THE ASPIRING HORSEPLAYER

The moment Zenyatta crossed the wire and became the 2009 Breeders’ Cup Classic champion, things went hazy.  I vaguely remember searching for people to hug, slapping high fives with everyone around, and letting loose a series of  ”rebel yell” style roars that any native Alabamian would be proud of.   Once that subsided, I began pondering whether everything we’d witnessed both in the immediacy of the Breeders’ Cup and from the entire year in general could possibly have been real, or if I was about to awake from some deep, REM filled dream?  It seems so unimaginably unthinkable that one calendar year could have presented us with such unprecedented historical significance as to have rendered the completely opposite emotions experienced just 17 months ago an almost perfect contrast.  And, of course, the ending was capped off in perfect story book fashion.

Close your eyes for one moment (albeit a brief one), and remember that awful, devastating, seemingly unconquerable feeling of grief and agony that cast a pall over all of racing following the 2008 Kentucky Derby.  Now contrast that memory with the euphoria and outright elation experienced many times over this year as racing’s dream girls Zenyatta and Rachel Alexandra conquered races and dominated the headlines of the sport in a manner never before seen, nor likely ever thought imaginable.

The “Year of the Filly” it most certainly was – and for racing it could not have come at a more opportune time.  A veritable 180° turnaround.  A phoenix rising from it’s own ashes.  A reconstitution of passion, pride, belief, and affection.  A reaffirmation of all that can and should be good about the sport we love.

Looking back to the previous year, I recall being plagued following the death of Eight Belles with the thought “where do we possibly go from here?”  The obvious follow-up to that question that was even more painful to consider being once we figured out “where” we would go, having to determine “how” we might go about getting there?  It seemed a mountain that we might never be able to climb.  A hole we might never dig ourselves from.  After all, the sport was not exactly in a position of strength from which to deal with such a tragedy, especially having had the same type of nightmare play itself out in 2006 with Barbaro; again while the entire world watched in shock. It was doom and gloom; misery and pain; agony and heartache. 

As if on queue, the sports two biggest stars of 2008, Curlin and Big Brown, were defeated in their biggest moments of the season; Curlin failing to sustain his trademarked “giant strides” as Raven’s Pass and Henrythenavigator surged past him in the Breeders’ Cup Classic, and Big Brown being pulled up in the stretch of the 2008 Belmont and denied his quest for Triple Crown glory.  The collective mood was rather somber.  One could find themselves asking not what the morrow might bring, but rather cynically ”what could possibly go wrong next?”

Thankfully, as the old axiom holds, time heals all wounds. Tomorrow, no matter how high or low the previous day may have been, is always another day. 

The horse racing gods seemingly took mercy upon us and decided to give fans a little something special for their troubles to help ease the pain.  At least that’s how I like to imagine it.  Something we couldn’t have possibly conceived we would be blessed enough to behold was about to unfold in 2009, although it’s seeds were first sewn in 2008.  As our eyes were largely focused elsewhere, a massive and lightly raced 4-year-old filly based in California was beginning to hit her stride, turning heads and causing people the world over to take notice.  Out in Kentucky, a  2-year-old filly with a unique blaze would break her maiden within a month of the Eight Belles tragedy at a rather nondescript 12/1 price on the tote board.  It’s hard to imagine that anyone realized what might lay ahead as these two began to lay the foundations for what would become two of the more memorable rides through North American thoroughbred racing history in recent memory.

By the time Zenyatta was being crowned 2009 Breeders’ Cup Classic champion, the “Year of the Filly” had become the dominant story in racing for the better part of the year.  Zenyatta becoming he first mare in history to win the Classic, finishing with a remarkable perfect record for her career.  Meanwhile, the 3-year-old sensation Rachel Alexandra had achieved the distinction of being mentioned in the same breath as the legendary Ruffian by becoming the first filly in 8 decades to win the Preakness, the 2nd filly in 4 decades to win the Haskell, and the 1st 3-year-old filly to defeat older males on a dirt route race in New York since Lady Primrose in the 1887 Manhattan Hand.

