The Inside Rail

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.”

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.

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.

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.

Angel Cordero Jr. leaned forward, hunched his shoulders, squinted his eyes, pursed his lips, clenched his gnarled fingers and made that ancient, tried and true signal for a horse to go.

OMG did you see Enable’s race?!?

I received that text from Sue Sensor at 11:06 Saturday morning.

Horse Haven. The name says it all.

It starts with a father talking about his son. It ends with a son talking about his father. In between, well, it’s the story of a struggle, a mistake, a lesson, an opportunity, an escape and a whole lot of faith.

Once upon a time I watched 13 races at Saratoga Race Course.

It goes like this.

Rusty Arnold’s phone rings at 10:30 in the morning. Every morning. For 27 years.