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Dawn at Sunshine Park - Parts 1 - 10

Original article written by The Steward posted 17 years 0 weeks ago

Explanation: Every year (or so) I like to write a story that helps make the game more real. Here is the Year 17 Breeders' Cup Story - which will be posted in parts in the days leading up to the big races.
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Red, yellow, and gold were the colors of the fall foliage that decorated the border of Dare to Dream Stud in New York. The sun was just peeking through the trees and a faint mist shrouded the earth as Eric Nalbone made his way between the wood fenced paddocks up to the training barn. In just ten days the world would turn its eyes towards Gulfstream Park in Florida where the 17th Breeders’ Cup Championships would be held. The hubbub of the racetrack was hard to fathom on this quiet morning, and Eric appreciated the beauty of the new day.

Gorgeous Thoroughbreds lined the paddock leading up to the barn. Righteous, Eric’s tall and lanky chestnut colt, was grazing peacefully. He was on his last day of turnout after his race in the Jockey Club Gold Cup at Belmont Park, just a short drive from Dare to Dream. His coat gleamed red in the warm morning glow and he raised his head briefly to watch his trainer pass. Eric had to give his colt a half-smile, knowing that in two weeks he would be back on the farm, but this time over at the stallion barn.

In the very next paddock, a lithe and slightly wild colt thundered up to the fence, eyes rolling and mouth open. Edict gave a short, piercing whistle and slid to a stop before crashing through the rails, then wheeled and took off to the other end of the paddock. He was in serious training and would head to Churchill Downs in two days, but every morning he was turned out for three hours to burn off extra energy. Eric knew the exercise riders appreciated this move, and it didn’t hurt Edict one bit. He was agile and cunning, and while he had had some close calls rushing about his paddock, his antics had never done any harm.

The training barn was cool and dark compared to the sunrise outside, but it was busy as grooms and hotwalkers scurried about, carrying buckets, brushes, and leg wraps. Exercise riders leaned against the wall outside the tack room, taping their long racing bats against their legs, conversing quietly with each other. The barn was modeled after the stone barns at Keeneland, large and full of space, with horses on either side of the shedrow in a circular pattern all the way around, and a tack room in the middle.

“Excuse me, Sir,” a young man said behind Eric. He turned and then quickly scooted out of the way. The hotwalker, Miguel, was holding the shank of a lovely two-year-old filly, Queen. A cooler was draped over her shoulders and the chain shank ran over her gums. In an effort to make herself less regal, Queen’s tongue hung lazily out of her mouth, but her eyes and ears were watchful and wondering. At the sight of her, Eric couldn’t suppress a big smile.

“How is she?” he asked Miguel.

“Perfect, as usual,” he answered, chirping to the filly and starting along the walkway again. “Come on, pretty girl.”

Eric watched her go, studying the steady fall of her hooves in the dirt, examining the way her hips and hindquarters swung easily. He could have stared at her forever, save for a sharp snort and whinny, followed by the heavy crash of a hoof meeting wood two stalls down.

Two grooms leapt in to action, rushing over to the stall, and Eric followed behind. Enjoy, a fussy and frantic two year old filly, was on her back legs in her stall, looking as if she was ready to take charge at the webbing. Her ears were back flat against her head and she trembled. “Easy, girl,” one of the men said, darting in and grabbing hold of her halter. “Relax, crazy filly.” He turned her several times and then led her up to the tie hanging from the back of her stall.

“You better take her out and walk her,” Eric suggested in a tone that implied this should have been done a while ago. “She’s going in the first set, then let’s turn her out after.”

Almost intuitively, Eric knew that in the next stall over there would also be a filly needing attention. Sure enough, Robe cowered in the corner of her stall, eyes wide and skin shivering. The slightest noise could upset her, and while she wasn’t aggressive like Enjoy, she was just as hard to maintain. “Has this filly been eating?” Eric called, ducking into her stall and going to her head. Robe could lose weight just standing in her stall. Eric soothed her for a moment, and then left her to check on the rest of the horses.

