  The infield is a town unto itself.  There is a general store for ice and other items that might keep you alive, general camaraderie which usually entails someone you have never met offering you a liquor that tastes vaguely like bourbon and a general sense that for one day of the year, anything goes.  Uncle Pat loved the infield and Uncle Pat loved Derby Day.  He looked at it as 80,000 average goofs losing money and feeling good about it.  I will save the Indian Charlie story for another time as I am trying to see if I can actually tell it 1 million times orally before I lay it down in print.  Suffice to say, Uncle Pat thought the average goof would be on Favorite Trick that Derby Day in 98 and the only thing that the Donora crew knew for sure was that Pat Day would give the Trick a bad ride and that one of Baffert's two studs would be there to pick up the pieces.  Trainer Bob Baffert had won the Derby the previous year with Silver Charm and was loaded in 98 with both Indian Charlie and Real Quiet.  It was a tough call between the two and our tent was split down the middle. Our tent was also littered with human wreckage that could not have distinguished a horse from a human due to the unending kindness of Kentucky strangers, but those of us standing, well leaning, laid our cookies on one of the two Baffert horses.  Real Quiet won the Derby and Indian Charlie finished 3rd setting off a series of events that have become Donora's version of The Scottish Play.  Uncle Pat had the winner, the triple, the super and maybe he slept with Elizabeth Taylor that night also...it was that good.  I bring this up because Indian Charlie's boy, Uncle Mo, runs today in the Classic at Churchill Downs on a autumn afternoon sent to us in a postcard and he is just the type of horse Uncle Pat loved.  His breeding is impeccable, his style is that of a front runner or stalker and he just won a race with a Beyer Speed Figure higher than the average IQ.  And...he has the same first name as Uncle Pat.  But there is one Mo angle that would give Uncle Pat some pause, he liked horses who had won at the distance they are running.  This will not only be Uncle Mo's first try at 10 furlongs, he has never won past 8 1/2F and that was last year before all of the health problems of this year.  And, he has never faced competition like he will today in the Classic. And Flat Out is 5 years old and seasoned.  And Havre de Grace is the best horse in America this year.  And So You Think gives Coolmore the burly beast of a chance to take down its first Classic.  And Stay Thirsty has won at this distance and cannot like it that all of the fillies line up for his stable mate.  And To Honor and Serve just won the PA Derby and Bill Mott would not run him here unless he had a shot.  And, and, and...  WWUPD? 

BREEDERS CUP PICKS for the AVERAGE GOOF
SATURDAY'S CARD WINNERS

MARATHON (14f) 1:20PM POST TIME
This race last year gave us a fist fight after the race between jockeys Cavin Borel and Javier Castellano.  Good to get the blood flowing.  This is a quirky distance as 14 furlongs is not a commonly run distance in horse racing.  As with 7 furlong races, I like horses who have won at this odd distance such as last year's winner ELDAAFER.  I love AP INDY colts and I see no reason why ELDAAFER cannot repeat.  And at 10-1 ML, the #10 ELDAAFER will be a lovely start to the day...almost like an ice cold Penn Pilsner/Penn Dark right on top of a hangover.

JUVENILE TURF (8f) 2:02PM POST TIME
Wide open race and unless you travel to Europe to watch the ponies, most Americans have not seen the majority of this field compete.  I like the Irish bred #12 LUCKY CHAPPY off of 2 wins across the pond and a 3rd place effort at Keeneland that was better than it looked.  I don't like the post but I'm hoping the pace is hot and LUCKY CHAPPY is there at the end.  This colt is also ML 10-1.  Open these oysters gently because I'm placing pearls in there.

SPRINT (6f) 2:37PM POST TIME
Other than the Classic, the sprint is always my favorite race of the day.  I like pure speed and at 6 furlongs, there is little strategy among these colts.  The gate opens and the jockeys turn them loose to see who is fastest.  Last year BIG DRAMA got the drop on his competitors at the gate and led them all the way around.  Could it happen again?  Sure it could.  But I don't like BIG DRAMA'S campaign this year.  Too much time off before what was really a workout at Calder in September.  I will take a horse who has been running and competing all year long.  Nick Zito did a marvelous training job with JACKSON BEND to turn him from a router into one of the best sprinters in the country this year.  Yes, he lost to UNCLE MO in the Kelso, but most horses would have and he got shuffled back early.  I saw JACKSON BEND run twice at Saratoga this year and though small in stature, this colt gives everything he has.  I think his best is good enough today.  Take #5 JACKSON BEND to win with AIKENITE closing late on him.

DIRT MILE (8f) 4:01PM POST TIME
What a field!  SHACKLEFORD won a little race called the Preakness.  THE FACTOR might be the most talented horse in Baffert's barn. (Hello 1 hole again at CD.  Did Baffert badmouth blue grass in another life?)  WILBURN has won 3 in a row.  CALEB'S POSSE won the King's Bishop over UNCLE MO and TRAPPE SHOT has turned in possibly the best performance of the year in the True North on Belmont Saturday.  And I don't throw IRREFUTABLE out.  I like the fact that TRAPPE SHOT can use the 9 hole to see how things are setting up and decide how far off the pace he wants to be.  This is probably SHACKLEFORD's best distance even though he won a triple crown race this year.  I see SHACKLEFORD on the lead with THE FACTOR and as SHACKLEFORD puts THE FACTOR away, TRAPPE SHOT and CALEB'S POSSE are gunning for him.  At the wire, by a desperate nose, I see the #9, TRAPPE SHOT getting up for the win.

TURF (12f) 4:45PM POST TIME
This race has been moved out of its traditional penultimate slot partly to give GOLDLIKOVA the spotlight she deserves and partly because the American horses, well, there just aren't any with a real shot in this race.  Where are you WINCHESTER? I guess this proves that the Bluegrass Stakes at Keeneland in 10 was more a prep for this race in 11 than a prep for the Derby in 10 as STATELY VICTOR and BRILLIANT SPEED both ran in the 10 Bluegrass Stakes.  I'm going to take a chance with the Irish bred #1 ST. NICHOLAS ABBEY for trainer Aidan O'Brien.  He is 5 for 10 lifetime and I like post 1 in such a long race.  I hope he skims the rail and can find a little space turning for home.

