Daybreak at Inglewood Park - Part 2

Original article written by The Steward posted 12 years 0 weeks ago

The sun crossed higher in the sky, warming the trainers who stood out on the track or leaned out from the trainers’ stand, watching their charges move luxuriously in the morning air. Ara Davies’ filly Nagini drew the attention of several other trainers, who watched the classy gray jogging the wrong way before galloping nearly two miles. Ara herself was no where to be found; but there had been rumors that she and Alysse Peverell had gotten themselves into a VIP party at a club called Wine and Bacon Time.

“That sounds gross,” April Eddy groaned when she heard that news from Ashley Gibson, who actually looked wistful. They stood side-by-side watching their runners Rampant and Yahtzee on the track.

“Not as gross as the place Brian Leavitt was checking out about ten minutes from here,” Ashley hissed. “I heard he was checking out some weird place that served crickets and stuff.”

“That doesn’t sound like Brian,” April said dubiously.

“That’s what I thought!” Ashley insisted.

“Gossiping?” Brianna McKenzie asked, walking past them towards the hill while leading her flashy filly Inspired Fancy.

“Just a little,” April admitted, looking uncomfortable.

“I love it,” Brianna said. “For example, I just heard that Danielle Tilley…”

But what Danielle did they never knew, as the cry of “LOOSE HORSE!” echoed up and down the backstretch. A siren sounded, loud and eerie, over the track, echoing between the grandstand and the barns a quarter mile away. Headed at a dead gallop going the wrong direction was Charles Bunbury’s colt It’s Storming, who was indeed storming into oncoming traffic.

Clinton Jacinto reacted quickest, wheeling his stable pony away from his filly Kind Gesture, who stood quietly on the rail, and taking off after the loose horse. Under expert handling, the Danny Derby-trained pair of Chou Kawaii and Trogdor scattered from where they had been, galloping to the three-quarter pole, and It’s Storming split them, avoiding a collision. By the time the frantic colt had reached the seven-eighths, Clinton had caught up and was slowing the colt with one hand on the flapping rein, one hand on his saddle horn. The alarm abruptly stopped.

“That was some crazy riding!” Emily Klein called, posting by from the back of her leggy black mare, Platypus.

“Thanks!” Clinton called, turning to deliver It’s Storming back to his trainer. Charles looked merely amused, shaking his head. “I did want to give him a little blowout,” he admitted, “but I don’t think George enjoyed his tour of the ground!” He nodded at the poor jockey, who was slowly rising on his hands and knees.

Nearby, Danny Derby was white as a sheet. “That was scary,” he gasped hoarsely.

“Cheer up!” Jon Smythe said kindly. “It’s your first Steward’s Cup – this kind of thing happens all the time! Good horses getting run over by other good horses…”

“That’s not funny,” Jon Xett said seriously, leaning out over the rail and pushing his black baseball cap up on his forehead. “It happened to me once, back about…” his voice trailed off as he started to count the years, and realized it was so long ago he didn’t even want to mention it. “Basically, it’s happened to me. My horse had to retire. Fastest horse there ever was, too.”

“Where was the Steward?” Jonathan Bolt asked, standing behind Danny Derby along the rail. “I mean, great catch by Clinton but that’s not really his job.”

“She’s on a mission, so she’s distracted,” Danny said wisely.

“Just what we need, a distracted Steward,” Clinton muttered, sarcasm dripping through his voice.

--

“Can you hold him for a second?” Emily Shields asked, tossing Cookie’s reins in the direction of Steph Lonhro without waiting for a reply. It was the morning break, and for twenty minutes tractors would be harrowing the dirt main course. Emily had decided to take the time to pester more of her gifting suspects, rather than check on undercard stakes horses and Steward’s Cup entries as she usually did during the break.

“Sure?” Steph said awkwardly, but willingly took the reins and led Cookie over to the office doorway to grab a few carrots off her desk.

Having already accosted Steph, Emily was determined to bother the rest of the shedrow in Barn 35. She first stopped near Samantha James, who was carefully wiping the eyes and nostrils of her bay colt, Lokite Diver. When Samantha shook her head in confusion, Emily continued down the row to the stalls of Paul Heinrich. Here, she felt confident.

“Paul! You’re always doing nice things for people!”

“Not always,” he said, watching her warily. “Did you need something donated?”

“Not at all!” And Emily explained about the surprise gift.

“Sorry, that wasn’t me,” he said, “but if you do need anyone to help donate prizes to the party tonight, I can help. Where is it again?”

“I don’t even remember,” Emily admitted. “It’s almost never on Tuesday. Who planned that!?”

--

Horses circled above the gap just before the track reopened after break. Some of them, like Sara Kendall’s Perfect to a Tee and Randy Booth’s Thrill Rider were unassuming, somewhat plain horses lacking any special distinctions. But two of them seemed to circle more warily than the others, and although they were merely horses, everyone watching had no trouble putting a thought process behind their eyes.

Nearby, Matt Wilson and Stephen Skaggs watched the pseudo-drama unfolding. They leaned up against the brick wall outside of the racing office, nearly matched in height and size and age and differing only in hair color. They could have even passed for cousins.

Their horses, on the other hand, were as different as could be. At 17 hands, the strapping bay Messiah dwarfed San Diego Padre, a regal stripe-faced chestnut. While San Diego Padre cruised in an easy circle with liquid grace, Messiah prowled, strutting and flexing his muscles. The only thing the two colts really shared was a dam sire – California – and the chance to beat the other for the title of three-year-old champion.

Although Messiah held 3 finishes over San Diego Padre, the latter had won the big dance, the Louisville Derby. If he finished in front of Messiah in the Classic, he would have beaten the better-regarded colt in the two biggest contests, which would surely sway voters.

“Good luck,” Matt said quietly as the outrider moved the blockade from the course, allowing the horses to travel down the path onto the track.

“You, too,” Stephen said sincerely.

They both looked up to watch their horses move, but suddenly a small, muscular chestnut with incredibly rounded shoulders and hindquarters barreled right through the group of horses waiting at the gap. His purple and white saddle towel read IMPERIOUS.

“Sorry about that,” Susie Raisher said vaguely, scrambling after him between the waiting horses. But by the somewhat smug look of confidence on her face, she didn’t seem sorry at all.

--

An exhausted looking husband and wife pair entered a small café a half mile from Inglewood Park, desperately seeking anything that wasn't plane or track food. Sean and Ramey Furney's mixed breed strings had run brilliantly, but coordinating between all those tracks didn't do any favors for the stomachs involved. Looking around, they made a beeline for a table piled high with pancakes and surrounded by Thomas Fallon, Scott Eiland, Talia Ichinari and Mike Eaton.

"Stayawakenwatchme is my favourite entry. I love the feel of her mane in my hands," Mike Eaton was saying, apparently to the amusement of most of the table.

"Mind if we join you?" Ramey asked, "We're in serious need of decent food."

"Go ahead, and help yourself," Talia responded, eyeing up the pancake mountain. "We might have ordered a little too much..."

"We were just discussing our entries," Scott said. His own entries, a juvenile colt called Babe and half-siblings Breathe and Millionaire's Son, had his anxiety at typical Steward's Cup levels.

"I have These Days entered in the Classic and Ramey has Performing in the Juvenile Turf," said Sean, giving the impression he was reading off a list in his head. Thomas nodded. He knew every entry inside and out, especially in the Turf Mile where his own Artico was running.

"Its my first Steward's Cup," he said. The table instantly fell into reminisces. Every trainer always remembers their first Steward's Cup.

---

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