Head West, young man: Mine That Bird flies to Goodwood

As reported on NTRA.com, Kentucky Derby winner Mine That Bird will be targeted toward the Goodwood at Santa Anita on October 11th for his next start in preparation for the Breeders' Cup Classic.

I would like to take a moment out here to applaud the connections of Mine That Bird. Though he has proven to be as hardy a little gelding as they come, the Bird has had a grueling campaign this year and deserves a break. He has raced continuously since February, only skipping the months of April and July, and ran every single race of the Triple Crown, finishing in the money in each classic race. Though is last start in the West Virginia Derby was less than impressive, the race was a testament as to how the gelding needs to be handled. He may not be multi-dimensional, but when he's asked to roll, he will give you all he's got. You can't diss a horse that shows you that much heart. The news that his connections thought about running him in the Travers after his epiglottis surgery had me very concerned, and I'm very pleased they decided to err on the side of caution for this horse we will hopefully be watching in years to come.

On his way back West, Mine That Bird will be taking a tour of his old stomping grounds at Ruidoso Downs. I wonder if he will happily hop back into his old beaten-up stall with his name taped on a piece of cardboard to the wall? After spending his summer at hallowed Saratoga, where the golden light glinting off a pigeon could make a grown man well up with tears, the Bird will be entering the equivalent of a bottom-level claimer's accomodations. But hey, it's where he came from, it's home, right? Maybe the Bird's inflluence will help nicen up old Ruidoso, maybe his millions can spit and polish up the place a bit. After all, you never know if a successor to the throne could come from that very same stable. It would be a nice gesture, anyway.

While at Ruidoso, Mine That Bird will be leading the post parade of the $2 million All-American Futurity for Quarter Horses. He will be doubtlessly be paraded like a hometown hero, and he deserves no less. "The Little Gelding that Could" should be a children's book, if not a Hollywood movie. Disney would be brainless to pass this story by. In a rags to riches story you couldn't dream up, riding in a trailer across-country from a flyblown track to win America's most prestigious race, the Bird has been on one hell of a ride this year and I look forward to watching the rest of his story unfold.

Mine That Bird hasn't been to Santa Anita since his 12th-place finish in the Breeders' Cup Juvenile last October. But he will return a different horse, riding on a wave that has taken him to the pinnacle every 3-year-old horse aspires to sail along. By now, his running style has been tested, and his next start should prove a different kind of story compared to his last race there; he may start out at the back of the pack the next time he's looking upon the palm trees and San Gabriel mountains, but he certainly won't finish that way.

Roaring 'Road and Ravenous Rachel

Though the field for the Travers diminished exponentially this week when it was announced that Rachel Alexandra would be pointed toward the Woodward with older horses, and today's announcement that Kentucky Derby winner Mine That Bird would miss the Travers thanks to a spot on his recently opperated-on epiglottis, the race will still be a momentus one.

I'll admit, my true objective for Mine That Bird to be in the Travers field was sort of a vengeful one. I spent weeks handicapping the Kentucky Derby to pick three horses I thought stood a chance, and narrowed it down after careful consideration who I would deem "my Derby horse." That horse didn't end up making it into the Kentucky Derby, or any of the other Triple Crown races, thanks to the same problem that almost kept Big Brown out last year: quarter cracks. Obviously, I'm referring to Quality Road. Yes, I wanted Mine That Bird in there, the beaten hero as he is, to be collared by the horse I felt should've won the Kentucky Derby in the first place.

But since the Derby winner will be skipping Saratoga's signature race for 3-year-olds, that still leaves plenty of other formidable opponents in the field with impressive resumes for Quality Road to check off his list. His biggest competition, in this handicapper's opinion, is Summer Bird. The Belmont winner showed a different dimension when he dared to run against form in a bid to keep rocketing Rachel within striking distance in the Haskell, running off the pace instead of from behind horses, which has proved most effective for him in the past. What was most impressive was that Summer Bird was able to maintain the quick pace and battle a game Munnings for second place in the 1-1/8 miles test. So it stands to reason, given this new show of flexibility and maturity, Summer Bird will try the same tactic in the Travers to keep the Road within his sights.

Quality Road can run on the lead, off the pace, or from the middle of the pack, as he showed in the 6 1/2-furlong Amsterdam. He has set track records in the last two races of his career. He's never gone around two turns and let a horse get in front of him (watch a replay of the Florida Derby when Dunkirk tries this going around the far turn and how Quality Road pours it on). Yeah, I'd say he's got it in the bag. Kensei did not pick a soft spot in avoiding his stablemate, Rachel Alexandra. Pointed away from one monster, he's running smack-dab into another one.



And what about Miss Alexandra? Now being targeted toward her first start against not only older horses, but against older males, Rachel Alexandra is attempting to become the first female winner of the Woodward at Saratoga. It's actually an unprecidented, historic gesture for a 3-year-old filly to be going up against this division in the middle of the summer, a plot worthy of the history books before she's even run in it; but she may not get the welcoming party she deserves.

It appears she is scaring the old men, as well as the boys: Asiatic Boy, the winner of the UAE Triple Crown, who was second to Curlin in the Dubai World Cup and the Stephen Foster, is picking up his bags and hopping on a train to California to face Einstein in the Pacific Classic instead of the 3-year-old filly. "Nobody really wants to face Rachel Alexandra these days, and to think we have to give her eight pounds is a little tough on us older boys," said Asiatic Boy's trainer, Kiaran McLaughlin. “She’s beat everybody that’s gotten in the gate with her this year... Luckily, I haven’t gotten in the gate with her and don’t look forward to getting in the gate with her with Asiatic Boy. She’s a great filly. The word ‘great’ is thrown around too often in our industry, but to me she’s one of the great ones and she’s great for the sport, and it's nice that Mr. (Jess) Jackson chose some of these spots to show how great she is. He said he’s hoping to run her next year as a 4-year-old, and that's nice to hear, but I don’t look forward to running against her ever, with anything.”

So who will Rachel be facing? Right now, the field looks pretty pale in comparison to the Travers. Macho Again, who has yet to be very consistent, but did win the Stephen Foster when Einstein was locked in traffic, may be her biggest threat; there's also Bullsbay, Cool Coal Man, It's a Bird, and oh, how can we forget--DA'TARA?! But let's face it, right now, there are no dominating older dirt horses. At the rate horses with balls and any kind of track credentials are being retired, that leaves little competition in the division. Honestly, who would you try to beat Rachel Alexandra with? Her biggest threats are in the breeding shed. We may very well see a Woodward that hands over the trophy to a capable filly simply because no one wants to take her on. If Jackson is looking to send her against a formidable dirt horse, I can only suggest taking on Einstein after he wins the Breeders' Cup. (Did I just say that aloud?) But, nevermind, he's heading for retirement after the Classic, too.

Anybody overseas listening? We want your champions. Our filly is hungry.

Rachel and Zen prove girls rule the world

The results of the great virtual match race, plus discussion on the Rachel vs. Zenyatta debate:

Rachel and Zen prove girls rule the world

I was so excited to finally find a picture of Zenyatta doing her little Spanish walk/boxer strut for this article. For you link-a-phobes, here's the picture, author unknown:

In other news, I'm sure most of you have heard by now that Calvin Borel has been permanently taken off Mine That Bird, at least for the rest of the year. I'm a little saddened by this news, as horse racing had gotten a boost in the public spotlight with this Derby-winning team. Hopefully, any new fans who might've been recruited thanks to the hype will stick around to watch Rachel kick some tail in the remainder of her 2009 campaign.