JUVENILE (8 1/2f) 5:25PM POST TIME
#10 UNION RAGS He looks like this year's UNCLE MO.  Watch his win the Grade 1 Champagne at Belmont.  That is what a great racehorse is supposed to look like.  Only, they almost never look like that in their 2 year old year.  #10 UNION RAGS.  Bet him, take what they give you and be happy just to watch him run.

MILE (8f) 6:07PM POST TIME
What can I add to everything that has already been said about GOLDLIKOVA?  I saw her accelerate right in front of me last year and she took my breath away.  Maybe even more impressive is that GIO PONTI ran a great race last year to finish second.  I don't know what else he could have done and he was still desperately beaten.  So you're going to bet her, Jimmy?  Nope.  So you're going for GIO PONTI?  As much as it pains me, I'm not going for either.  #3 COURAGEOUS CAT almost got GOLDLIKOVA in 09 and is in great form this year.  The CAT can sit chilly behind the blistering pace that SYDNEY'S CANDY will set and pounce quickly at the top of the stretch to hold off the two great horses, GIO PONTI and GOLDLIKOVA.  On a personal note, may I say that those may be real tears at the end of this race as GIO PONTI has given me so many thrills in person and all I can give back to him is to say that I have known I was in the presence of greatness every time I strained my neck to get a look at him.  If this is his last, Godspeed in the breeding shed, GIO PONTI, I cannot wait to see your colts and fillies run.

CLASSIC (10f) 7:30PM POST TIME
I am not abstaining on the big race, but I am warning you that I have nothing but my heart up my sleeve with this pick.  I know all of the arguments against him and I even agree with some of them.  HAVRE DE GRACE and FLAT OUT are monsters who have every right to repeat what they did in the Woodward and see if the extra furlong can get FLAT OUT there.  SO YOU THINK is seasoned and a proven winner.  GAME ON DUDE is tenacious with the lead.  And UNCLE MO had a liver ailment and 7 & 8 furlong races do not prepare a horse for this distance and blah blah blah.  Well, everyone and his reasons can all go to hell.  Because I saw this horse run at Saratoga as a 2 year old and on that day he became my horse and he is still my horse.  I like everything about him.  He is a big, good looking horse who you just cannot take your eyes off of.  And he likes the lead and he likes to flash his speed and he likes to break your heart by getting sick and not letting you know if he is ok.  And he likes to come back to the winner's circle after the Kelso at Belmont and look like he could go another mile and breathe as if he would not blow out a match as you look at a horse whose muscles seem to have muscles.  And I will be watching him accelerate tomorrow and I think he's going to win.  My pick in the 2011 Classic at Churchill Downs is the #12, UNCLE MO because I believe that the blood of INDIAN CHARLIE always deserved to pass under the finish line at Churchill Downs as a winner and I believe that part of being Irish is knowing the world is going to break your heart if you put it out there, but what else is a heart for?  And I believe that UNCLE MO is the best horse in this race.  Take your average goof and he allows his heart to get in the way of his head.  To that, Uncle Pat, I say SUNDAY SILENCE.  GO MO GO!

-James McManus

Horse Race Betting Lineage and Breeders Cup Picks by Guest Blogger James McManus

The DoublePlay Sports Blog is back! After a mysterious hiatus, we have a whole series in the works starting next week, but in the meantime, take in the delightful stylings of guest blogger James McManus, who led me Virgil-like into the depths of the 136th running of the Kentucky Derby, chronicled extensively starting here. Without further ado...

I spent a lot of time as a boy at the Friendly Tavern in Donora watching the horse races on TV. Two truisms were uttered each year as the Belmont Stakes (always run a week or two before Father's Day) played above us.
"Father's Day in this town is going to be a clusterf**k."
"If you're going to lose a route race, do it with a closer who comes late."
One was said because young colts like to make nice nice with fillies and leave the matter of staying power in doubt. The other had to do with handicapping horse races. I knew who my folks were, so I concentrated on the races. A route race is one where the horses travel around more than one turn into the stretch. My Uncle Patrick always thought that as with most things in life, the crowd had it wrong. "Take your average goof lays brick for a living" was how many of his theories on life began. Take your average goof and he'll pay some jackass to tar his roof when all you need is tar and a chicken ladder. Take your average goof who thinks his wife is faithful and I'll be over his place while he's spouting off. Take your average goof who votes an actor into the White House and wonders how he lies so good. But Uncle Patrick saved a special litany of take your average goof for those who thought they could pick the horses better than he could.

He would pick me up from school on his way down to Waterford and for the one hour ride, he filled me with Take your average goofs about how not to pick the horses.
Take your average goof...
he bets on jockeys, the horse don't ride the jockey, Jimmy.
he loves him a good closer. Closers are lazy horses who run past tired ones who tried hard.
he thinks time is important, but any crazy jockey can throw the time of a race out of whack.
he don't know that 87% of races are won by horses on or near the lead.
he thinks a horse on the lead don't win is a quitter. I say any horse didn't win, quit.

On those car rides as his dirty hands barely touched the steering wheel and he punctuated every Take your average goof by pointing at someone who was NOT straight ahead where the other cars were and I sensed that he was living the life of a jockey in his old Buick as we whisked toward the track to take money from the average goof by bobbing and weaving toward his finish line, which was the betting window.

Uncle Pat had three hard and fast rules when it came to betting the horses.
1. Make them beat you. Get you a dancer out of the gate and make them all come and beat you. Even if you lose being in the lead gets the old heart pumping and a pumping heart will put lead in your pencil. (That one would escape me for a long while, until I couldn't escape it and thought about it even more than what Uncle Pat was going to tell me about the average goof.)
2. Horses that win continue to win. Most a these goofs whisper to me that the 2 horse is due cause he ain't won in 6 races. I say, he's due to lose AGAIN.
3. Class will always tell. Most a these goofs got lousy character cause their mama had bad character and whoever they think their daddy was had bad character. Bet a well bred horse. Boy is Father's day going to be a cluster around here.