Horse racing prints commemorating Rachel Alexandra and Zenyatta from artist Fred Stone:  http://www.fredstone.com

On a more personal level, the year was indescribably magical. Somehow I managed to be lucky enough to witness Rachel Alexandra’s victories against boys in the Preakness and Haskell as well as Zenyatta’s victory in the Classic LIVE.  Talk about the Trifecta of a lifetime, eh?  And that doesn’t even count the experience I shared with my wife on her birthday at Belmont as Rachel sped her way to a near track record in the Mother Goose. 

For a guy who had always assumed he was born about 3 decades too late to experience historically relevant moments in the annals of horse racing, 2009 has been a veritable feast of unprecedentia (note: I’m fairly certain I’ve just invented that word, but it sounds fitting enough to keep).  In fact, the year as a whole has been a reaffirmation of everything that is great about the sport – even with the obvious remaining imperfections.

Searching through my mind for a fitting quote from the ether of the past, I was struck by a question that begins the memoirs from Private Sam Watkins of Company “Aytch” (H), 1st Tennessee Volunteers as he began to reflect in his middle ages about the experiences he had bore witness to in the Civil War as young man.  Watkins had fought in nearly every major battle in the “Western” theater of the war from 1861 – 1865 and had somehow survived relatively unscathed.  He had felt the sting of defeat, the rush of victory, the agony associated with the loss of loved ones, the salvation of ultimate survival and the experience of fatherhood that was denied so many of his generation, as well as the struggle to put into terms for others what had happened in his life.

“Were these things real…or are they but the vagaries of mine own imagination?”  

Much like Watkins, I struggle with whether all that which I have seen has really happened, or been the figments of some fantastical dream.  That somehow this has been too good to be true.  That we couldn’t possibly be lucky enough to have witnessed all that we have seen in so short a period of time.  The immenseness of it all being almost beyond comprehension.

To the tune of the full quote that was much abbreviated above from Sam Watkins:

Did my wife and I really have the honor of watching Rachel Alexandra become the first filly in 8 decades to win the Preakness at Pimlico? Did I shake with excitement, nearly yelling myself into cardiac arrest as she willed herself through the stretch?  Had we shed mutual tears of joy and embraced anyone we could find in the shadows of the old clubhouse at Pimlico where so many of the all-time great 3-year-olds had stood over the years?

Were we really bestowed with the honor of being inside the paddock to see Rachel off to post in the Haskell at Monmouth Park?  Had I truly been able to stand with my 5-year-old son and marvel at the majestic beauty before us moments away from her becoming “a Haskell legend?”

Did I watch as my beloved Zenyatta, forever my “Slow Cheetah”, paused in front of the Grandstand to “paw” at and “dance” upon the Santa Anita Pro Ride to the delightful roar of the crowd as she went to post in the Classic?  Had I sprung to life in unison with nearly 60,000 other fans as she made her bid for greatness in the stretch?  Had I celebrated with friends and strangers alike, faces flushed with joy, hearts spilling with the pride of parenthood and the innocent joy of childhood?  Had I led my hotel shuttle from the park in a rousing rendition of “how ’bout that Zenyatta?!?!?!” as we left Santa Anita that magical day?

Surely this must be a dream.  To call 2009 the “Year of the Filly” does not give the year proper justice.  It was more than that – perhaps a year for all time.  A year that we will no doubt struggle to explain as the grandchildren sit on our knees many years from now and inquire why grandpa is so continually fascinated by this peculiar (from their vantage point at least) sport. 

“Gather ’round, kids”, we’ll say, “let your grandpa tell you the story of the Year of the Filly way back in two thousand and nine.”  

We’ll then reach for some dusty box of treasured keepsakes and begin to remove the momentos we’ve managed to keep (for me this would most likely be my $2 win tickets from the Preakness and Classic).

“Awe, man….do we have to hear that one again, Grandpa?” they will ask (children being honest to a fault at times).

If there’s enough magic remaining for us in this life, we just might be lucky enough to have one grandchild that “gets it” when we talk about horse racing.

“Shhhhhh!” that child might say.  “Let him tell the story again.  I want to hear about Zenyatta and Rachel.”

Yup, it’s been that kind of year.  Treasure it, my friends.  These kinds of years only come around once in a lifetime.