Good Bye
It was the Travers. I was in trouble.
My on-again-off-again girlfriend and future wife called and said she wanted to come to Saratoga that weekend. Travers Weekend. It must be 20 years ago, maybe more.
Sean Clancy
Family
Dear Miles,
Thanks for coming to Saratoga. I’m sorry I wasn’t fully engaged with you and your mom while you were here. It’s something I try to be and always think I’ll be, but, like always, I struggled with being present. I got your mom’s phone number at Saratoga in 1990, we’ve had our ups and downs here ever since. There is something about Saratoga that does that to, I believe, everyone. It’s vibrant and intoxicating but it’s also pressured and stressful. I wish I could deal with the latter better than I do.
Showman
Billy Howland buffed a brass chifney with a rub rag, walked in loose, light loops in front of the Old Chapel Farm consignment Monday night.
Named
He wrote the speeches, all of them, from the Hall of Fame to the Eclipse Awards.
He went to the father/daughter dances with Bob Baffert’s daughter, when the trainer went on the road to Churchill Downs or Dubai or Belmont Park, always calling his college buddy afterward and reminding him, “You owe me, brother. You owe me.”
Blue Streak
Kiaran McLaughlin watched the replay of A Thread Of Blue upsetting the Saratoga Derby and summed up the race, the ride, the moment.
Trainer’s Life
Gary Gullo came to Saratoga in 1974. He was 14. He and his friends, they lived on the track, walked hots for Gullo’s dad, Tom. It was good money for 14-year-olds. Water boiling in rusty red metal barrels, propane hissing underneath, corn on the cob dropped in the water for a mid-morning snack. You had to pump the faucets for cold water, dip a bucket into the barrels for hot.
No Traffic
Bob Baffert walked down the steps to the winner’s circle, hugged his wife, high-fived an owner and explained his week leading up to the Grade 1 Whitney at Saratoga.
Hall Pass
Every year, it happens. I slide into the Hall of Fame induction late after another frenzied pre-sales, pre-Whitney morning at the track. Every year, I nestle in the balcony, usually a corner, always standing. I realize I should have showered, should have shaved, should have put on a coat and tie, at least a button-down dress shirt. But there wasn’t time. There is never time.
Oaks Domination
Rusty Arnold swayed ever so slightly, chomped on a piece of gum or maybe the side of his mouth, and repeated the fractions of the Saratoga Oaks.
My Julie
Gene Euster had a plan. The veteran trainer was nursing My Juliet back to health after breaking her cannon bone and needing two screws to patch it together. The daughter of Gallant Romeo hadn’t run since winning the Vagrancy at Belmont Park in May 1976. That was her 15th win, spanning the circuits from Hawthorne to Keeneland, Aksarben to Saratoga, spanning the stakes gamut from the Pocahontas to the Black-Eyed Susan, the Test to the Cotillion. The next one would be the toughest.
