Sean Clancy

The Mickey Walsh Novice Stakes today. The New York Turf Writers Cup tomorrow. Jump jockeys and horses will compete on the fastest, tightest, the least-room-for-error track on the circuit. The most lucrative. The most important. Winning is good. Winning at Saratoga is forever. 

It did not register. Did not occur to us. Until it began. When Joe and I started Steeplechase Times in 1994, the challenge of writing about our friends, our colleagues, our cohorts was exhilarating. Their wins, their moments. Their races, their results. We quickly realized, with the wins come the losses. The human losses. Who would write about those? 

Manny Franco played shortstop. Watched Derek Jeter. Cheered for the Yankees. Franco was quick, deft at turning a double play, fast on the basepaths, could hit a curve. Baseball was all he wanted to do, dreaming of the big leagues. 

It is Travers Day. Like none other. 

Hey, how’d it go on Whitney Day? 

I went down the rabbit hole. Yup, I admit it. With a sound mind and not enough time, under my own volition and without emotion, I did it. The Marylou Whitney Collection. I knew I shouldn’t. But I did it anyway. Like John Muir walking in the woods, reality drifted, days turned into nights, nights into days. Time meant nothing. 

There’s Gun Runner’s Pegasus, the perfect finale to a $15.9 million career. Curlin’s Preakness, a first Classic win. Rachel Alexandra’s Woodward, the rafters shook, the ground shook, none of us were the same after that. There are nearly 9,000 wins along a Hall of Fame career. 

It was embarrassing – for both of us. 

It was a mad undertaking. Two brothers, an outof-work college roommate, a couple of future racetrack degenerates, a gaggle of Skidmore English Lit majors, an empty yoga studio and a vision of a daily newspaper at Saratoga. Daily, as in six days a week. We were going after The Pink Sheet. Competing with the Daily Racing Form. Making our mark.