For years I have kept Uncle Pat's holy trinity in mind as I dope the form. I like well bred horses who tend to run on the lead and if they won last time out I wager that they will continue to win. Uncle Pat would be proud that his philosophy has served me well through the years. I have not been the average goof at the window and some would even say, "He knows what he's doing." That year at the Friendly Tavern, Uncle Pat bet Sunday Silence to win the Belmont and give him a Triple Crown to talk about for months. It had been 11 years since Seattle Slew and as Uncle Pat was fond of saying, Slew's don't come along every day but this Silence got it all...he can stalk, good turn of foot and he won't never let that Easy Goer go by him. As they came down the stretch of the Belmont, Easy Goer blew by Sunday Silence and ruined Uncle Pat's night. He held his two dollar win ticket on Sunday Silence in the air like communion for a long long time. When he finally brought it down, he gave it to me and told me to hold the ticket and only throw it away when another horse wins the triple crown. I still have the ticket and I have had it with me through Silver Charm and Real Quiet and Smarty Jones and and and...I will hold it until the another Slew comes along.

But I am going to "break form" and do something Uncle Pat would never do and would not approve of...The Breeders Cup will be run Friday and Saturday at Churchill Downs in Louisville and although it's been years since I attended a BC with Uncle Patrick under the Twin Spires of the Downs, I remember his admonition like it was yesterday. As we walked the grounds doping the form and Uncle Pat sipped on flask whiskey, he met a friend from Donora. The friend was delighted to see Uncle Pat because as he told it, "Every horse I picked today, they should give the jockey a sandwich and a flashlight so he don't get lost coming home in the dark." He was sure that a winner was hiding in Uncle Pat's form and that a 9-1 shot from Pat would be just the bolt of lightning he needed to turn his day around. Uncle Pat shared his whiskey but not his picks. When the man walked away muttering to himself, I asked Uncle Pat why he was so stingy. "Jimmy, the average goof starts playing your horses, it's like kissing your sister." I didn't know what that meant then and I still don't. I like to think that rather than Uncle Pat being stingy, he thought telling someone else popped the magic balloon.

I am not so superstitious and in the sincere hope of helping the average goof, I am going to share my plays over the next couple of days. All of these picks work better when in Louisville, while downing a bourbon and munching on fried pickles, but if you cannot see the animals accelerate live...flip on your TV and see if I learned anything from Uncle Pat.

BREEDERS CUP PICKS for the AVERAGE GOOF
FRIDAY"S CARD WINNERS

JUVENILE SPRINT 4:10PM POST TIME
This is the 1st year for the Juvenile Sprint. Do we need a Juvenile Sprint? I don't know, but I've never met a BC race I didn't like as I saw it run. Bet the #6, SECRET CIRCLE and get your day started off with a chalk winner.

JUVENILE FILLIES TURF 4:50 POST TIME
All the money will be on the #2, ELUSIVE KATE, who has been running extremely well in Europe. But keep in mind, a 2 year old filly has never shipped over and won this race. I'm going after the #4, STOPSHOPPINGMARIA.

FILLY AND MARE SPRINT (7F) 5:30 POST TIME
This will be our BEST BET of the 2 days. TURBULENT DESCENT is 6 for 8 lifetime and her 2 losses were to IT"S TRICKY and ZAZU. I saw this horse run in The Test at Saratoga this summer and turned to my friend after she demolished the field with my jaw dropped. I doubt David Flores will have to even show her the whip. She wins by 5.

JUVENILE FILLIES (8 1/2F) 6:10 POST TIME
I'm going after a shot in this race because I am not sold on #5 or #9. The #4 MISS NETTA broke her maiden at Saratoga in late August and then ran a respectable 3rd behind MY MISS AURELIA and STOPSHOPPINGMARIA in the Frizette. The daughter of STREET SENSE should like the extra ground and I'm thinking she comes up big and for a nice price as her ML is 15-1.

FILLY AND MARE TURF (11F) 6:50 POST TIME
#5, NAHRAIN can only improve after a monster race in a Group 1 where she nosed out ANNOUNCE. I look for the same two horses to be powering toward the line late and NAHRAIN to edge ANNOUNCE again.

DISTAFF (LADIES CLASSIC, 9F) 7:30 POST TIME
Even with HAVRE DE GRACE running in the Classic and UNRIVALED BELLE retired and BLIND LUCK not running, this race still has a ton of star power. The Kentucky Oaks winner, PLUM PRETTY, the Alabama winner, ROYAL DELTA and the Coaching Club American Oaks winner, IT"S TRICKY have dueled against each other more than once. I don't believe that trainer Bill Mott thought ROYAL DELTA could win the Beldame vs HAVRE DE GRACE so I have to believe Mott thought he would run his filly against older horses in order to get her ready for this race. PLUM PRETTY ran beautifully at this race course in May and do they come any gutsier than IT'S TRICKY? With ASK THE MOON giving PLUM PRETTY some pressure on the front end, I believe it sets up for a stretch duel between IT"S TRICKY and ROYAL DELTA and I'm giving the nod to Mott and #6, ROYAL DELTA to bring home Jose Lezcano first in the Distaff. Cannot wait to see this race.

Enjoy Friday's races and look for my picks for Saturday's races (and Friday's post mortem) tomorrow morning.

Storylines for SATURDAY

Can UNCLE MO get the 10F in the Classic? Can GOLDLIKOVA get 4 in a row?
SHACKLEFORD vs TRAPPE SHOT in the Dirt Mile.
BIG DRAMA two Sprints in a row?

Don't be the average goof. See you Saturday morning for DAY 2 of the BREEDERS CUP

-James McManus

You Can't Be Twenty At Churchill Downs, Son

After a whirlwind 30 hours in Louisville, I am exhilarated and exhausted. Sunday night I came home and went to bed at 8:30 p.m., giggling about one of many silly things that had happened during my journey with Jim and Perry to the Derby. Pictures below this post.