As of yet, no jockey has yet been found to replace Borel, as trainer Chip Wooley is looking for a jock who can commit to the rest of the year, including the Breeders' Cup Classic. Mike Smith was asked, but declined because of his conflict of interest should Zenyatta face the boys for the first time in the Classic. Who would you name to replace Borel? Part of me wishes they'd call on Chantal Sutherland again, since she already knows the horse and wasn't given the opportunity to ride him in the Triple Crown. It would certainly give her career a boost to become a regular rider for the Derby winner if he stays in the same form he was in from May-June.

And in other news, Churchill Downs experienced fantastic results with their final test of night racing yesterday. I'm sad to have missed it. According to Blood-Horse, the attendance Thursday was 33,481 spectators--more than any other race day outside of the Kentucky Derby, Kentucky Oaks, or Breeders' Cup days. That means more people showed up to watch claimers than to see Horse of the Year Curlin in his comeback race from the Dubai World Cup. It seems that Churchill has struck gold here in whatever they've been doing. You can vote on whether or not you want Churchill to continue night racing as a part of the regular meet here: http://www.churchilldowns.com/ I voted "yes," because whatever is bringing in more people to the sport, we can definitely support!

"I shouldn't be here": A Belmont Story. Part VI (Finale)

In my heart, I wanted to see Mine That Bird win the Belmont Stakes. The little bay gelding had proved to be such a tremendous horse in his Kentucky Derby romp, and then his affirmation in the Preakness Stakes when he lost to the monster filly. Finally, for the first time, Mine That Bird was being hailed as the favorite. Finally, he could be rooted for, and had a legitimate chance of winning.

But my head said no. Even though the Belmont was a race made for Mine That Bird, I didn't believe he would pull it off. There were too many factors stacked up against him. For one, his jockey was going into the 1 1/2-mile grueler completely naive; two, he was the most battle-tested of all the horses, who would be coming into the race fresh and ready to run the race of their life. And then there was the fact I believed Summer Bird and Kent Desormeaux would steal the show.

The Thursday before, Bill Nack had predicted Summer Bird would win the Belmont. I really liked the horse since I saw him in person in the Arkansas Derby, and after reading his notes in the Kentucky Derby, I believed he would perform big in the longer race (he had a lot of trouble in Kentucky and rallied strongest of all the horses to finish fifth). And then there came the big orange flag: Kent Desormeaux had won three races in a row on the undercard of the Belmont. That right there is a sign I've come to notice; several times after a favorite is upset in a big race, you can look back and see the clues were laid out all day-long on who was hot. If you begin to see a pattern of a certain jockey on a win streak, put your money on him to steal the the big stakes. Unfortunately, I was too busy to make it to the betting windows.

Being tied to the infield, I could only watch the Jumbo-tron as the contenders of the Belmont Stakes began their parade to the paddock. I knew I'd get great shots of the horses coming back out of the tunnel, however, unlike the Derbies I've been to. The contenders are always shielded by their respective ponies from the roaring grandstands, giving the photographers on the infield side a prestine vantage point of the contenders. I took a spot behind the bush, directly across from the tunnel. My nerves were beginning to build. This was it. The Belmont Stakes was upon us. I was about to photograph my first Triple Crown race.

To make my situation all the more nerve-wracking, I was sort of going on a secret mission, unlike the other photographers I'd befriended who had marked their steps and customary positions. I was going to be hauling a ladder down the turf course with the hopes nobody would stop me, so that I could get the "Smarty Jones shot" in the middle of the stretch. I was afraid someone at the track would try to stop me in the last second, because even though Harold had asked for permission, all of the other photographers I talked to about it said they didn't think I would be allowed to shoot in front of the finish line. (Apparently, the rules are extremely strict that you are not allowed to be in front of the finish line shooting. I was going to be on the turf course, though, so hardly perceptible to spooking any horses so far away) I kept looking to Jim Tyrell, the photographer who'd actually taken that Smarty Jones shot, asking him when he thought it would be a good time to start creeping down the turf course with the ladder. He seemed to think of the situation as a covert op, too, and would shake his head, stealing a glance at me out of the corner of his eye.

While we were waiting, police officers on horseback lined up in behind the finish line. Even though they generally looked friendly and served as great subjects, their presence did nothing to cool my nerves. Standing only about ten feet away from us, they represented Belmont Authority. The last thing I wanted was a policeman on horseback running me down for walking on the turf course. (Not that that would ever happen, this is just my wild imagination making things so much more interesting)

Finally, the Belmont contenders began to parade out of the tunnel. I paid special attention to the top four horses I thought had a fighting chance: Summer Bird, Dunkirk, Charitable Man, and of course, Mine That Bird. Taking pictures of moments like this puts you into a zone, where you know history is on the brink of time, and everything hangs in the balance of "anything can change right here, right now." As I watched Mine That Bird walk past the grandstands with the plucky Calvin Borel on board, I thought about the journey this pair had embarked on over the past five weeks. What a trip in such a short time--from relative obscurity to headliners, and that was not in racing circles, but in the public eye. We place such expectations on these horses and jockeys, but really, we should just be thankful we get to ride on the tails of their shooting stars and witness the history that surrounds them. I watched them ride into the sunset under Belmont's storied grandstands, and smiled.

When I saw Kent Desormeaux on Summer Bird, he exuded everything you wanted to see in a jockey before a big race: he looked cool, exuding confidence, and seemed to be turning things over in his mind while taking it all in. This looked like a jock on a mission of redemption. What a difference this Belmont was from the last, where he was sitting on the potential of a Triple Crown victory in the dominating Big Brown.

Once the horses passed us in their long parade, I saw Jim and he gave me the go-ahead nod. With that, I hauled the small ladder underneath the turf course rail and began to trek down the grass course, a long, long, journey to a pole where I would set up my position. Stealthily, of course.

I was all alone walking down the turf course, separated from any living soul. I felt as if I was tackling new frontiers. The closest people to me were litterally the fans in the grandstands. Being the only person in front of such a crowd is a humbling experience. I kind of felt like I was the soul observer of a great spectacle and was entrusted in documenting it.

I found my spot next to the tall white pole, made certain I would have a clear shot of the horses passing in front of me, and then settled in to being an observer while the horses took that long stroll to the starting gates. Not a moment later, I began to hear the familiar words of "New York, New York" echoing from the grandstands, and I smiled hugely. This was reality hitting me in the face. I imagined what it would be like watching this from TV, and here I was, all alone on the turf course at Belmont, seeing it all in person from a vantage point nobody else had. I started singing along, grinning ear-to-ear, thinking about my own journey to New York and what it meant for me. What a funny video that would've made, had someone seen me all alone standing on a ladder in the turf course singing "New York, New York" to myself!

A few minutes later, a pick-up truck started coasting by the grandstands with a guy standing up in the back, waving around a white towel. He was getting the fans cheering in a huge wave! This was a side of the racing people just don't get to see on TV, when the commercials start playing between the coverage. God, how I love this sport. The grandstands were going crazy with anticipation.

My nerves started to calm as the horses were loaded into the gate. I wouldn't be able to see most of the race. My big moment wasn't until the horses rounded the turn, and then it would be up to me. For now, all I had to do was be a fan. I'm pretty good at being a fan.

I took some pictures of the horses loading, and their pause, and break. The grandstands roared. I whooped. Here it was. The final trip, the swan song. I listened for the rumble of the hoofbeats to disappear into the first turn, and the clamor of the fans to dissipate. From there, I turned around and tried to watch the Jumbo-tron, which was at an angle almost impossible for me to see. Strangely enough, I could actually hear Tom Durkin's race call better out there than either in the grandstands themselves or by the finish line. No one was there to drown out the call, for once.

I couldn't believe that Dunkirk was setting the early pace, and though I couldn't hear how fast they were going, I could hear the surprise in Tom Durkin's voice. I honestly thought the son of Unbridled's Song would be toast early on if he was leading the whole way around. There was no way there'd be a repeat front-running victory of the Belmont like last year, I thought. As the horses journeyed around Big Sandy, and Durnkirk stayed in the lead, I began to wonder if it was possible he could sustain his pace and win. I'd never really thought about Dunkirk winning the Belmont, though I figured he had a good shot at placing.

