Daybreak at Sunshine Park, Part 1

Original article written by The Steward posted 14 years 0 weeks ago

It was unusually humid, at least for Emily Shields, who stood on the track under the wire at Sunshine Park, watching the sun sink behind the grandstand. It cast a pink glow on the hovering clouds, splashing the entire track and backside with a red hue. She had hoped that by late November all traces of hurricane season would have vanished, but instead the humidity lingered, threatening to tarnish the upcoming Steward’s Cup weekend. Long-range weather forecasts were predicting a warm, dry day, but Emily still felt a twinge of worry. Too many of racing’s biggest days had been disrupted by rain in the last year.

Emily turned her attention to the finish pole behind her, looming over the soft dirt, which was rapidly darkening in the approaching twilight. Some of racing’s greatest moments had taken place on this track, at this wire. Seven years ago, Throne thundered to victory in the Steward’s Cup Classic. Ten years before that, one of the greatest match ups of all time had taken place right on the Sunshine Park oval, with Elusive Pegasus outlasting Loki Flame to the wire in the Classic. Raise Fury had dominated the Filly and Mare Sprint before retiring to one of the most lucrative broodmare careers in history, and way back in Year 3, Priceless Forever and Shepickedupadance had won Juvenile races only a half hour apart.

When the sun had slipped away and the track was cast in cool purple darkness, Emily ducked under the outside rail and picked up her briefcase, which she’d left carelessly near the winner’s circle. It was Sunday evening, with a full four days to go until Championship morning dawned on Florida.

Sunshine Park, which usually only ran in the winter and spring, had opened its doors for seven days to allow the roughly two-hundred-and-fifty runners to arrive, get used to the surface, race, and then head out, usually to farms to spend the winter. Only about fifty of the contenders were on the grounds already, with another hundred or so due in the morning. Emily walked up the stretch and across the horse path, past the stable gate and onto the backside, where her silver Nissan Sentra rental was waiting by Barn 4.

That barn was empty of horses and humans, but its open stalls were bedded with straw, promising new arrivals in the morning. Emily’s car was parked near the Southeast entrance to the barn. On her way out, edging slowly alongside Barn 4 and around the receiving barns so as to not disturb any horses already on the grounds, Emily noticed a long gray and green trailer pulling into the main stable gate and idling so that the guard could verify the papers of the equines inside. She rolled down her window and hollered out to the security officer, “Who?”

He looked up from the papers, a smile spreading his weathered face. “Derby winner!”

Emily grinned back, and at the same time recognized a brand new Prius speeding into the parking lot and pulling up alongside the trailer. She waved cheerfully at trainer Alysse Jacobs, who was tapping irritably on the steering wheel and waiting for the papers to clear, but Alysse didn’t look over. Emily chuckled to herself and drove through the parking lot towards Highway 1, headed for the hotel.

***

Alysse Jacobs tugged anxiously on the lightweight collared argyle shirt which clung damply to her back. She stood on a narrow strip of grass behind the unloading platform, where her prize three-year-old colt Buckingham would be unveiled in a minute. She could barely make out his black tipped ears through the van’s dirty green windows, but there was no mistaking his shrill cry as he whinnied anxiously, shuffling about against the metal floor.

The Louisville Derby winner would be vying for the title of SIMMY Champion Three-Year-Old and Horse of the Year in the Steward’s Cup Classic, a title that remained wide open in a somewhat baffling division. Buckingham was one of six or seven colts in the running, having also won the Giacomo Stakes by six lengths prior to his Derby. Since then, the handsome gray had lost two in a row, but both with strong performances.

Other horses with a shot included Sun Tzu, the Long Island Classic and Kentucky Blue Stakes winner; Landing on Dust, who took the Midsummer Classic and New Orleans Derby; and Fable, fresh off wins in the Garden State Invitational and Awesome Derby. Unfortunately, Fable was in California, resting for his four-year-old season, while Sun Tzu and Landing on Dust remained undecided about their Steward’s Cup plans. A rematch, for now, seemed unlikely.

The van’s side door swung open and a long metal plank was placed between the doorframe and the unloading ramp. Alysse bounced forward on the balls of her feet, anxious, but the gesture proved unnecessary as Buckingham appeared, framed in the doorway, his handsome head swinging about curiously, ears forward. The groom, Alexz Johnson, reached up a pale white hand to pat the big horse’s firm neck, then led him off the trailer. Buckingham’s hard hindquarters allowed his legs to flow elegantly over the earth as he stepped onto the grass, head up, spying his doting trainer.