Once I arrived at the gate at LaGuardia airport Friday morning, I met up with Jim, who passed along word that Perry's flight had been rerouted and that he would only be arriving 30 minutes before us, and thus would not have time to go to the store to pick up the supplies we needed for Churchill Downs. Fortunately, however, we landed in Indy 20 minutes ahead of schedule and were in Perry's rental car, ready to roll at 11:00 a.m. Oaks day at Churchill was already underway, but there was still time to catch Rachel Alexandra in her race, scheduled for 1:26 p.m. We zoomed down I-65 in search of a Walmart, but didn't find one until we reached Southern Indiana, near the Kentucky border, and less than 10 miles from the track. Unfortunately, we had run into traffic and even without the 20 minute stop to pick up cheap folding chairs, beer, ice and a cooler, we would have been too late to see Rachel. We missed her by half an hour. And it turned out that she lost by a head to Unrivaled Belle.

We parked in the University of Louisville football stadium parking lot, carried a beer or two with us for the 15 minute walk over the bridge and to the Churchill Downs gate. If there is an open-container policy in Louisville, I'm not aware of it, though there were plenty of police directing traffic. Friday is Oaks day at Churchill Downs on Derby weekend, and attendees were dressed in pink in support of Breast Cancer Awareness. Lots of women in pink and black dresses, with pink wide-brimmed hats were enjoying the absolutely gorgeous sunny, 85 degree day. It was almost too warm, with several people willing to trade breast cancer for skin cancer. One kind woman sitting next to us offered us her sunscreen. At one point, it was so hot, a man in jeans tried in vain to buy another man's shorts.

We added our recyclable containers to the collection forming on a barricade outside Gate 3, paid $40 cash (for which we received neither commemorative ticket nor hand stamp) and descended into the tunnel that separates the wheat from the chaff. While I am certain that there is a hierarchy among those in the grandstands and suites, for our purposes Churchill Downs was separated by those in the infield and those with seats. Denizens of the infield are the great unwashed: blue-collar folks with families, college students and others unable or unwilling to pay hundreds of dollars to sit in the grandstands and suites. The view isn't great, but the atmosphere is spectacular. The infield is massive with some paved paths criss-crossing through and around wide swaths of green grass and light brown dirt. In the center, there is a fairly large permanent restroom structure, which I never entered, surrounded by temporary food, drink and souvenir vendor stations, some no bigger than a couple of tables put together under a canopy, and others that looked like parked RVs, doling out generic fare such as funnel cakes, sausages, pizza and beer. The only items that appeared to be unique to the location were the mint juleps and the lillies, the official drink of Oaks day. It promised to be a long weekend, so I decided one ceremonial alcoholic drink would be sufficient before moving onto light beer (no microbrews here- only the big boys). Since it was Oaks day, I opted to save the mint julep for Derby day and ordered a lilly, which was a rather fruity, dark red concoction with an indistinct alcohol and a raspberry floating on top. Juleps were decidedly stronger, with a sugary sweetness paving the way for the smooth bourbon resting in the bottom of the glass, and a large stalk of fresh mint sticking out of the rim. Each drink came in its own commemorative glass. You can't bring your own glass to Churchill, but they are happy to supply you themselves. Lillies ran $9 while juleps cost $10. Beers were $7 for a 16 ounce can. Nothing like the comforts of New York-priced beverages to make me feel at home in Kentucky. A far cry from the legendary days of being able to bring in your own kegs.

Drinks in hand, we searched for our spot near turn 3, where we would be able to the horses jockeying for position just before the homestretch. We found an uninhabited plot of land within sight of the large screen that showed the betting odds and racing and settled into our new folding chairs. From this moment, around 2:00 p.m., until the last race of the day around 7:00 p.m., Jim, Perry and I would engage in a repetitive ritual of doping the racing form, debating the best horse and the best bet (not the same thing, as I so cruelly found out), sipping beverages, chatting with neighboring celebrants- many of whom were well-versed in Southern hospitality and charm, glancing at the betting boards to see the changing odds, making our way to the betting windows and then getting back to our makeshift camp in time to watch the race on the screen until the horses whizzed past on the third turn and then turning our attention back to the big screen to witness the exciting conclusion, and (in my case) cursing the bastard horse who had failed to make my early retirement dreams come true.

Scouring the racing form is a tricky business and as much objective information as you are given, there is plenty of room for interpretation, error, and the capriciousness of an animal that would probably rather be gnawing on hay than racing around in an oval on dirt. The biggest horse evaluation argument between Jim and Perry (both far more qualified and experienced aficionados than I) was the relevancy of time. Perry would point to a horse finishing a previous mile and an eighth race in one minute and 47 seconds and another horse finishing the same length in a different race in one minute and 49 seconds and conclude that the first horse was faster. Jim would counter that a horse (and jockey) only goes as fast as it needs to in order to win, so the jockey may have pulled up the horse toward the end of a five length victory in order to save some energy. The trouble, however, is that unless you've watched the race, there is no way of determining whether the horse slowed down on purpose or not. So, it's a gut feeling, or, at best, an educated guess based on the trainer's style, the jockey's reputation and common sense. In any case, I tended to ignore the times as well, instead focusing on how often the horse won or was in the money and how far off the lead he or she was, as well as what kind of competition the horse was in for previous races. Whatever I tried, however, didn't work. I pulled an 0-fer on Friday.

Some races were for maidens (horses that have never won a race) or horses that have never run a race. Sure, there are workout times and breeding and trainer information to go on, but if it were simple, the bettors would be rich, the track would go bankrupt and horse racing would cease to exist. Then there are those like me (and I suspect I am not alone), who sometimes opt to bet for value rather than the winning horse. Horse X is a 3-5 favorite? That's no fun. What about Horse ZZ, listed at 15-1? Now, cashing that ticket in would be fun! Until the favorite wins and you suddenly feel that picking up an $8 payout on a $5 bet isn't so bad.