It was at this point I realized the Belmont Stakes was half over. All the anticipation leading up to this point, the finale of the most exciting five-weeks of my year, was almost at an end. But this was no time to be sentimental.

I turned completely around and saw the horses appear again on the backstretch. They would be coming around the turn in just a few moments. I readied my camera and re-checked my settings and the course I'd be shooting.

As the horses entered the turn, I could hear Tom Durkin cry Mine That Bird's name, and the crowd began to cheer. As far away as I was from watching the action, I knew this must mean he was beginning to make his move. And a few seconds later, I heard the Derby winner's name again, and this time the grandstands roared. I have no real way to explain what this felt like, being on the brunt of 50,000 people's synchronized screams. I began to feel tears burning my eyes. I'd never, ever experienced anything like this before. Even in the Kentucky Derby, nobody really has a favorite, nobody is really all for one horse. Most people don't follow the horses long before the Derby to have a hero among them, but it was a different story at the end of the Triple Crown. Here, in the Belmont stakes, the entire whole was rooting for one horse, and one horse alone. It was almost like a trip back in time, when horse racing was one of the most popular sports, and race horses were the star athletes people revered.

Here the calvary came, hurtling down the stretch. I could see them from a long way off, but they wouldn't be well in my sights until they were at an angle in front of me. I could see Dunkirk, the gray, on the inside fighting on with Charitable Man to his right and Mine That Bird on the far outside. But as they came right into my sights and I began to steadily snap, snap away like the sniper on the grassy knoll, I saw Mine That Bird's short lead being eaten up by the on-coming Summer Bird. It all happened right in front of me.

Summer Bird passed the Derby winner with 200 yards to go, and Mine That Bird was all used up. The Derby winners had moved too soon, but the seasoned Desormeaux, too used to knowing that sting of impatience in the 1 1/2-mile Belmont, was ready to pounce at the exact right time. Patience won the race. From my vantage point, I thought that Mine That Bird finished second, and I was shocked that Dunkirk had still enough fight in him to come back and place second, putting the Derby Bird in third. A little disappointed, but a little cocky that I'd been right all along about Desormeaux, I gathered up my ladder and zipped down the turf course to photograph the curtain call of the Triple Crown.

I ditched my ladder near the photographer's platform and zoomed down to a good spot behind the hedge to get pictures of the horses being unsaddled. I could've, and should've walked across the track to the winner's circle at this point, even though I wasn't allowed to step inside of it, I could've gotten a clearer view of Summer Bird had I thought about it earlier. Instead, I got what I think is my most poignant shot of the day: Calvin Borel unsaddling Mine That Bird and giving him a final pat on the rear-end before the Derby winner was led away from the celebration, and out of the spotlight.

I was very happy for Kent Desormeaux. Even though I hold a slight grudge against him for pulling up Big Brown in the Belmont last year, he's always been a jockey I've followed. He rode one of my favorite horses of all-time, Real Quiet, and simply for that bit of nostalgia, I will always have a soft spot for him. When he came bouncing down the track on Summer Bird after winning his first Belmont, I felt the tangible vanquishing of his demons. Finally, Kent had found his redemption, even though it was on a horse most people didn't want to win. I stepped out into the track to take pictures of them walking into the winner's circle, and once the garland of white carnations was draped over the chestnut's shoulders, I found a spot where I could stand on my tip-toes and take pictures of the scene inside the winner's circle. After the customary shot over the matel was taken, Kent looked away from the track photographer and looked right at me.

I don't know what made him look over at me snapping away at him with my huge lens, when there was a regular paparazzi of photographers clamboring to get the shot. It could've been that a video camera was behind me (though I don't remember if there was), or maybe I stood out because of my hat. Perhaps I looked like the photographer most desperate to get the shot, bouncing up and down on my toes to take his picture. Anyway, I got this eerie picture of him looking right at me, and for whatever reason, I felt a little like I could now forgive him for losing the Triple Crown. He now knew what to do to win the Belmont, the big fish, the prize buck. He could still be counted on. He had repented, in a way, for blowing the two biggest races of his life.

What happened afterwards is pretty much a blur. I remember Bud saying his good-byes to me as we crossed the track, and I felt increasingly disappointed the fun was coming to an end. I took my memory cards to Harold, who was furiously transferring pictures in the photo auxillary booth. What I didn't know at the time was that some photographers were following Summer Bird back to the Belmont backstretch, getting great shots of him after the race, and taking home souvenir carnations from the famous garland! I kicked myself a thousand times over since I found this news out, and I very well could've been amongst all the action one last time.

Harold and Co. took a long time transferring pictures, and I got to say some good-byes to the other photographers I met: Bob, Melissa, Sarah, Charles, Jessie, and the rest. I got to take a real break for the first time in a long, grueling while, and also had to return my awesome rented photography equipment to the Nikon RV an hour after the winner's circle photoshoot.

Belmont had become a sort of home to me during that week, and I felt very sad having to say good-bye to it. I'd been able to take in its grandeur during its most prestigious race, see all the excitement I could handle, and been on an emotional rollercoaster all the while. Once I handed in my D3 and 300mm, I was finally able to breathe and look outside of the viewfinder.

What an amazing three days. Three days where I'd crossed the borders of comfort, three days where I felt I was creeping around like a criminal doing things where I was certain someone would catch me and tell me, "Wait a minute, you shouldn't be here!" I'd rubbed elbows with millionaires and press icons, joined a photography "harem," made friends with people I admired, and witnessed history once again. And I'd even done it all without messing up my photography. What was strange to me was the fact I seemed to be better under pressure, having found a zone where I didn't let all the hype and aplomb affect me, and I was able to get everything I needed.

I'm proud of myself. For a first-timer's Belmont, I think I did pretty well. If nothing else, I came away from my Belmont experience having found where I belong. How many people can truly claim that? Here's hoping this is the start of many great things. Hey, if I can make it in New York, I can make it anywhere, right?

Kent Desormeaux wins his first Belmont... on the wrong #@&* horse!

My latest article in my weekly column, "The Call to the Post" is up one day early. In it, I give my long-awaited Belmont Stakes/Triple Crown wrap-up and discuss the Borel angle of the race.

Tomorrow I will have Friday's installation of my "I shouldn't be here." Belmont saga.

Is the suspense killing you?!

If you haven't already, you might want to check out my Flickr photostream, where I'm posting the best photos from my Belmont experience.

"I shouldn't be here": A Belmont Story. Part I

The whirlwind that was my half-week Belmont stint was marked by countless times where I found myself thinking, "I shouldn't be here." From plodding through the hallowed backstretch and over the historic track, to rubbing elbows with Eclipse-winning trainers and writers, "surreal" is the most fitting superlative I can come up with to describe my account in one word.

It all started out exactly as it would come to end: completely exhausted and strung-out. I arrived in New York City after midnight Thursday morning, and my head didn't hit the pillow until after 1:00am. Those who know me personally will attest to the fact I don't usually see the other side of 8:00am, and that if I don't get at least 8 hours of sleep, I'm nearly useless. This entire trip, my sleeping habits were of some other type of creature unbeknownst to me. I think it's known as an "early riser," or more appropriately, a rooster. Either way, I have yet to alter my state of being from rooster-ness to "Normal" mode.

Thursday morning, I woke up at 6:00am ET sharp (that's 5:00am CT, my time zone) and got ready to take pictures on Belmont's backside. The only thing in the world that could've gotten me out of bed after only four hours of sleep would be watching world-class race horses getting baths and jogging in the wee morning hours. So off I went, with my trusty camera and bazooka zoom in tow.

