Of Baseball Cards and Horse Racing

16 10 2009

As I sat on the sofa yesterday evening, watching with surprisingly increased curiosity as the Philadelphia Phillies and Los Angeles Dodgers faced off to open the National League Championship Series, I couldn’t help but harken back to a youth dominated by the joy of baseball card collecting.  Indeed, I like to think that the same innocent and magical fascination (if not outright obsession) that used to permeate card collecting is alive and well within me through my recent (relatively speaking) appreciation and devotion to all things horse racing. 

This isn’t the first time we’ve referenced baseball cards here, as you may recall, and I must confess immediately that part of the inspiration for this post is the wonderfully written baseball card blog known as “Cardboard Gods” from author Josh Wilker. 

My card collecting began in earnest, likely following the actions of my brother who was 2-years my elder.  This would have been somewhere around the spring of ’83 when I was a whopping 5-years-old and continued right up into High School in the early-to-mid 90′s.  At the time, there were no bigger stars in my life.  As I recently revealed to another fan from the same era, I can vividly remember going into the backyard, wiffle ball bat in hand, and attempting to recreate the batting stances of every one of the champion 1983 Baltimore Orioles.   Dan “Disco” Ford (pictured at the top of this post as a member of the 1980 California Angels), John “T-Bone” Shelby, Eddie Murray, and of course Ripken.  In fact, I like to blame my infatuation with the awkward batting stance of Dan “Disco” Ford for my rather paltry batting average through my first several years in Little League ball, until I began copying the stances of Randy Milligan and Cal Ripken, but I digress.

 

 

At some point along the way though, three things happened.  First was a growing infatuation with football – an infatuation that continues to this day (as any who are unfortunate to have to listen to my NFL or fantasy advice are all too familiar with).  Next there was a growing dissatisfaction – or perhaps more correctly a disappointment with my human “heroes” for continually letting me down, either through obscene actions, damaging revelations, or for being (or at least seeming to be) cold and distant to their fans.  Add to that the “investment” that baseball cards then became – which ruined the fun that they were intended to be and turned them into some sort of perverted adult money-making scheme.  Ditto the mega salaries of the players that rose so meteorically and so quickly as to be incomprehensible to my (at the time) young mind.  Finally, there was horse racing, and once that came along everything else was swiftly moved to the back pages of my existence. 

Now, truth be told, I could see how one might rightly ask “But Kevin, there are shady people in horse racing as well that are difficult to root for” – and indeed this is likely the case wherever our species is involved in competition and money is changing hands – but I remain convinced that for every single headline grabbing character of unflattering qualities in our sport, there are 10 folks working behind the scenes (although perhaps not in the same role) who are genuinely good natured souls and care about nothing more than the care of our equine heroes.

Anyhow, once the “cardboard gods” who I had cherished and adored in my youth slipped into retirement or obscurity, a void was left that needed  filling.  It seemed difficult at times to find that same level of devoted connection to the next generation of human stars on the baseball diamond.  Maybe it was the rising salaries, or the strike shortened seasons?  Perhaps in even more simpler terms, it was the painful to watch slide from greatness to awfulness that characterized my beloved Orioles following the 1983 World Series and continues to this day?  Whatever it was, the meaning was clear – there was a void in my life that had to be filled by something.  Thankfully, in due time I found horse racing (rather than say – methamphetamines), and the rest  is history. 

Ever since then, it’s brought me a bit of nostalgic joy whenever the opportunity arises to connect the two passions on the bookends of my existence into a continuous stream.  Watching the “fighting Phils” walk out of Los Angeles with a crucial game 1 victory, thanks in large part to the Earl Weaver-esque employment of the 3-run-homer (on two occasions), I suddenly remembered that just such an opportunity had indeed presented itself.

Months ago I posted an article suggesting that if we were ready to classify 2009 as the “year of the filly”, by virtue of the exploits of the amazing Rachel Alexandra and the undefeated champion Zenyatta (and others), that it would only be fitting and proper if the Philadelphia Phillies repeated as baseball champs.  Since that time the bullpen of the Phillies had gone on life support and it seemed that with every passing day either the Braves, the Marlins, or some combination thereof were gaining on them.  In the back of the mind, one couldn’t help but think “if their bullpen plays like this in the post season, they’re bound to get swept in the 1st round!” 