The big race of the day was the Oaks, which Rachel Alexandra won last year before moving on to race with (and beat) the boys at the Preakness. Blind Luck was the 6-5 favorite. Of course, I did not bet on her, and she won in a photo finish over Evening Jewel (one of many horses I considered and backed off of throughout the day). A truly fantastic race with a come-from-behind victory for Blind Luck and a dramatic wait for the official results. From where we were in the infield, we could see very little actual racing, but what we could see was phenomenal. We're standing track-level and can hear the thundering of the horses coming up stretch and heading into the turn and in a blink they're gone and it's back to watching on the screen.

After the final race, we leisurely strolled back through the tunnel and out the gates to the parking lot, wiping sweat from our pink flesh and planning the night ahead. Jim had recalled an area of Louisville that he had been to before, called the Highlands, which is a street with Irish bars pressed up against residential houses. We settled into Flanagan's for a well-earned dinner, which was rather unfortunately served on paper plates. The beer, however, was cool and refreshing and we popped across the street to Molly Malone's for a nightcap, expertly slipping through the layers of bouncers collecting cover charges, before retiring to our shelter across the river in Clarksville, Indiana.

The America's Best Inn and Suites earns its name in the same way that Miller High Life is the self-referred Champagne of beers. Our room featured floor-to-ceiling windows with a giant crack down the middle of it, cobwebs above our beds, mattresses covered in plastic that roared like a crashing wave whenever you turned over, and a breakfast buffet featuring chocolate chip cookies and Ho-Hos. And still it was $120 a night. Hotels and motels closer to Churchill Downs were going for over $300 a night. Fortunately, we didn't spend much time in our room.

Saturday morning the rain came down. Hard. It had rained all night an wasn't letting up. Despite getting up by 7:00 a.m., we felt no urgency to get to the track by 8:00 a.m. to claim a spot. We drove to the Cracker Barrel near the track and were surprised to find no wait for a table for breakfast. We got a prime parking spot in the football stadium lot and traveled over the bridge again, bottles of courage in hand at 10:00 a.m. While we were tempted to pack beer into our folding chair cases to sneak in (we weren't patted down at all on Friday), we decided against it to avoid delays with security or possible expulsion. I felt strangely vindicated when my chair was strip-searched upon entry and there was nothing in it. Truth had set me free and it made me feel old.

The rain had turned the infield into a mud pit overnight. Far more people were there on Saturday than Friday. Far more college students. Most people were covered in ponchos rather than the festive dresses, suits and hats traditionally associated with the Derby. And the shenanigans were instant. It didn't take too long before people mounted the double row of port-o-potties, stumbling and bumbling from one end to the other while crowds gathered to hurl cans and bottles (some full) at them. Jim even saw a folding chair fly across. It might have been my folding chair, which was rudely taken from its spot while I was up placing a bet. Innocence felt lost. Later, as we were gathering our belongings to leave, I discovered that my collectible mint julep glass had also been snatched. Thankfully, Perry kindly offered me his, restoring some faith in humanity.

The running of the urinals is a curious ritual. The runner often injures him or herself, falling on top of the port-o-johns, being trampled by those running behind them, getting nailed by thrown objects, or being slammed to the ground by waiting police officers at the finish. And yet, people continued to do it all day long. Others preferred to roll out their slip n' slide tarps or wrestle in the mud as the rain poured down. I stood around and watched and took photos, bemused by it all, with zero interest in partaking.

Meanwhile, races continued to be run, even on the wet dirt. Races scheduled to be run on turf moved to the more stable dirt for the safety of the horses, but wreaked havoc on handicapping efforts. I came into Derby day with a new strategy of trying to bet on the horses I thought would win, no matter the odds, rather than trying to catch lightning in a bottle with a hare-brained exacta or trifecta scheme, which had failed me on Friday. Right away I nailed the first two races and was feeling good about putting some money into my pocket rather than the other way around, even if the bets were small. Unfortunately, the luck stalled from there, as I only won one more race the rest of the day. With over 90 minutes between the 10th race and the 11th race (the Derby), I still was unable to pick a winner, as Jim and I decided that Lookin' at Lucky was the best horse in the field and had the best chance of beating a disadvantageous post position on the rail. Furthermore, the favorite was being offered at 7-1 odds, which was just too good to pass up. The skies had cleared and the sun came out just as the horses were being paraded to their gates, just to taunt those of us who had endured 8 hours of rain while the rest of the world watched comfortably on their television sets. Unfortunately, Lookin' at Lucky never recovered from two early bumps and finished sixth, while Super Saver rocketed to the win.

Disappointed, we looked around us and the carnage we were standing in. Plenty of people had passed out before the Derby and never saw the race. Their friends woke them up as tents and canopies were broken down and carried out. There were still two more races to go, but most had had enough. We placed one more bet on the 12th race and, losers again, left through the crowded tunnel as teenagers poured in to help clean up the wreckage. They must have been from some volunteer organization because they were much too cheerful to be on cleanup duty on a Saturday night.

We returned to our parking spot, where we tailgated for awhile, waiting for the traffic to clear. Here, we had the most fun moment of the trip. It involved parallel conversations too complicated and inane to describe here, but which had us doubled over in laughter. Just the three of us, on the bumper of a car and a beer in hands. This is what the trip to Louisville was about. Yes, we reveled in the open air sunshine on Friday, not a care in the world, privately taunting those who were spending their Friday at work, while we were seated comfortably with a cold beverage at our lips, chatting with strangers and watching beautiful animals race by with the hope of winning big. And yes, we enjoyed thrusting ourselves in the middle of over 155,000 people on Saturday to watch the biggest horse race in the world. But, there was something about the infield that left me feeling hollow.