Belmont Park was only about twelve blocks away from my hotel, the Howard Johnson. Discovering this made me so happy, I thought I might cry. Oh yes, being on the verge of tears is also a trait I have when I'm rolling on very little sleep. Fear not, there was remarkably no crying on this day, and after all its "wow" factors, I believe I deserve a pat on the back for such an effort.

I picked up my credentials (I can't tell you how special I felt to be "officially credentialed" by the nice security guard who pulled out my press pass) at the front building by Gate 6, the entrance to the stabling area. Not knowing what to do with my car, I left it at the building and went on foot. It had started raining early in the morning, and the ground was full of mud and vast water puddles. So much for my spanking-new hiking shoes. At least I came prepared with a good raincoat. Just as I was leaving the building, Mine That Bird's trainer, Chip Wooley, hobbled by on his crutches and got into a black limosine out of the park. I didn't think about it at the time, but he was probably going into the city to ring the bell at the New York Stock Exchange with Calvin Borel.

Thus began the surreal aspect of this trip. I was now officially a part of this scene, whether I recognized it or not.

The Kentucky Derby winner's barn is practically the first barn from the entrance. Immediately, I came upon a throng of reporters and photographers waiting outside for Mine That Bird. I was star-struck when I recognized award-winning photographer Barbara Livingston standing among the photographers, as well as the award-winning turf writer and senior correspondent for Blood-Horse, Steve Haskin.

Part of me expected everyone to turn around and say, "Who are you, and what are you doing here?" But nobody did, of course, because they were all waiting for the Bird to make an appearance, and nobody really recognizes anybody in the photography world unless they've met you before or seen pictures of you.

I fell right in with the other shooters, as natural as anything I've ever felt. By this I mean I knew exactly what shots I wanted, and where I should stand, and how close I should get. I was a little giddy, finding myself laughing aloud when all the shutters would start clacking at the same time, when the Bird would stick his tongue out or put on an "eagle face." We're all looking for the same thing, after all: timelessness, a sense of awe about this underdog Derby winner, and something to make people smile. He's such a likeable fellow, taking endearing shots of him was a piece of cake.

I first saw Mine That Bird walking inside the shedrow with his groom. Each time he would pass the window at the end of the barn, he would stop and look out of it. He and his groom obviously have a special relationship. When they next led the gelding out of the stable and gave him a bath, the little smile on the groom's face was telltale. They've come such a long way together. Here they were, at the Belmont Stakes, with a gaggle of media surrounding their every move, hanging off every breath, and snapping away at every pose the Bird was making.

After Mine That Bird was taken back to his stall, the procession of photographers moved. They seemed to have an idea of where they were going, so I followed. I ended up walking right past D. Wayne Lukas grazing Flying Private outside of his stable.. Steve Haskin was talking to the trainer. It ocurred to me it would be wise to follow the seasoned turfwriters. They seem to have a radar for what's going on at what time.

I got a little lost after that, taking pictures of the backstretch roosters and cats strutting in front of the passing horses. A list of all the Belmont contenders and their barn numbers was included in my press packet, but there was no map, and to a newcomer like me, the backstretch was a positive maze. I attempted in vain to find Dunkirk, Charitable Man, and Summer Bird, but only managed to take a blurry, grainy picture of Dunkirk walking the Pletcher shedrow reminiscent of that famous Bigfoot image. Dunkirk never came out of the barn, proving once again to be my elusive target (I missed him every day during Derby week).

Deciding I'd better find some people who seemed to know their way around, I made my way through the muck and puddles to the training track, the center of activity. There I found a slew of photographers waiting for someone, and a few minutes later, Mr. Hot Stuff came walking down the tree-lined path to step onto the track for a gallop. Edgar Prado, who was riding him in the Belmont, came to observe his workout and leaned on the rail as the horses jogged by.

I noticed Mr. Hot Stuff didn't look as regal as he had the week of the Kentucky Derby. He wasn't strutting like a stud, though he still retained that Black Beauty-gorgeousness he showed off at Churchill. I overheard Barbara Livingston mention she noticed the same thing. "Maybe he's finally turned into a race horse," she laughed.

We followed Mr. Hot Stuff back to his stable and watched him get a bath. Here's where I went berzerk taking photos. He's simply too photogenic to resist! Also, unlike the area around Mine That Bird, where guard rails kept everyone at a distance, we could walk right up to the black half-brother of Colonel John. Everyone was respectful of him, and Eoin Harty showed up to observe the scene.

The training hours were pretty much over by the time we'd finished shooting pictures of Mr. Hot Stuff. Training stopped at 10:00am-ish.

Soaking wet, mud-streaked, and needing to upload my pictures to Horsephotos, I took one quick walk around the Belmont paddock and reacquainted myself with the place. I would have much more time to learn all of its pathways later. Not only did I have to upload my photos, I had promised I would call turfwriter Bill Nack once I got into town. I went back to the hotel and prepared myself for what would be an eventful rest of the day.

Promises

I promise, promise, promise, to write down everything once tomorrow is over. I can't believe how little time I've had over the past two days. Here's a picture to prove it's all been good, clean fun...

In the meantime, go Birdie, go!

Waiting for Rachel

My latest article talks about how we've been waiting for Rachel Alexandra in more ways than one.

Waiting for Rachel

Preakness

Due to my day job, I couldn't watch the Preakness when it happened live. Let me tell you, it was a horrible pain not to be able to see the race unfold as it happened. But my reaction would undoubtedly be just the same.

When Rachel Alexandra started to pull away at the top of the Pimlico stretch, tears started to threaten the back of my eyes. I knew they'd never catch her. It was an amalgamation of sobbing and laughing as she blazed in front of her male competitors and passed the finish clear; affirmation this filly is a living legend.

I'm still taking time to digest it all. Rachel Alexandra beat a talented field of colts on a track she didn't like, and she did so by a length. And what a surprise that Mine That Bird would be the main threat to come nipping at her heels! I'm still shell-shocked by that fact, and overcome with pride and happiness my Musket Man was again, still in the money to hold for third.

What a Preakness. And the NBC coverage was the best I've seen ever on that network. Kudos to NBC for giving the fans and the public what they really want: stories about the true contenders.

What's the difference between sportsmanlike behavior and being a plain ol' asshole?

So, I'm watching the Black-Eyed Susan coverage on HRTV right now. Generally, HRTV has some of the best coverage on horse racing, but once in a while, one of the hosts says a real dumbass comment.

Today, the perpetrators were the Race Day America duo of Carolyn Conley and Kurt Hoover. They were talking about the controversy of Mark Allen and Ahmed Zayat entering horses to keep Rachel Alexandra out of the Preakness, and how critics called them "unsportsman-like." I happen to be on the side of the critics on this one, which is obvious from my previous entries.

Direct quote from the mouth of Kurt Hoover: "I see absolutely nothing wrong with what those guys were thinking of doing. It's within the rules. As I understand it, the goal in this game as an owner is to win races, especially Grade I races... if you can exclude a contender by playing within the rules, I'm all for it. This talk of 'sportsmanship,' and 'doing things for the good of the game,' I just don't buy it. You wanna have a nice social gathering, go play tennis in a country club or go play chess in a library... I see nothing wrong with it, I think it was a good move, er strategy, I would've done the same thing myself; you're not going to be friends with everybody, so what? You're trying to win..."
And Carolyn Conley says, "I agree with you 100%."

It's this mentality that is ruining the sport of horse racing. When the sport can barely afford to offer purses for races, is finding its biggest stages neglected to ruin and demolished, and finding public interest turning away, the industry can hardly afford to make enemies within itself. Looking at the big picture, looking out for the good of the sport, is what horse racing NEEDS to survive. Sure, you can be a selfish jerk and try to deny the best three-year-old in the country the ability to prove herself by entering a horse not worthy of licking her horseshoes, but what good does it do anybody than the connections of that horse? If you look out for no one but yourself, you will see the world fall around you. There won't be a racetrack for them to run their horse over someday, and no one will care to watch your horse run when it does find a race. Without fans, without public interest, the sport will fade into oblivion.

