Joe Clancy

Wilmer Garcia leaned forward a little in his seat, put his hands out in front of his body and talked about what it feels like to ride a racehorse.

Todd Wyatt heard my stress. It was a couple of weeks before Saratoga and I was feeling the pinch, the impending metamorphosis of farm life to city life, leaving my wife, my son, my farm, my routine for the great Saratoga stakeout – 35 issues in 46 days. Overwhelmed and understaffed, everything will change.

The Dirty Dozen. Twelve Angry Men. Baker’s dozen. Cheaper by the dozen. Twelve pack. Ten and two. Two touchdowns, no extra points. Four field goals. Double sixes. Tom Brady, Joe Namath, Terry Bradshaw.

Kate Fitzpatrick and Bernie Dalton met at Saratoga. She worked for Jonathan Sheppard. He worked for Kiaran McLaughlin. At the end of the year, she went home to Pennsylvania. He went off to Dubai.

They’ve been together ever since.

Class.

The Hall of Fame induction ceremony – no matter who gets inducted or how long the speeches last – is about class.

The class of the past inductees showing up every year. They wear their blazers, come to the front of the room, get saluted once more.

Roger Attfield sat down between two radio hosts, maneuvered a headset over his ears, held his Hall of Fame plaque in his lap and began to answer questions, as quietly, politely, delicately as he’s trained his horses for the past 42 years. The British-born, Canadian-based trainer joined Thoroughbred Racing’s Hall of Fame Friday morning.

He trained Damascus, Tom Rolfe, Forego, Ruffian and other horses great and not-so in a career that lasted nearly 50 years. Along the way, he trained people including fellow Hall of Famer Shug McGaughey, Barclay Tagg, Kip Elser and more. Legendary trainer Frank Whiteley died in 2008 at 93, but he still comes to mind whenever anyone thinks of old-school horsemen.

We don’t get much mail at The Special. So far this summer we’ve received a couple pairs of shoes, a schedule from the water company, some way cool CDs from Bob “the Music Man” Buika, a computer hard drive and a plain white envelope from Paul Asward of Waterford, N.Y.

The Chief, Allen Jerkens, stands at the end of the paddock chute. He folds his frayed Seersucker sport coat over his left arm, rests his right fist on his right hip and stares across the infield. Straw hat shading his eyes, the Chief stands motionless, silent.

They called her Sophie. She was round and soft and big and slow. Sophie, like maybe your aunt or your Labrador Retriever. Nice, friendly, calm. Bake cookies or fetch a tennis ball for you if she could. Then she grew up.