Now we find the Phillies preparing for Game 2 with that ever-crucial series lead after 1.  How crucial?  I believe it was announcer Buck Martinez who opined last night that in the previous 17 NLCS  contests (an odd number to begin stat counting from) , that the team who had won the first game advanced to the world series 14 times.   Clearly then, the odds are in the Phillies’ favor. 

And what of our beloved equine fillies?  Well, I’m certain by now (roughly one week later) that we’ve all seen the effortless victory by Zenyatta in the Grade 1 Lady’s Secret at Santa Anita.  California’s darling silenced all her critics by once again demonstrating that she is head and shoulders better than anything that has ever met her on the race track.  Now the question remains whether she will take on fillies and mares in the Ladies’ Classic, or a showdown with the big boys in the Classic itself.   Either way, it’s clear she’ll have a tremendous opportunity in front of her to continue to progress unbeaten through her storied career.

 

 

With that in mind, I’d just like to take the opportunity to state once again that the “year of the filly/Phillie” is still alive and well – and the final chapter in this story remains to be written.  Ahead on the horizon await the Yankees (presumably, unless the Angels can get some divine intervention) and a potential date with history in the Breeders’ Cup Classic. 

Go, Zenyatta – and go Phils!

Make this the “year of the filly” across multiple sports. 

Before we close – I’d also like to point out to readers that Brian A has launched his own horse racing blog here on WordPress.  Stop on over and give him some encouragement if you get the chance, as I truly feel his is a voice that needs to be heard.  A word about that encouragement though – only show him the whip – don’t actually strike him with it….well, maybe just a few taps for good measure, but I suspect he’ll cruise to acclaim relatively quickly under merely a confident hand ride.  :-)

Enjoy the weekend everyone – and best of luck in all of your wagers this weekend.   It’s pouring rain here in the Mid Atlantic -which kills my original “get rich quick” scheme this weekend of betting longshots on the Laurel Park turf (has anyone been paying attention to the mutuels in turf races at Laurel?  Seems like only a handful of favorites have won all meet and the average win payout has got to be in the double digits).  All of this means I’ll likely take it easy this weekend and attempt to save some coin for the Breeders’ Cup. 

Oh yes, almost forgot – in closing, and since he has now been found safe and sound, allow me to employ the latest internet meme taking the country by storm (and sounds eerily similar to a familiar horse racing catch phrase) by offering the following piece of commentary on the entire “balloon boy” fiasco that took the news media by storm yesterday afternoon:

“Go, Falcon, go!” 

:-)





Curlin, Rachel, and Cal Ripken: or “how I learned to stop worrying about the Baltimore Orioles and fell in love with horse racing”

7 05 2009

Way back when I first started this site, I contemplated posting something about the video game series known as Gallop Racer, that was not widely known here in the states but did develop a bit of a cult following throughout the life cycle of the now obsolete Playstation 2 video game system.   Somewhere along the way covering actual living thoroughbreds just seemed to have more zest and reader appeal, rendering the idea one that has been stocked away on the storage shelf of ideas for quite some time (queue the final scene from “Raiders of the Lost Ark” for dramatic effect).  That is, until I found this video today. 

Someone (bless their soul) has gone through the trouble of recreating many of the top horses of the past few years, including Curlin, Zenyatta, Big Brown, and Well Armed (no Zarkava?? I guess they only send “virtual Zarky” out on the grass?)  in putting together this fantastic clip of a fictional race between them. 

If you’ve never played the Gallop Racer games, they were a bit too cartoonish in terms of presentation for my liking (I would’ve preferred a more mature “Madden-esque” approach to the menus, etc.), but the racing action itself was highly addictive and the best produced thus far covering our sport.  Horses tended to have particular running styles (front runner, stalker, mid pack, and late closer), as well as preferred distances.   Some thrived at particular tracks.  Their ability to run an all around solid race was heavily impacted by their positioning (run a front runner at the back of the pack and they were sure to get upset), any physical contact with other horses, pace setup, and most importantly, the timing of their jockey asking them for their all out drive to the finish.  Do everything right, and your horse was able to run the race of his life.  Mess up even one of those factors and you were suddenly vulnerable, even on top flight horses, of being gunned down in the stretch. 