If Rachel Alexandra brings just one more fan into the fold, plants the love of horse racing into one child, it's all worth it. No, you may not find the result padding the lining of your pocket in the meantime, but at least you'll have a stable for your horse on the backstretch, and the grandstands will still be there. Love must be circular. Our horse connections love horses, but they need the attention from the outside world to make the racing world go 'round. If all the non-fans see is greed and death on the track, what will they want to give back to the sport? Nothing.

Horse racing is more than just a mere game, dear Mr. Hoover and Ms. Conley. Horse racing is a tradition, it is as much a living, growing thing as a newborn that needs nurturing; and it is a way of life. Neglect it and it shall whither and die, producing nothing but an empty shell that once held promise.

I think T.S. Eliot said it best in his poem, "The Hollow Men:"

This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.

Last post of the day, I promise!

Jess Jackson continues to make my week. The co-owner of Rachel Alexandra announced today that he hopes to continue racing the champion filly into her four-year-old year.

He also had to this to say in regards to his decision to buy her and race her against the boys: “I think the fans deserve to see the best horses compete, regardless of sex.... This is not about male and female. This about the best athletes able to go two turns … We hope this will help the fans enjoy a great sport. She is a perfect athlete. I hope this helps revive horse racing in United States...”

“She is well-defined against fillies,” he said. “What we wanted to do was define her against colts. I don’t think she has really been tested in any race she has run. Now she is going to be tested.”

In regards to people saying he's being "unsportsman-like" in entering a non-Triple Crown nominated horse in the Preakness, possibly upseting Mine That Bird's chance for the Triple Crown, Jess Jackson replied, "the goal is to run the best horses against each other."

Besides, Jackson said, if Rachel Alexandra finished “a respectable” second to Mine That Bird in the Preakness, “I would enjoy it as a spectator.”

What a classy guy. You can say what you want about him using his money to get his way, but he puts the sport and the horse foremost, unlike so many people. He truly loves horse racing and is doing his part to bring the sport to level the fans want to see, and for that, he should be respected.

He also sent Marylou Whitney a bouquet of a dozen roses in gratitude for her gesture of withdrawing if it meant Rachel wouldn't make the Preakness field (Luv Gov did make it in, since there were only 13 entrants).

Quotes and information taken from this article in bloodhorse.com

Preakness Post Positions

The post positions and morning-line odds for the Preakness Stakes this Saturday

1. Big Drama 10-1
2. Mine That Bird 6-1
3. Musket Man 8-1
4. Luv Gov 50-1
5. Friesan Fire 6-1
6. Terrain 30-1
7. Papa Clem 12-1
8. General Quarters 20-1
9. Pioneerof the Nile 5-1
10. Flying Private 50-1
11. Take the Points 30-1
12. Tone it Down 50-1
13. Rachel Alexandra 8-5*

*Favorite

Now I just have to keep repeating to myself "don't be superstitious, don't be superstitious," and ignore the fact that I Want Revenge also drew post 13 before he was scratched for the Derby.

Actually, I think the 13 hole is good for Rachel, in that she won't be pinched by any of the boys and will be able to accelerate without traffic problems in the start.

I hope Jess Jackson has a 'round-the-clock security guard glued to that filly until this race is over.

Cool Cal on Jay Leno and Sutherland's sure angst

Eclipse-winning jockey Mike Smith has agreed to ride Mine That Bird in the Preakness Stakes if Rachel Alexandra makes it into the starting gates. I'm sure Chantal Sutherland is somewhere sticking pins into her Mike Smith voodoo doll at this very moment.

The jockey who will be aboard the Oaks winner should she make the Preakness entry, Calvin Borel, will be appearing on the Tonight Show with Jay Leno on Tuesday, May 12 (tomorrow). It's sure to be an interesting interview, so be sure not to miss it! I'll try to post the video after the interview airs.

"For the sake of the sport, we will withdraw."

Marylou Whitney is my new hero.

It seems each day in the Rachel Alexandra-Preakness saga, there is a new whirlwind of developments. Today marked the day that Mark Allen, the co-owner of Derby winner Mine That Bird, tried to cook up a scheme to keep out Rachel Alexandra, the dominant Oaks winner, out of the Preakness.

It breaks down like this [in my own summarized words]: Mark Allen called up Ahmed Zayat, the owner of Pioneerof the Nile, and said, "Hey, I'm entering a horse in the Preakness in addition to Mine That Bird in order to keep out the filly, Rachel Alexandra. That filly is going to steal my jockey, and show up my Derby winner. We're the real stars in this race, we can't let her in. Will you also enter a second horse?"

Zayat thinks to himself, "The new owners of Rachel Alexandra are being disrespectful of America's greatest race for making history by putting the Derby-winning jockey on their filly in the Preakness. That filly shouldn't be in the Preakness, anyway, because fillies are weak and two weeks is too quick of a turn around. Besides, I want my horse to win, and he stands less of a chance if he has to meet that monster in a race. It's not fair for a newcomer like Rachel Alexandra to spoil my fun, so I'm going to enter another of my horses in the race so she won't be able to enter."

Then he changed his mind and said this (directly quoted from Bloodhorse.com): “Nevertheless, after talking to the president of the Maryland Jockey Club I have decided I don’t want to be viewed as not being a sportsman, so I am happy not to block her for the good of the game. Please understand this is not about me; this is about the industry, and although what is right is not very clear to me I am happy to reconsider my decision for the fans.”

Riiiight. Looks like you said enough to make yourself a villain, Mr. Zayat. (See the complete, long-winded quote in the full Bloodhorse.com article.)

Meanwhile, Marylou Whitney had a horse named Luv Gov she wanted to enter in the Preakness, oblivious to this Allen-Zayat scandal. The trainer for the horse, D. Wayne Lucas, called up the Maryland Jockey Club to enter the horse and found out that Luv Gov would be #13, and Rachel Alexandra would be #14 as the entrees stand. Only 14 horses are allowed to enter in the Preakness field, and Rachel Alexandra will need to be supplemented for $100,000 to enter the race and is not Triple Crown nominated. Triple Crown nominated horses have preference in the field and could kick her out of contention if the field was filled up to capacity.

Here is the direct quote of what her husband and racing manager, John Hendrickson, said upon discovering their position for Luv Gov in the Preakness: "If we are the deciding factor, we will not enter. [Rachel Alexandra] is good for the sport. For the sake of the sport, we will withdraw."

That right there brought tears to my eyes. THANK YOU, Marylou Whitney and everyone who holds the same standards as you in this game. How unsportsman-like for the owners of the top two finishers in the Kentucky Derby to want to keep out this amazing filly from the second jewel of the Triple Crown. It's a race, not a sure bet. Obviously, Rachel has them shaking in their boots if they were seriously considering entering dud horses in order to exclude this champion from taking part in the greatest tournament of sports. Ms. Whitney has a true contender with a legitimate chance of winning the race, yet she is sacrificing her horse's chance because she wants to see what's BEST for the sport. I applaud this First Lady of Racing. We shall see what hand karma deals, my friends.

Sunday night, Mark Allen decided not to enter his 0-for-9 maiden horse Indy Express in the Preakness after it was clear the bulk of the racing world was aghast at his sinister plan.

So now, we have seen the underbelly of the underdogs.