Alysse stepped forward and took the soft gray muzzle in her palms. She poked her finger at the soft spot between his nostrils, and followed it with a kiss. Buckingham woofed appreciatively, moving his nose to tickle her neck before bending down, stretching one leg luxuriously behind him, and nibbling at the grass.

“Miss Jacobs! Miss Jacobs!” the portly security guard ran towards her, holding a stitch in his side and clutching a stack of white papers in the other hand. He slowed to a trot and then a stop, bending over and gripping his knees to catch his breath, holding out the papers in front of him. “You’ve gotta go, Miss Jacobs. You can’t be here.”

“What are you talking about?” snapped Alysse, jerking the papers out of the man’s hand, startling Buckingham, who drew back with a snort and then stretched his neck over her shoulder, trying to read them as well.

There, circled with a red marker, was a simple field filled out on all horse’s papers. It said simply: Steward’s Cup Nominated? There was a check box for Yes, and next to it, a check box for No, and in that box was one blackened check mark…

Alysse didn’t even spare a moment being stunned, upset, or angry. Instead, she handed Buckingham back to Alexz and said, “Back on the van, boy, you’re going back to Kentucky.” With little fanfare, the Derby winner stepped back into the van, and in that instant, the Classic lost one of its great contenders.

* * *
At 4:22 am, Rose Hepburn’s alarm sounded shrilly in the motel room, awakening her from a fitful slumber. Within seconds she had slunk bank into a doze, but woke abruptly at 4:25, darting out of bed in a state of moderate panic.

It took only seven minutes to get ready to go, and the drive to the track took only four. By 4:36 Rose had parked her rental car outside of Barn 7, and could see the dim, warm light of the shedrow filtered through the tarp hiding the stalls inside. As soon as she stepped inside, the friendly white face of Much Like Falling greeted Rose from the first stall. His bright eyes almost smiled when he saw her, and he nickered pleasantly. She melted into his side, grasping his slick black neck. He shrieked one sharp whinny, blasting her ears and causing them to ring uncomfortably, and Rose peeled back, glaring at him.

“Not yet, big boy,” she apologized. “Star gets to go out first today.”

In the next stall, Star’s Daughter hung her plain head over the webbing, curious but content and not over eager. Her long ears, inherited from her Grade 1 winning mother Can’t Live in Fear, pricked forward then flopped over patiently. Rose wrapped her fist around one, noticing that Star’s Daughter needed a trim, badly, and made a mental note to accomplish it before Steward’s Cup morning.

At 4:59, Star’s Daughter was tacked up and walking the shedrow. Yolanda Flanagan, the filly’s wiry dark-haired jockey, leaned casually on the wall outside of the office, waiting for a leg up from Rose, who watched Star’s Daughter walk towards, then away from her, nodding involuntarily, satisfied.

At 5:02 they stepped out of the shedrow together, the bay filly, her springy rider, and her nervous trainer, who eyed other horses as they stepped out of their barns, looking for fellow Filly and Mare Turf contenders. The backside was relatively quiet, lacking most of the runners who would be shipping in later that morning or afternoon. The dark sky hovered close, hugging the backside and the racetrack. The dirt oval appeared nearly empty, and Rose stopped at the gap midway through the far turn and released the shank from Star’s Daughter’s bit. The bay filly immediately picked up a jog, dancing around the outside fence going the wrong way. Rose quickly lost her in the darkness.

A hulking dark figure stood just beyond the gap, its rider sitting as a silhouette perched on a long black back. Rose leaned back slightly to read the name on the purple and white saddle towel: JAMES MADISON.

She looked up towards the trainer’s stand, which stood above the track overlooking the turn, and could see a lone figure up there, radio in hand, and realized this must be Amanda Kessler, James Madison’s trainer. The seventeen-hand colt stepped forward and back anxiously, flexing his muscles and bowing his neck to play with the bit. Rose couldn’t quite remember the colt’s record, but recalled reading about him and suspected that the Australian invader was undefeated.

When Star’s Daughter had completed a full circuit around the track, Flanagan pulled the filly up alongside James Madison, who towered over them and continued to move restlessly. When the colt strutted off, he moved in the right direction, heading around the far turn towards the stretch, picking up an easy lope before striking out into a gallop. Star’s Daughter followed suit shortly after, and Rose again lost her under the cover of the pre-dawn sky.

“Did you see the forecast?” Amanda’s voice rained down upon Rose, startling her. “It’s going to be sunny. It won’t be wet at all.”

“Oh.” Rose wasn’t quite sure whether this would help her chances or hurt them.

---

Back to Steward's Cup articles