All the youthful exuberance, the running of the urinals, the mud wrestling, the beer funneling, none of that was mine. I watched as an outsider, perhaps looking at some extreme version of my younger self. I'm married now; I have a child who is turning one tomorrow. I have no desire to push the limits of sense and safety. Two months ago, I found myself at a beer garden in Queens with Perry and Jim, catching up and monitoring the Kansas-Northern Iowa basketball game in the background. We turned our backs for a few minutes and our pitcher of beer was gone. Trustworthy-looking neighbors pointed out the culprits. We confronted them and they denied it with a menacing sneer. I wanted badly to fight them, to stand up for myself and to assert myself as a man. Instead, I quickly calculated the sequence of events that would follow my first punch and decided that dragging my wife and baby out of bed to get me out of jail or the hospital wasn't worth it. And so I walked away toward the subway headed for home, a beer or two earlier than planned, alternating between feelings of incensed rage and utter confusion.

Later Saturday night, after the rain, after the Derby, after the laughter in the parking lot, and after another disappointing dinner in a different Irish bar in the Highlands, we sat at our table, exhausted, winding down with half-full cups of beers we would never finish. A two-person cover band set up their equipment and began to play. The sound was awful and what resulted was perhaps the worst rendition of a Neil Young song I had ever heard. Through the pained warbling, though, I heard this:

"It's so noisy at the fair
But all your friends are there
And the candy floss you had
And your mother and your dad.

Oh, to live on Sugar Mountain
With the barkers and the colored balloons,
You can't be twenty on Sugar Mountain
Though you're thinking that
you're leaving there too soon,
You're leaving there too soon."

I am not a too-old twenty year-old, as Young was when he wrote this song, but I am a thirty-four year-old husband and father, and my fun is different now. The experience at the Derby was a blast and I am thrilled and thankful for the opportunity to have gone. While the races served as a setting and the plot, it was the characters of Jim, Perry and myself that I enjoyed the most.

Me and Jim in the Sun on Oaks Day

Horse Hat on Friday

Friday Costumes on Oaks Day (Perry Reaches For Drink)

Closest View of the Horses at Turn 3 on Friday

Me and Jim in the Rain on Derby Day

Slip, Sliding Fun at the Derby

Sashaying of the Urinals

Mopping Up Blood With a Hat After Running of the Urinals

Mud Wrestling, Derby Style

Mud Man at the Derby

Wake Up And Clean the Mud Out of Your Ears, For God's Sakes!

Racing Rachel

Tomorrow, the odyssey to my bluegrass heaven begins, but the biggest race of the weekend may not even be between the rails. As I've mentioned previously, the majestic filly Rachel Alexandra will be running on Friday. However, her race's post time is scheduled for 1:26 p.m. Jim and I land at 11:02 a.m.- in Indianapolis. Fortunately, Perry will already be waiting outside in his most dapper driver's cap, waiting to whisk the three of us down the interstate. It's 131 miles from the Indy airport to Churchill Downs in Louisville. With any luck, we'll get to the gate on time, run through the airport like O.J. Simpson, and be on the road no later than 11:30 a.m. That leaves us less than two hours to get there, park, navigate the crowd, and rush as close to trackside as possible to see this beauty run. In the best of circumstances, we'd even be able to lay a bet down, but that might be asking too much. Early morning line on us getting there on time is 50-1. If we make it, I vow to crown Perry with a garland of pink lillies. But, if we are late, weep no more for us. Stay tuned for stories and pictures to come after the weekend.

I'm Going To Kentucky, I'm Going to the Fair...

The long-anticipated adventure to Kentucky is almost here and I am giddy with excitement. It has been two and a half months since Andrea surprised me with this gift on Valentine’s Day, which has bought her a lifetime of “You have the coolest wife ever” platitudes by my friends. I have previewed several races involving Derby contenders and conspired with my fellow explorers Jim and Perry to plot out the course of our weekend. The racing and the atmosphere, if not the weather, promise to be fantastic. Here’s the plan:

Friday, April 30th- Jim and I board an 8:30 a.m. flight from New York to Indianapolis, where we will meet up with Perry, who will have already landed, rented a car and fetched supplies by the time we arrive at 11:00 a.m. We will then drive the 130 miles from Indy to Louisville, hopefully in less than two hours. Not the most convenient way to get to Churchill Downs, but it was the cheapest, and I’d rather donate my money to predatory establishments of gambling than the airline industry.
We will hightail it down I-65 as fast (and legally) as we can in order to catch as much of Oaks day at the track as possible. Oaks day is for the ladies (and the fillies) and will have some fine races, including the La Troienne Stakes, with Rachel Alexandra scheduled to run. As of last year, the Oaks has added to its long history of traditions by dedicating its day to Breast Cancer Awareness, calling for all attendees to wear pink. I plan to wear my daughter’s bib if I fail in my attempt to fit into a onesie.
After the races are over, we plan to soak in the Derby weekend nightlife in Louisville’s finest establishments, but not too late into the night because…

Saturday, May 1st-
At the track by 8:00 a.m. The first race doesn’t go off until 10:30 a.m., but it’s a land rush for those who want to watch the action from the infield. Unlike at Belmont Park, Churchill Downs permits, nay encourages, attendees to watch/party/bet in the infield. Rather than sitting in reserved seats and wearing silly hats, we will be among the people, the real horse lovers and racing aficionados, and of course, the Runners of the Urinals. I have witnessed the Running of the Bulls in Pamplona, but this tradition has a decidedly American flair to it. In any case, 80,000 people fill the infield on Derby day, so it behooves us to stake our claim to a plot of land near the third turn, where we can see the horses make their move. Throughout the day, we plan to study the forms, argue nonsensically about who will win each race and how to bet, change our minds at the betting windows, watch the races and refresh ourselves. Rinse and repeat 13 times (there are actually two more races after the Derby, allowing for ample opportunity to leave empty handed).

It’s going to be another crowded field for the Derby, as 20 horses are currently scheduled to run. There will be some scratches (Wood Memorial winner Eskendereya has already been ruled out), reducing the traffic on the dirt a little bit, but there will be lots of studying to do for this race. The post position draw was held today, which was done randomly rather than the usual double tier selection process. Here are a few of the contenders to look out for:

Lookin’ at Lucky- After getting squeezed out on the rail during the Santa Anita Derby, favorite Lookin’ at Lucky is going to have to dig his way out from crowd on the rail again because he drew the 1 spot. This is going to make it very difficult to get clear unless he shoots out of the gate well in front and hopes to go wire to wire. Otherwise, he’ll have to navigate traffic and I didn’t like the way Garrett Gomez ran him in California. There are too many other quality horses for me to feel confident about this one, even if he is the early favorite at 3-1.

