Daybreak at Sunshine Park, Part 5

Original article written by The Steward posted 14 years 3 weeks ago

At 7 am, Bill Oelrich stood in the chute, holding the shank of a perfectly conformed, gorgeous dark bay colt, whose blazing whit spot was nearly hidden by a flowing forelock. The aristocratic colt held the bit lightly in his soft mouth, ears pricked, mane falling evenly down his neck.

Bill pushed his glasses back up his nose, huddling closer into his windbreaker. A somewhat random brisk wind had picked up after 6:30, and the horses were reacting to it, frisking about and spooking at phantoms on the turns and near the wire. Bill’s colt, Beyond the Stars, gave in to no such nonsense, and instead stood perfectly, watching as Kira Ravenwood’s Ease Up Lad blew the final bend into the stretch, bolting towards the outside rail.

At 7:15, Bill let Beyond the Stars go, then joined his friend Bill Deitch at the rail. Deitch had a stopwatch in hand and was timing the brisk twelve clip of his Juvenile duo, Think Legendary and Worth the Prize. Both colts had Derby designs, with the Juvenile simply a pit stop on the way to Kentucky.

The Juvenile promised to be one of the most hotly contested races on the day. Tasha Langley’s Coldplay and Faith Powers’ Black Ferrari were some of the nicest two-year-olds seen in a while, and they weren’t even the favorites. Steve Martinelli’s $12 million purchase Lofty Goals was entered, as were the Enforcer pair of Superior Officer and Lokite Officer.

Beyond the Stars galloped flawlessly, following a sweating Worth the Prize off the racetrack. The two Bills parted and headed their separate ways. They didn’t see each other again until the paddock on Friday.

**

Emily Mitchell sat deeply in the Western saddle on her Leopard Appaloosa pony, leaning into the stirrups and adjusting her reins in her left hand over the horn. Out on the track, her set of three juvenile fillies galloped in a line of three past the wire for their first lap around the track. One Love ran on the inside, her dainty gray nose tucked in to her chest. On the outside came the heavy black filly SS Express, a seventeen-hand amazon with four white socks and a white stripe. In between them galloped the friendly-faced chestnut filly Llamrei.

Emily was proud of her trio, half of her six entrants for Friday. Of them all, only one was a colt, a strange twist from three years ago where Emily had come to the Steward’s Cup with two of the best colts of the decade, Atlantis and Sun Raider. As sires, the two stallions were about equal so far, each boasting only one stakes winner in their young careers.

A brunette woman leaned against the outside rail, examining the strides of a bouncing black colt whose saddle towel said MENACING. With nine wins in thirteen starts - and never off the board – Menacing was a rival to be reckoned with in the Turf Mile. Two of Menacing’s rivals, Sara Kendall’s Paul Revere and Leonard Beagle’s Star Signs, were circling in the backstretch chute, waiting for the turf course to open at 9:30. Also circling was a white-faced dark bay, and although neither Emily nor Ramrod could see the colt’s saddle towel, his distinctive trainer Ashley Gibson gave him away. She was wearing a white T-shirt, but it was her distinctive blonde-streaked brown hair that revealed her identity from a distance.

Offshore Excursion circled in formation with Paul Revere and Star Signs. The stocky, slightly pudgy colt looked nearly laughable compared to the regal lines of Paul Revere or the sleek tall body of Star Signs. All three of them would be in tough on Friday.

Emily Mitchell’s trio of fillies finished their final lap, pulled up, and Emily steered her pony behind them as if rounding them up, heading back to the barn. SS Express spooked as something blew past the outside rail along the track apron, halting firmly on her back legs, half rearing, and spinning back towards the oncoming traffic. Emily immediately was by her side, catching the left rein and slipping a thin leather strap through the filly’s bit. SS Express pinned her ears but immediately picked up a jog, and they left the quieter stablemates behind.

**

On Thursday afternoon, Norman Architecture was feeling extremely ill.