Friday's article + overlooked workout pictures

Just in case you're not yet tired of my Kentucky Derby and Kentucky Oaks wrap-ups and romances, my newest article is up on smilepolitely.com:

"Bo-Rail" sitting in unprecedented position after Oaks-Derby double

Oh, and I found some workout pictures of Mine That Bird I overlooked while I was drooling over Zenyatta, Rachel Alexandra, and the Derby favorites...

Honorary Jess Jackson Day

I hearby dub this day honorary Jess Jackson Day, in honor of the man who kept jockey Calvin Borel in the irons of Kentucky Oaks winner, Rachel Alexandra, for the Preakness Stakes. All the nation's citizens will be treated to a free glass of wine, a parade with horses adorned in yellow and red flowers, and a float of Curlin made out of Werther's Originals.

How sweet life is. Thanks, Mr. Jackson, for making things right.

From Bloodhorse.com:

Borel commits to 'Rachel;' filly in Preakness

The Daily Racing From reports that Borel's decision to ride Rachel Alexandra, and not Mine That Bird, in the Preakness marks the first time in history a jockey has opted not to ride the horse he won the Derby on in the second leg of the Triple Crown.

If this doesn't spell Alexandra as being a superior horse, I don't know what does.

Here is a list of reactions from Preakness contender trainers about the possibility of Rachel Alexandra facing their colts (from drf.com):

"I think she's in a different world than the rest. She is something spectacular." - Gary Stute, trainer of Papa Clem.

"I would rather she didn't show," said David Fawkes, who trains Big Drama. "With her running style, that may hurt our chances."

"Any man would be a fool to welcome that filly. She's tough. As much as I don't want her to go, she'd be taking my rider." - Chip Woolley, trainer of Derby winner Mine That Bird.

The girl has the colts, and their trainers, shaking in their boots. Let's just hope she wakes up as fit as a fiddle and in perfect health on Preakness Day... and that less than 14 horses want in the gates once they see her trademark blaze heading to Maryland.

The Jaw-drop Heard 'Round the World: Part II of the Kentucky Derby experience

You got no time for the messenger,
got no regard for the thing
that you don't understand.

You got no fear of The Underdog,

that's why you will not survive.

- Spoon, "The Underdog"

Like so many other handicappers, I reviewed the entrees for the Kentucky Derby for hours upon hours, trying to make sense of the bloodlines, times, Beyers, and horse gestures that would clue me in to who would be the freshest horse come the first Saturday in May in the most prestigious race in America. So many good horses dropped out at the last minute, that a field that once promised to be one of the most talent-filled in twenty years was reduced to simply a field with 50/50 talent. Of the horses I picked for a top 5, only one hit the board.

It seems one in one thousand actually picked the winner, a 50-1 longshot.

When the last race was run before the Kentucky Derby, Einstein's breathtaking head-bobber over the improving Cowboy Cal, a 90-minute break settled over the grandstands in anticipation for the race everyone had come to see.

There was plenty going on to fill the void. It was at this time I found my spot in the aisle on the rail and cemented myself there until the Derby. From my experience last year, I knew people would be swarming all over the people in front about 15 minutes before race time, and I wasn't about to let anyone mar my view of the race I'd been preparing to see for months. I was tired, feeling hung-over from the full week of 6 am wake-ups and relentless Derby fever, but these were the dire moments.

Anxiety began to rise when the first Derby contender appeared on the Jumbotron. I think it was someone like Nowhere to Hide, but it could've well been Mine That Bird, for as much as I cared about those horses at the time. The walk-overs had begun. The entourages had begun to grow in a steady stream on the Clubhouse Turn, winding down the track in a Kentucky Derby parade. They came from the barns on the other side of the track like a river of trout to the tunnel, and on to the paddock.

I began to feel my nerves tense. I could picture the views from TV, the coverage of the horses beginning to be saddled. This was really happening, and I was there as witness. The Kentucky freaking Derby. It doesn't matter how many times you witness it, each time is a raucous, whirlwind jitter-ride you can't quite grasp while you're in it.

I had to stand up on the concrete and lean over the chain-link fence to get a good look at who was among the entourage of millionaires, trainers, grooms, and horses. I saw Larry Jones and Friesan Fire, and felt a leap in the pit of my stomach, realization washing over me it would be the last time I saw this scene of that tall man in the white cowboy hat leading his horse to saddle in the Kentucky Derby. The sport will not be the same without Larry Jones.

The band began to filter into the infield, in front of the winner's circle, and the soldiers who stood guard in front of the rail marched in line. My emotions were peaked. I knew what was coming. The horses were all being saddled, the last bits of advice were being given to the jockeys, and then it came, the chill-inducing call to the post.

The Derby contenders, with jockeys in tow, began their dance out of the tunnel to meet the roar of the grandstands. The band began to play the first notes of "My Old Kentucky Home," and I lost it. I could barely sing five words, though I knew them by heart.

As my horses passed me, I rooted for them all. I didn't feel there was any one I wanted most to win, though I did cheer the loudest for Gabriel Saez atop Friesan Fire. Out of all the contenders, Dunkirk seemed the most on his toes, and I marvelled at how plucky he looked on his way to the starting gates. He knew he was in a race, and all the horses seemed to know today was something speical.

Maybe they got a clue from the howling grandstands.

Some lady dared to try to shove her kids between my husband and I, and then tried to squeeze one of them in front of my view of the starting gates. I told her sorry, she could find some other place. Even in hallowed moments, there's always somebody who tries to rain on your parade. There is nothing sacred.

The starting gates were a good distance away from me, so I couldn't see the start of the race very well. Some guy was holding his ridiculous camera phone directly in my sights, too. How he expected to get any sort of decent picture so far away on a cell phone, I have no concept, but anyway, I did manage to get a shot of Dunkirk stumbling three strides out of the gate. That pretty much sealed the $3.7 million-dollar gray's fate.

The field flew past us, and I snapped pictures of them with the rapidity of machine gun fire. I could tell that the early leaders were exactly as I'd expected: Join in the Dance had taken the early lead, and Regal Ransom was hot on his heels. I saw Pioneerof the Nile had found good position in about third or fourth place, and thought Pioneer was a shoe-in for victory.

The race on the backstretch was a bit of a blur. All I can remember is being overwhelmed with the thought, "This is the Derby, it's happening right now. Don't blink, it's half over!" And when the horses moved into the final turn, my husband said, "Who is that moving up so fast? They're gonna be cooked." He was talking about Mine That Bird. I barely kept that comment on file in the back of my brain as the field rounded the turn for home.

I looked at the Jumbotron and didn't see any of my horses but Pioneerof the Nile. And so, I began to scream, "C'mon, PIONEER!" My body was half-slung over the fence; I could see the horses charging for home. Pioneerof the Nile was on the outside, closest to us, but several other horses looked to be challenging.

That's when I started taking pictures, and that's when I noticed the horse on the inside rail charging out of nowhere like a bat out of hell. Still, I kept my lens focused on Pioneerof the Nile, confident I had picked the Derby winner for my sixth year in a row. SNAPSNAPSNAP, SNAPSNAPSNAP

The rest of the race pretty much went like this:

"C'MON PIONEEEEER!!" SNAPSNAPSNAPSNAP

"Who is that on the inside! He's coming fast!"

"He's not gonna do it!" SNAPSNAPSNAP
"Oh my God!"

"Who the hell is that?!" SNAPSNAPSNAPSNAP

"Oh my GOD!" SNAPSNAPSNAP

"I don't know who it is!"
"I can't believe this!"

"OH MY GOD!!!"

"Pioneerof the Nile was second by a nose!"

"It's Mine That Bird!"

"You've got to be $*^@*^~ kidding me!"

"Mine That Bird!"

"I don't &%^$#*@ believe this!"

"Oh my God... unbelievable."

"I don't &%^$#*~ believe this!"

"$#@%! $#@%! $#@%!"