This game had it all. If you could get past the anime themed user interface (which was difficult for me), there was actually a deep simulation here that involved breeding, training,  plotting multi-race courses for your thoroughbreds, and even knock-off versions of races like the Kentucky Derby and Breeders’ Cup Classic.   Heck, you could even bet if you wanted to.

I won’t spend time harping on some of the inaccuracies here – I’ll leave that to you all.   Instead, just know that if you needed any further proof that yours truly is border-line insane, then know that I actually screamed at the virtual jockey (virtual Robby?) aboard the virtual Curlin to “get him off the rail!!!! What the heck are you doing out in front????”  No doubt the latter was heavily influenced by his being stuck in the 1 hole, and thankfully “virtual Robby” is able to unleash virtual Curlin’s devastating giant strides at just the right time to bring the good guy home on top.  :)

Yes, I’m admittedly reaching a bit for material here, as I’m absolutely on edge wondering if there’s still a chance to see Queen Rachel in the Preakness.  It seems to be getting slimmer by the hour, with Jackson now commenting that he’s not going to rush her into a showdown with the boys.  Can’t say I really disagree with that, although in my heart I want to see her very badly. 

In other random news, a friend of mine clued me into the fact that Cal Ripken Jr., Major League Baseball’s “iron man”  and a boyhood hero of mine (ironic considering Curlin is horse racing’s “iron horse”), apparently took in the Kentucky Derby and had himself quite a day at the betting window.  Evidently he was on local radio here in Baltimore today talking about his experience, although I’m unable to find a source/link to share.   Yes, he had Mine that Bird, and when you hear why it’s enough to make any Orioles fan like myself sick with self-disgust that we didn’t see the same angles and at least have $2 on him.  

The angles?  Mine that Bird was the #8 horse, Cal’s number.   His jockey was “Cal”vin Borel.  Oh yeah, and there’s that whole “bird” aspect, considering Cal played for the Orioles. 

How’d I miss that?  

Here’s a related true story I’ll share with you, and that only my older brother and family could vouch for:

The year was 1983.  I was barely 5-years-old and had just been brought into the fascinating world of baseball card collecting, following in the footsteps of my brother.   I had been raised to be a Phillies fan.  We lived in Elkton, MD, which is torn between loyalties to Baltimore and Philadelphia sports teams, but tends to trend more to the Philly side of the spectrum (get it?  gratuitous 70′s/80′s Philadelphia reference there).  My mother’s family were all Phillies fans.  My father’s family were all Phillies fans.  They bought me hats, plastic helmets, pennants, and anything else that they obviously assumed might brainwash me into their cult of “Phanatic” worship. 

I would have none of this, however.  A true rebel since birth (having been born within the confines of the rebellious state of Alabama) ,  I opened a pack of baseball cards one morning in the family car, and promptly discovered Cal’s 1983 topps card.   I don’t even need the image below to remember it.  I can still see the orange uniform, the upper-cut swing, the boyish youth of a player who seems to be clearly having a world of fun in major league ball. 

“Mom!” I announced.  “I think the Orioles are now my favorite team, and this guy is my favorite player.”  

 Boom goes the dynamite.

I had done the unthinkable. I had announced my secession from the Phillies loyalty I was expected to revere, and fired upon Fort Sumter all in one fell swoop.   As I recall, a strange “don’t worry, this is probably just a phase”  type of silent concern fell upon the rest the family.  Actually it wasn’t quite so dramatic, as my brother had broken ranks earlier and declared his allegiance with the Houston Astros, having been moved by the tears of defeat cried by outfielders Jose Cruz and Ceasar Cedeno during their extra-innings phenomenon that was the 1980 National League Championship Series.  I suppose that makes me more of a follower than a trend setter, but as I recall I seem to have had no idea that the Orioles played in a town just a few miles away, and whenever I heard reference to the Houston Oilers football team I was convinced the sports announcer discussing them was a fool who was mistaking the Orioles for the Astros. 