Sidney’s Candy- The recipient of Gomez’s gaffe, Sidney’s Candy won the Santa Anita Derby in impressive fashion, even slowing down near the end to save himself for Louisville. However, he drew the far outside post at number 20 and is going to have to work harder to get around the turn without putting on too much extra mileage from that spot. Sidney’s Candy is listed at 5-1, which looks fair to me.

Stately Victor- The longshot winner at Keeneland for the Blue Grass Stakes in Lexington, Stately Victor romped to the winner’s circle. He’s been hit-or-miss through his career, but he now has two wins to his credit and I like him again this Saturday, especially at the 6 spot, just outside of Line of David and Super Saver. And at 30-1 odds, I am going to have a hard time resisting that payoff.

Line of David- The winner of the Arkansas Derby won wire-to-wire, and looked strong in doing so. The biggest knock on Line of David is that he ain’t seasoned on dirt, with only that one race under his belt. But at 30-1, I like his value, especially at the 5 gate.

Super Saver- Finishing second at Oaklawn in Arkansas, he spent most of the race looking up the ass of Line of David before losing by a nose. He’ll be running inside of Line of David at number 4, but I’m just not sure he’s a closer, even though his odds are better at 15-1.

Awesome Act- Finishing third to Eskendereya in the Wood Memorial isn’t something to be ashamed of, but it was a small field of six horses, and the European took his time getting toward the front of the pack. I have doubts about how he’ll handle a crowded field at Churchill, though the 16 spot won’t hurt him as much as the 20 spot will hurt Lookin’ at Lucky. I could easily see Awesome Act biding his time in the back of the pack and pacing into the money, but I’m not sure he’s a winner in this field. Could be a trifecta box pick at 10-1.

Devil May Care- The lone filly in the race, she has a nice position at 11, but she’s owned by Todd Pletcher, the Susan Lucci of horse trainers. None of his 24 previous entries have won the Derby. She is getting a lot of buzz at 10-1, but a filly hasn’t won the Derby since ’88, so she has a lot of history against her.

Keep an eye out for all of these horses, as well as Paddy O’Prado and Dublin, if you decide to tune in to NBC on Saturday from 5:00-7:00, with post time scheduled for 6:24 p.m. ESPN is covering the earlier races from 11:00 a.m. to 4:00 p.m. And if you’re a ladies man (or woman), catch the Oaks on Bravo on Friday at 5:00 p.m.

As for me, I’ll be catching it all live, up close and personal. A dream come true.

Rhymes with Horses' Tails

After my experience at the ’97 Belmont Stakes, I kept a passing interest in horse racing.  I would make a point to watch the Triple Crown races on TV, but not much more.  Sure, there was the occasional Preakness party hosted by a Baltimore friend, coupled with brief trips to an OTB, but no real investment in the sport until I met Jim. 

Jim is a fellow writer who started graduate school in Pittsburgh a year after I did, so we did not meet until the fall of 2004.  Over many beers these past 5+ years, Jim would regale me with tales of his father, which 85% of the time involved a horse.  More specifically, the shenanigans Jim, Sr. and his buddies would get into on the way to, at and on the way home from various horse races.  These stories are not mine to tell, and if I wrote them they would lack the style, charm and romance of the storyteller.  Also, you would not believe a word of it.  The “Horseshit Tales of Jim and Jim, Sr.” are so outrageous, so hilarious and so tragic, they put the Bible to shame.  And not unlike the Bible, the parishioner is not asked to test the limits of physical possibility, but rather to believe in something Greater.  It does not matter if our eyes have never seen a 100 year-old woman give birth, a sea split in two, or a man walk on water.  These things simply happened and there were witnesses to tell the tale afterwards.  It does no good to debate the truth, for doubt only ruins the story.  Instead, choose to believe and thy will be enlightened.  And so it is with the “Horseshit Tales.”  I love them and I believe them because they fulfill a missing part of my soul.  And because I am already damned to Hell for having listened to them.

After graduate school, I moved to New York.  After a year in the city, I met Andrea, the woman who would be my wife.  It would be three weeks between that meeting and our first date.  First, there would be Saratoga.  The day after meeting Andrea, I left to go on a family vacation to visit my sister in Portland and celebrate my father’s 60th birthday (and make a side road trip with my brother to Vancouver and Seattle).  A few days after my return, I was scheduled to pick up an award at a film festival on Cape Cod.  Sensing the geographical possibilities, I accepted an invitation from Jim to attend a couple of days of racing at Saratoga with his friend Perry before heading to Massachusetts.

Jim was driving from Pittsburgh to Perry’s house upstate and the two of them were to meet me at the train station in Albany, and then head over to our hotel to prepare to attend my First Communion at the Saratoga Cathedral.  Perry is a professional Native American storyteller and between the two of them, my ears were burning with the heat rising from the horseshit.  Or was it the actual 95-degree heat wave that flooded the Saratoga racetrack like a plague, thereby cancelling the day’s races for the first time in 130 years?  Stunned, Perry and Jim decided that the only plausible way to salvage the day was to spend it in the most depressing place on earth: the Albany OTB.

Having never previously been to Saratoga, I could not fully appreciate the stark contrast this dank pit of a bettor’s palace held.  Saratoga Race Course, for those who have not been, is the Garden of Eden.  Surrounded by lush green grass and tall oak trees shading communal picnic tables, the track itself is in marvelous shape, with an inviting apron from which to watch the action thundering mere yards away.  It was worthy of a stop on a road trip to Montreal with Andrea the following year.  The Albany OTB is where the next overzealous religious cult should hold its mass suicide.  Now, it could be that everyone in there that day was depressed that the Saratoga races had been cancelled, and were therefore forced to bet on harness racing at such luminous tracks as those in West Virginia, Delaware and New Jersey, but I’d be surprised if the mood changed much from day to day.  It’s actually quite a large venue, almost like a converted strip club, with dozens of 13-inch screens trained on various races, some of them not even live.  After a few miserable hours, we decided we’d be better off stripping naked and scraping our privates across the hot gravel of the parking lot, and then going back to our hotel room to drink, play cards and pray for cooler horses to prevail the next day. 