He leaned against the wooden planks separating the saddling stalls in the Sunshine Park paddock, hidden under an overhang. His four Steward’s Cup contenders paraded around the ring, which was blissfully quiet at the moment save for one other schooler and her trainer. Mallory Claire ducked her way through the paddock from a press conference in the grandstand, clutching a stack of papers and mumbling to herself, frowning. Her six-month-old daughter Olivia was glued to her hip, looking about the paddock in wonder and squealing in delight as Norman’s prize filly, Bodega Bay, stopped and nickered curiously.

Chuck Whittingham was hot on Mallory’s heels, also holding papers. “Alright there, Norman?” he called over, and it took all of Norman’s energy to nod back in response.

Bodega Bay’s muscles were hard and tight, her skin rippling serenely over her body. She looked as plain as horses came, only more elegant, royal almost. All she had to do to lock up the SIMMY Award for Champion Three-Year-Old Filly was win the Distaff on Friday – or at least run well.

The groom, Renesmee, led the filly into the saddling stall beside Norman. Although she sported a lip chain, Bodega Bay remained calm and didn’t act up once. Her ears pricked and she surveyed her surroundings while the other three marched another lap around the paddock.

Five stalls down, a slight woman with brown hair was schooling a – there was no other word for it – handsome black filly, a spitting image of her Derby winning sire, Saga. The filly, Rune, mouthed at the shank and her teeth made grinding noises over the bit. Her arched neck spilled mane in all directions, her tail streamed behind her, a glorious dark banner. The slight trainer, Madenline Gilbert, led the filly from the stall and gave her another lap around the paddock.

“Is that a colt?” Norman asked, finally speaking.

“Filly,” Maddy replied, grinning.

Norman’s eyes narrowed in appreciation and suspicion. “Derby filly?

“Maybe,” Maddy giggled, resting a soft hand on Rune’s bulky neck. “What do you think, girl? Derby? Or maybe just get through the Juvenile Fillies first? Yeah, I think that sounds good.”

**

On Thursday evening, Emily Shields closed her briefcase, adjusted her laptop carefully on the desk near the massive window overlooking the track, and then, satisfied, turned out the lights on the upper portion of the grandstand.

She stepped into the elevator and to her surprise found Matt Wilson on the ground floor, waiting for a ride up. “Oh, hi, Matt! I didn’t expect anyone else was still here,” Emily apologized. “I just locked up.”

“It’s okay, I’ll run by and get my stuff in the morning,” Matt said, sheepishly. “I missed the trainer’s meeting this morning and have no paddock passes.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, but that stuff isn’t here anyway,” Emily explained, “it all got moved to the racing office after the meeting.”

“Well, shoot,” Matt grumbled, turning to walk with Emily to the parking lot. “At least I’ll go to the right place tomorrow!”

They reached the parking lot and headed in separate directions, when Emily stopped suddenly and turned around. “Hey, Matt?”

“Yo?” Matt responded, swinging around himself, about fifty yards away.

“Swing by my office some time tomorrow, maybe right after the Classic? I’ve got something for you.”

“I hope it’s a Classic victory,” Matt teased.

“Right… no, it’s something else. Just come get it tomorrow, anytime works,” Emily rolled her eyes. The thought of Matt’s big longshot Heed the Warning pulling off the Classic over older stars like Born the Best and Chretiens was laughable, although Emily secretly had a soft spot for the strapping colt that she bred, and believed he might be able to hit the board and make a ton of money. Still, she genuinely wished Buckingham or Bragging Rights, her Classic “picks,” had made the race.

“I’ve got it!” Matt shouted when they’d both reached their cars. “I’m getting Cadeauje’s last foal!”

“That’s it!” Emily called back. “You guessed it!”

They laughed, climbed into their rental cars, and pulled out of the parking lot, as twilight swallowed up Sunshine Park. In ten hours, daybreak would rise on the twenty-fourth Steward’s Cup, and the most intense twelve hours in sports would play out before the eyes of thousands.

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