In other words, my mental aptitude was not yet sharpened.   I was naive,  easily coerced, and seemingly wholly incapable of pronounced individual action.The alarming  pronouncement sent shock waves through the family car that still reverberate to this day.   And, much like my kiss-of-death Kentucky Derby selections, while the Orioles would win the World Series that season over none other than the Phillies, it would be the last echo of their true glory years that stretched back to the late 60′s.  There would be no more championships after that year, only heartbreak,  resounding defeats, and 0-21 beginnings to disastrous season after disastrous season (and 3 for 1 trades for, of all things, a Houston Astros first basemen that we shall not speak of in exchange for future Hall of Famers Curt Schilling, Steve Finley, and all-star pitcher Pete Harnisch). 

In fact, I’m quite certain that at some level my frustration with baseball, by virtue of being an Orioles fan throughout the wasteland that was  the 1980s and early 1990s, is what led me to seek out other opportunities to fill the ever increasing void in my sports obsessed mind.   In time I would take to the football field, and throw myself completely into dreams of gridiron conquest and glory.   We had some fun along the way, most notably when our High School team won the Class 2A North Region championship, before being absolutely annihilated in the State playoffs in front of a record home crowd.   Would you believe I still wake up at  night thinking that we’ve got one more chance to mount a comeback in that game?  Sad but true.   I have that dream about twice a year it seems.

Ultimately though, it was horse racing where I found everything I was looking for.  Competition.  Excellence.  A chance to apply intellectual skill.  Gut-wrenching drama, and of course the kind of excitement that moves you to stand in your seat and scream at the top of your longs attempting to procure a favorable outcome by sheer will power alone, if possible.  

So, in a strange and difficult to follow path meandering through my childhood to early adulthood,  I’ve gone from Cal Ripken to Curlin (and horse racing in general).  Somehow those two worlds collided  this past weekend.  Two iron men who helped navigate their sports through troubled waters just by showing up every day and giving their best effort.   Cal is largely credited with helping “save baseball” during the infamous strike era in the mid 90′s.   Curlin, while not quite the universally unifying force he could’ve been had horse racing been higher on the national conscience, was a horse who brought fans together in a way only a special few can.   Anytime you get groups of fans competing for the right to consider themselves “THE biggest fan”, you know you’ve tapped into something special.  

That something special, at least in my life, has been both Cal and Curlin, and without either of them I probably wouldn’t be posting things here for public consumption.   Indeed, in the words of Jerry Garcia, “what a long, strange trip it’s been.”  Long?  Quite.  Strange?  Unceasingly.  I wouldn’t trade a moment of it for the world though.

Happy Friday everyone – and an early Happy Mother’s Day to any out there that happen to be reading along.   I’ll probably be taking a weekend off here to focus on chores around the house and recharge the old mental batteries in anticipation of a big week coming up.  I’ll be attending the Black Eyed Susan (Friday) and Preakness (Saturday) festivities live next weekend, and it goes without saying that the mental marathon that is handicapping so many races and posting about them is already looming on the horizon as an imposing obstacle to overcome.  Luckily I’ve got some vacation time to burn at work (ssshhh! don’t mention that to Cal or Curlin).

Here’s hoping that when all is said and done we might see Curlin’s future girlfriend, Rachel Alexandra running in the Preakness.   After all, with Curlin and Cal gone,  I’ve got somewhat of a shorage on the hero front.   There’s still a void left to fill.  And you know what?  Watching Rachel Alexandra run away with the Oaks last weekend, I couldn’t help but reflect upon the similarity in terms of emtional feeling between that moment and the ’83 baseball card experience with Ripken.  It was as if I had just peeled open the pack, removed the first card, and stared in amazement at a new hero.  

“Amy!”  I believe I shouted. “She’s the best horse I’ve seen since Curlin!!”  

And thus a new love affair has begun.








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