Yes, it was utter devastation at first. There was much cussing, much forsaking of the little children's ears surrounding us hardcore handicappers. We'd just been given one of the biggest rear-end screws in history. A 50-1 longshot just broke every rule ever written about handicapping, any iota of credibility a handicapper could claim. Mine That Bird single-handedly threw all the statistics, the Beyer Speed Figures, the racing records straight out the window. He paid $103 for a $2 bet. No one around me had come close to picking him.

And then, something happened. We saw Calvin Borel on Mine That Bird, saw a pure emotion, a pure joy in him rarely seen on the track, and the tide of resentment, bitterness, and downright loathesome notions turned like a tidal wave. Admittedly, I didn't even realize Borel had been on Bird's back; that's how little I paid attention to this son of Birdstone. Something changed in those moments that I credit to the spirit of Louisville and the Kentucky Derby. The Derby lives in its own world of rules and emotions, and just like that, everyone in the grandstand was applauding Mine That Bird and Calvin Borel. Not just applauding, they were standing up and hollering for him, waving their programs and tossing their lost bets in a Derby confetti. It was a living Hollywood moment, a scene I never would've expected to experience in real life.

So we lost some money, who cares? That guy just won the Kentucky Derby, on a horse no one expected to win. Let's let him have his moment. Let's help his celebrate. Let's continue this strange party like it was meant to be.

Borel came riding past us on Mine That Bird instead of heading directly onto the turf to accept the garland of roses and get his picture taken. I think that was one of the key elements that roused the spectators to a roar of cheers and applause. Calvin was bouncing up and down on the saddle, screaming and hooting, gibbering on like an acrobatic parrot on his perch. He brought tears to my eyes, and I cheered for him as if I'd won money, instead of losing $40 like I had on him. It's moments like this the Derby is really about.

Despite the house winning everybody's money, a feeling of goodwill and happiness continued to linger in the crowd. People began to leave during the coronation, and losing tickets scattered over the ground like white wedding petals. It was all over. The horses were being unsaddled and led back to their barns. Nobody had gotten hurt (except for a few punctured egos), and we were allowed to breathe the collected sigh of relief and start dreaming about next year.

The races following the Derby exist on a plane of other-worldliness. You can sneak up to Millionaire's Row undected, sit in the abandoned seats of the owners of Square Eddie, Win Willy, and Justwhistledixie, and patronize the empty bathrooms where ladies walk around in multi-hundred-dollar hats that make you feel like a ragamuffin. You can watch the last two races on the card from the upper levels and have an eagle-eye view of the drunks below who are counting their losses in the emptying seats. Fans are having one last round of mint juleps, collecting discarded Derby glasses, and women are finally caving in to wearing jackets over their skimpy dresses. It's a beautiful carange in the Derby aftermath.

I went to the paddock one last time and saw Calvin Borel come down the chain-link jockey path to a round of applause and cheers. He mounted his horse and grinned like a kid who'd just snitched one of his momma's cookies. Then he gave the patented Cool Cal peace sign and welcomed the applause like the humbled gentleman he is. He's just a little Cajun man having the time of his life, and everyone smiled as he passed by, so happy for him.

We found Steve in the emptying infield. His eyes were bloodshot from a few too many mint juleps, and from the contraband liquor he'd managed to smuggle inside his cooler. He, too, had lost a ton of cash on Mine That Bird, but later remembered he'd made a wheel bet and made $200 on the race. Such is the experience of a good handicapper. I'll remember to take his lead next time.

Just a week earlier, I'd seen the movie Woodstock and marvelled at the aftermath of the grounds after the festival was coming to a close. The Churchill Downs infield looks like its twin after the Derby. The only difference is there may be less discarded condoms lying about the abandoned tents, beer cans, and lost articles of clothing.

As Hunter S. Thompson once said, "the Kentucky Derby is decadent and depraved." It offers the highest of highs and the lowest of lows. This year was both of that in one swift move by Calvin Bo-Rail, but ultimately, everyone left the Downs in good spirits. Sometimes, it's not about if your horse wins, it's about being carried away by the experience; the symbol of Louisville, the fleur-de-lis, symbolizes the "heraldry in everyday life." Even a pauper can be a king or live the life on high. It's about a common joy, and feeling camaraderie among the fans surrounding you.

The Derby is an experience like none other. And if you've yet to know its embrace, you're missing out. Be sure not to miss it next year. It's intoxicating and addictive, and once you've been swept away in its whirlwind, good luck dismissing its call next year, and the year after.

Borel will ride Alexandra, not Derby winner, in Preakness if filly enters

The news feed is buzzing like a nest full of hornets right now. Soon after Jess Jackson was announced to have bought Rachel Alexandra, confirmation came that the filly had been moved to trainer Steve Asmussen's barn at 5:15am ET this morning.

In an interview with Blood-Horse, Hal Wiggins, her former trainer, had positive things to say about the deal and was graceful after having his champion filly ripped out of his hands overnight:

“My wife was hurt (when she heard that Rachel was sold), because she knew it
was hurting me,” said Wiggins. “I talked to her this morning, and I told her the
sun was going to rise just like it does every morning. Time does a whole lot no
matter what it is, and we have a lot to be thankful for, so we keep thinking
about that.
“When you walk by and see that empty stall, you can’t help but
think what was in there. It’s tough—it’s hard, but that’s just part of the game,
and we have to realize that, but we did have some great times with her, so we’re
appreciative of that.”

Wiggins expected, after the quick purchase of Rachel after her stunning Oaks victory, that Jackson would supplement the filly into the Grade I Preakness Stakes on May 16th.

My head is spinning like a top right now. I'm feeling sorry for Hal Wiggins and Rachel's previous connections, but am happy, on the other hand, that she will finally be given her shot to take on the boys. She deserves no less. The article also says IEAH had tried to buy her in the fall, but backed out because at that time, she had a bone chip in one of her ankles. I hope that doesn't mean she's prone to chips and injuries, but as I haven't heard anything else about her health conditions, she sounds pretty sound.

If Rachel does enter the Preakness, Mike Smith will likely board Mine That Bird. I know how racing fans will likely react to this news, but what about the public who is rooting for the underdog? Will the non-racing public root for a champion filly who's at the top of her game, or a longshot horse who will likely not be able to win a race like the Derby again without Borel in the stirrups?

For the sake of horse racing, let's hope the non-fans are titilated by this instead of being turned-off. Rachel has the opportunity to make the people put Eight Belles's tragic death behind us, and the industry could really use a boost like that right now.

Intermission

Right, I know, this isn't Part II of my Kentucky Derby overview. Please excuse the time lapse-- it'll be up for tomorrow. I couldn't not comment on these several bits of news that cropped up over the past two days.

1. I Want Revenge's injury is more serious than previously thought. Hearing this news made me almost ill. Thank God his connections did the right thing and kept him from running in the Kentucky Derby. I would rather the horse be safe and sidelined for several months than meet a tragic end on the path to glory.

I am worried, however, that he will be retired even if his therapy leaves him completely capable of having a comeback. If he does recover completely, and will be able to race at the caliber that he had prior to the injury, I hope his people consider racing him as a 4-year-old. We need more older horses to root for, and I Want Revenge is a horse with a heart worth following. By the comments David Lanzman, breeder and co-owner of the colt, made in this Daily Racing Form article, it seems the chances of him racing at 4 would be great if he should fully recover.

2. Desert Party injured himself in the Kentucky Derby. A bone chip in his left front ankle will be surgically removed, and the horse will be sidelined and Godolphin hopes to return him to racing in the second half of the year and continue racing him in 2010.

Maybe this is a clue to why Desert Party faded in the few final furlongs of the Kentucky Derby? I had him highly-rated after re-watching the 2000 Guineas and the UAE Derby. Desert Party is a fine colt and hopefully is able to come back and prove his talent in America, his birthplace.