And it was evening and it was morning, a second day.  The weather cooled a bit and Saratoga rejoiced.  We arrived at the track just before the first races, lugging in a cooler filled with sausages, cheeses and, of course, beer.  Perry and Jim patiently refreshed my memory on how to read a Racing Form, while somewhat cheerfully bickering back and forth about which horses were going to win, a delightful ritual that continued throughout the day.  Meanwhile, I took in the gorgeousness of the track and the picnic area and the festivities that surrounded me, drinking beer, making several uneducated guesses as to which horse might win and which horse might win me a lot of money, nervously placing bets at the betting window and then wandering onto the apron to watch the race unfold exactly the opposite of how I predicted, and then repeated the entire procedure eight or nine more times until the last horse limped across the finish line and the crowds headed to the parking lot to continue their partying in the town of Saratoga Springs.  I have since returned twice to Saratoga, once with Jim and Perry and once with Andrea.  There are few summer days so glorious as one spent on the shaded grass of Saratoga.  From the tales I have been told, Louisville is a whole other animal.  I look forward to forging my own tales, with Perry, Jim and (if I am lucky) Jim, Sr. himself as witnesses.

Running For the Roses on Valentine's Day

My wife continues to amaze me.  In the past year, she has given birth, moved twice (once while pregnant and once with a 5 month-old), started a new job, and come through it all relatively intact.  Then, this past Valentine's Day, she went beyond the beyonds.  A gift no married man (let alone father) dare dream of, for fear of psychological institutionalization.  Yes, my wife gave me her unsolicited blessing and a plane ticket to attend the 2010 Kentucky Derby.  With two friends whose reputations for the perpetuation of general nonsense precede them.  On the weekend before our daughter's first birthday.  I don't know if I could have reacted more enthusiastically if she had told me that Gisele was going to use our apartment for a week-long lingerie fashion shoot.  I leaped up from the table at the restaurant and nearly knocked her over with my embrace.  This called for celebration.  This called for bourbon.

As the romantic dinner at our favorite intimate restaurant in Brooklyn Heights continued, and the glow showed no signs of wearing off, I began to wonder to myself: "Why am I so damn happy?"  I wouldn't call myself a hardcore horse racing fan by any means.  Yes, I have been to the track a handful of times in my life, and I know how to read a Racing Form, but it isn't something that I keep up with daily, like I do baseball and football, or even casually, like basketball and soccer.  I have never especially wanted to attend a Super Bowl, unless the Patriots were involved, and even then, I've had four chances in the past decade and I never once bothered to cruise eBay for tickets.  Sure, they would have been out of my price range, but I was a dumb 26 year-old when they won Super Bowl 36 in 2002 in New Orleans, where my parents live and am generally allowed to stay free of charge.  Surely, if there is any time to toss away $500-$1000 on a Super Bowl ticket, it's then.  "Eh," I reasoned, "The seats will probably suck.  Better to watch on TV."  A World Series game?  Sure, if the Red Sox are involved.  Did I bother in 2004 or 2007?  No.  So, what is it about watching 20 or so horses I've never heard of race for two minutes that has me so pumped?  For one thing, Touch Gold.

In 1997, I took a summer job in New York before my senior year of college at Washington University.  I was crashing on the futon in my brother Adam's one-bedroom walk-up apartment in the East Village and ready for my first 21 summer in the city.  My brother's friend is a bit of horse aficianado and they invited me to attend the Belmont Stakes.  I had never been to a horse race before and now I was going to a Triple Crown race.  Not only that, the city was abuzz about Silver Charm, who had won the Derby and the Preakness and was the favorite to take the first Triple Crown since Affirmed in 1978.  We took a train to Belmont Park, which I had no idea was near the city, let alone virtually in Queens.  Until this point, I had refrained from raising one of my main concerns for fear of seeming uncool: "How much am I going to have to pay to get into the Belmont Stakes?"  Surely, Adam's friend had gotten us tickets in advance and I would have to come up with the cash eventually, somehow, but how much?  I mean, it's a Triple Crown race!  With an actual Triple Crown at stake.  Could it be $100?  $200?  $500?  We get to the ticket booth and the moment of truth arrives.  The ticket man says "Two dollars."  Excuse me?  Two bucks to get into the biggest sporting event the entire world is talking about?  God bless horse racing!  God bless America!

We get in and I am stunned to learn that the Belmont Stakes will not take place for another 6 hours.  What am I to do in the meantime?  Learn to bet the ponies, of course.  Adam and his friend try to teach me the racing form, but like any natural gambler, I am only interested in the big payoff.  Who cares if a particular horse is favored to win me $3 if I bet $2?  I want the horse that will set me for life if it wins!  50-1 odds?  Come on down!

By the time the showcase race rolled around, I had wised up a bit, but I still wasn't onboard with betting Silver Charm and his paltry payout.  I was conflicted because wouldn't it be more fun to bet on the horse that could make history, the one everyone was here to see?  Instead, I bet Touch Gold, who was among the favorites, but promised a bigger payday than Silver Charm.  Little did I know that I had made the best choice of all.  Not just because Touch Gold won, spoiling the Triple Crown bid, but because "Touch Gold" is so much more fun to say roughly 156 times in succession as he's turning into the homestretch with a two dollar ticket in your hand.  Caught up in the excitement of the moment, surrounded by thousands of people, the only natural thing to do is repeat the name of the horse over and over again throughout the race.  It was then that I was hooked.  But, that is only a small part of why this year's Kentucky Derby race excites me so much.  The other part belongs to my friend Jim, who I will be going with, along with another friend, Perry.  The story of Jim deserves its own blog post, coming soon.