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Daybreak in Toronto, Thursday
Original article written by The Steward posted 8 years 3 weeks agoThursday
Daybreak happened swiftly, from darkness to light in a matter of fifteen minutes or so. Susie Rydell walked through the backside, taking out the details of a horse being cold hosed here, a stablehand raking there. To her right, the grandstand seemed very far away, like a peaceful beacon soon to be lit up.
Last year, there was pressure, almost too much to bear. She been dealing with an undefeated superhorse and a brilliantly fast Classic contender… the latter of whom now adorned all the banners around the grandstand. Doctor, in all his glory.
Chris Simpson stood next to the track veterinarian, who watched Ruler of the Kiss jog up and down the path outside the barn. The veterinarian smiled, made a check mark, shook hands with Chris, and summoned another horse from the same barn. Lino Duran darted by, still bundled in a jacket.
Inside her own shed, Susie’s three fillies looked back at her expectantly. Only one raced later that day, which meant the other two still needed exercise like a regular day. The track would close early, around eight, and then the entry gates would open, allowing fans from all over the world to stream in and find their seats.
Just three mid-shot fillies, she mused, whereas last year I had the two best colts in the world. The ups and downs of the sport are intense, but worth it. You have to have the fillies to one day get the colts.
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Tiyoun Long stepped out of the sliding door onto the grandstand terrace, checking her ticket: Box 38, Seat A. She had only purchased one seat, which meant she would have box mates. She looked down at the numbering on the nearest boxes, and realized she was only at Box 4. Ugh.
Waving off an exuberant seat attendant, she started the long walk along the box seats, hunting for hers. Most people weren’t in their seats yet, as the first race was still a good 45 minutes away. The sun shone pale over the Eastern side of the grandstand, lighting up the racetrack in all its glory.
She passed Matthew McMahon, dressed sharply in a pressed gray suit, trading business cards with Ed Malloy, who hid behind dark sunglasses despite the gentle light. Doug Burrows lingered in the next box over, eavesdropping on the quiet conversation.
Tiyoun didn’t recognize the three men in box 37, but one of them was boasting, “This is definitely our year. Second last year? She’s due.”
“Who are you talking about?” Tiyoun asked, unable to help herself.
“Keeper of Gold, my filly,” said the man. He must be John Arzuaga. “She is running in the Filly and Mare Dirt Mile.”
“Isn’t she facing Tom Mudgett’s Snow Storm Shiver?” asked one of the men next to him. “That’s a nice filly.”
“Shut up, Nahuel,” John snapped. “I know the competition.”
“I’m Rafa Usoz, from Spain,” said the third man, shaking Tiyoun’s hand. “Are you sitting here?”
“No, I’m in the next box.” She pointed. “I just have the one ticket.”
“I think this is where they stuck all of us people who only bought one ticket each,” John said. “The big groups are closer to the wire.”
Tiyoun slumped into her seat, and almost immediately was joined by Adela Nowak, wearing a maroon and silver dress, the color of her silks.
“Hi! I didn’t know you’d be here!” she chirped. “Good luck this week.”
“You, too. Who else is sitting with us?”
“I already saw Steve Handley, for one, and I think maybe Danny Warren?”
“No, he’s with us,” said Nahuel Agusti from the other side of the divider. “I see him coming now.”
The sound of trumpets caused Tiyoun to jolt. Down on the track, three men in red jackets called the horses to the post for the first Steward’s Cup race. Thirteen fillies emerged through the gap near the clubhouse turn, their purple saddle towels bright in the morning light.
“I almost didn’t make it!” said an out of breath Dusty Klatt, sitting down beside them. “Hey, guys.”
“Hey,” Adela responded. But her eyes were trained on the parade of fillies before them.
The fillies for the Filly Turf Dash stepped onto the course, marching royally and representing every color under the spectrum. They loaded well into the gate, stood behaved while they waited, and when the doors crashed open, the fillies sprung forward in a line.
The crowd roared with one voice. Steward’s Cup had begun!