3. Rachel Alexandra has been sold to Jess Jackson (Stonestreet Stables) and some other dude (Harold T. McCormick, whoever that is). Not only has the ownership transferred hands, but the Daily Racing Form says the trainer will, as well-- to Steve Asmussen.

Now, I've been as bitter as anybody about Alexandra's current trainer's (Hal Wiggins) adament stance on fillies racing against colts: keep 'em separate; I think she deserves better competition, and she will find it racing against the boys. I'm sure this is what Jess Jackson, the sportsman is also thinking, because he created a stance a year ago when he decided to bring Curlin back as a 4-year-old to help improve the complexion of the sport. I don't think, however, that means he should mess with a good thing.

Hal Wiggins has trained Rachel Alexandra into her winning ways, and whatever he's done, it's working. I don't know one thing about training differences, but I'm superstitious, I guess you could say. I don't think it's good karma to rip a filly out of winning connections when she's just raced the best race of her life, and place her into a new environment, under new hands, with different people caring for her. Even though they have their differences, couldn't Jackson and Wiggins reach some sort of agreement?

Whatever the case, Wiggins had her targeted toward the Grade I Acorn on the Belmont undercard for her next start. This disappointed me, since I believe she could've blown away the competition in the Kentucky Derby. Will Jess Jackson pave a new road for Alexandra, toward the Preakness and the Belmont? Could it be move over boys, the princess is coming to town? I, for one, hope so.

How amazing it would be for the sport to have a "super filly" (as Durkin dubbed her) take the Preakness and Belmont? Obviously, she will have plenty of competition, but it would once and for all silence the critics who made the ridiculous accusation that Eight Belles never should've raced in the Kentucky Derby.

Rachel Alexandra racing against the boys? I'm so there!

4. Musket Man is confirmed for the Preakness, with Eibar Coa sticking to the irons. Musket Man will not go on to the Belmont, says his trainer, Derek Ryan; he will target toward the Haskell after the second jewel of the Triple Crown.

I think this is a pretty good decision. A lot of horses are opting for the Belmont instead of the Preakness, surprisingly. Musket Man doesn't have the breeding for the Belmont, though he's been pretty much making up his own blueprint as far as distance goes. He'll have a nice, long rest after the Preakness and be fresh for the late summer meet.



5. Don't forget to pick up the latest issue of Sports Illustrated, where Mine That Bird becomes the first horse since Smarty Jones to grace the cover!

The Kentucky Derby, through the haze: Part I

Last year on Derby morning, I woke up much more nervous. I had never been to the Derby before, and anxiety hit me like a tidal wave. I'd barely gotten any sleep, I kept thinking about the year in racing leading up to that point, and I was nervous I wouldn't be able to see the race. I learned a lot from last year.

I took sleeping aids every day of the week leading up to the Kentucky Derby. I knew I would be able to see the race because it would be misfortune to anyone who dared get in the way of my giganto lens. The Oaks experience the day before had proven you can stand at the rail all day long, no matter where your seat was assigned (two drunks from the infield would later drive home my point as they got by security and found us on the rail, where they asked how to get back to the infield tunnel). More than anything, I was exhausted by the week of getting up at 6:00am, and I was still feeling the ghost of the 300mm lens from Oaks day in my shoulder and arm muscles. In short, a week of Derby festival culminates with simply trying to survive through it all; but I wouldn't have missed a moment of it.

I'd brought a breezy 20's-style dress and high heels to wear for the Derby, but as I thought about the prospect of hulking around that 300mm lens the whole day again, and the fact the news said the high was 60* with a chance of rain, I opted to buy a Kentucky Derby 135 hoodie; the hoodie cost more than my dress, but it was worth it to be snug and warm the entire day while other ladies in their sun dresses and big hats ended up stealing their men's jackets to find warmth. I still got to wear my straw fedora, so I was festive enough.

When I got to Churchill Downs, my morning agenda consisted of 1. Retrieving the Hulk, as I have dubbed the 300mm, from Horse Photos (I had been told, after giving them my Oaks pictures, to "take two Tylenol and come back in the morning") and 2. Find Steve 3. Make bets

I ate at Wagner's one last time (and a little gladly it would be the last time that week-- I'd become a little sick of eating grease and fat each morning, but the tradition must live on!) and was in the restaurant when a news reporter said to a patron off-handedly, "I hope I'll have better luck later on. My horse scratched this morning."

Instantly, I was on alert. When the camera was shut off, I got the news from him that MY pick, I Want Revenge, the favorite for the Derby, had been scratched with "a foot abscess" (it later turned out to be a swelled ankle). I couldn't believe it. Just a moment before, I'd been grinning ear-to-ear at an ad in the Daily Racing Form with the profiles of a snarling I Want Revenge and Pioneerof the Nile: "Duel at the Downs." I couldn't WAIT to see the re-match.

Duel scratched. I was crushed, utterly crushed. It wasn't as bad as Zenyatta's scratch, because there were more horses in the Derby I liked, but still... my previous favorite, Quality Road, had been scratched Monday. It seemed there was no end to the last-minute disappointments. I only hoped there would be no injuries in the races that day. At least, I consoled myself, they'd been looking out in the best interest of the horse.

I made my new picks Friesan Fire, Pioneerof the Nile, and Chocolate Candy; with General Quarters, Mr. Hot Stuff, and Dunkirk as the orbiting exactas. Stupidly, I left out Musket Man, who I'd been rooting for all year. I figured he wasn't up to the caliber of horses in the Derby. Idiot me. Always root for what's in your gut, not in your head.

I entered Churchill Downs through the infield entrance. I really don't know how to explain the infield experience to a full effect. It's a little like Woodstock, but instead of legenary music, they barely get to see historic horse races. There's the same discarded trash, sandals, sleeping bags, and tents to be found in the aftermath, and the same intoxication and clouds of smoke, only it's from cheap beer, over-priced mint juleps, and cigars. Much to my chagrin, cigars are EVERYWHERE.

Herein I found Steve, the cool track regular I'd made friends with during the workouts. He'd shown me the silks of past stakes winners in one of the cafes inside the grandstands, explained some quirks of Churchill Downs (like the turf rail being pushed out to keep the rail grass nice for stakes days), and was a good handicapper. Every year, he and his Derby buddies set up camp in a corner of the infield next to the fence, where they are literally inches away from the horses during the turf races. You can find him by the little American flag his camp sticks in the fence.

It turns out, Steve placed what he called a "wheel" bet on the Derby field, which ended up paying him off pretty well. I'm not sure which sort of wheel bet he placed, but it sounds he at least broke even, which is more than I can say about my bets.

When I went to go pick up my lens, I found out another photographer had already secured it, so I was left with my old faithful Li'l Bastard. That's okay, that meant I wouldn't have such an arm ache for Derby day.

I had an aisle seat in section 120; not bad. I didn't end up using it much, though. Sadly enough, the day was pretty much an endurance test of standing at the rail and trying to break out of my haze. Churchill Downs only sells Lillies on Oaks day, and I wasn't about to touch another mint julep, so I had to sustain myself on bottled water, the Wagner's in my stomach, and some nachos for lunch.

Of interest around me in the grandstands was this little girl, she had to be about 8 years old, who kept picking winners seemingly out of no real knowledge at all. From what I was gathering, she was picking her horses based on the color of their saddle towels. It truly was a sight to see. She picked 4 winners in a row, but her streak was snapped when my boy Einstein came out to win his second Woodford Reserve in a row, the first horse to ever accomplish the feat. I was screaming for him at the top of my lungs. Cowboy Cal really put in a good fight to the end, but it was the champ who won out in the end. I was so happy for him. There's nothing to wake you up quite like a neck-and-neck battle to the wire!



Part 2: The Jaw-drop Reard 'Round the World coming tomorrow...