Across the aisle was Eric’s pride and joy. Trap, a beautiful, leggy filly, was standing with her ears pricked, awaiting his affection. His face again broke into a smile as she pressed her muzzle into his upturned hands. “Hi there, girl,” he said in a tone low enough to be ignored by the stablehands. “How is my princess today?”

Trap was only mildly interested in his attention, and soon turned her eyes back to the gap in the shedrow. From her stall she could see the path leading out to the training track. Eric could see one horse already headed up that way, and knew he needed to hurry and get to the trainer’s stand near the mile marker.

He walked up with a second horse in the set, Tendency. The giant dark bay filly was built like a cow, with a huge midsection and upright neck. Her head was laden with heavy ears, and her muzzle was rounded. Tendency was homely looking, an unexpected twist for a filly from two of the most beautiful and correct families known to racing. Enjoy followed close behind, bouncing and fussing as usual.
Out on the track, a tiny black filly was jogging the right way through the clubhouse turn. With her ears up she looked almost cute, shuffling along in a comfortable stride. Her future was not on the racetrack – sure, Party was a good racehorse – but in the breeding shed, where her dam, Mirror, had become a legend. The daughter of Ghostzapper looked almost asleep at the slow trot, but Eric knew that as soon as her rider opened his hands, she would be off like a shot, rolling across the dirt with the fleet agility of a deer or mountain cat.

All of Eric’s two year old fillies were exceptional, and were causing quite a dilemma. He could only run two in the Breeders’ Cup – but which two? Combined that had won nearly all of the preps for the Juvenile Fillies, and there were other big races, like the Kentucky Oaks next year, to think about. He hated to think he might pick the wrong two to race.

“Hey hey hey!” a man’s voice called, and then the crack of a whip on flesh sounded strongly behind Eric. He whipped around, startled out of his contemplative mood, to see his top miler, Strongerable standing on his two hind legs, pawing at the sky and tearing holes in the air with his teeth. “Get up there!” the rider hollered, cracking the high strung colt on the shoulder again. Strongerable landed heavily on his forelegs and bolted up the path towards the gap. He could hardly contain himself, unable to move in a straight line for more than a few steps. Before reaching the gap he twisted his body so he was facing Eric instead of the track. A few more twists of the rain and cracks on the flank and he was through, barreling up the track with his nostrils flared and ears pinned.

As a three year old, Strongerable was a pain to deal with, but as a four year old he was a monster. Having to choose between several high class fillies was sometimes exciting, but often frustrating. Eric smiled and thought it was nice to have a horse like Strongerable – a horse he could count on to give 100% every time at the gate.
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A flock of reporters gathered around the 8-horse van as it rolled to a stop inside Gulfstream Park’s main backside entrance. On this van was the shipment of Laura Ferguson horses, coming in from Kentucky and New York. With cameras poised at the ready, the media members anticipated the moment that the top horses would step out and get their first look at the grounds. They had been waiting nearly an hour already: horse vans tended to run later than scheduled.

The van driver and his assistant leapt out and hurried over to the side door, finally rolling it back to reveal a curious, beautiful chestnut head with a narrow white stripe. The feminine filly eyed the crowd curiously, and then nickered, half out of fear and half out of excitement.

The horse spotters in the group immediately tried to place the filly. After a few moments it was determined that she wasn’t in Laura Ferguson’s group, so was this the right van? Who was this horse? Was she important? The cameras hesitated.

A lithe, quiet girl stepped up the ramp as soon as it was in place and walked to the head of the filly. She spoke to her in quiet tones, and then unclipped her from the trailer wall. Carefully the girl maneuvered the filly’s body out of the slot in the trailer and down the ramp. It took a few beats, but finally one of the horse spotters in the crowd placed the horse.

“It’s Con!” a voice yelled. Immediately a murmur rose and the cameras started snapping madly away.

At the filly’s head, Sarah Chase ducked her head against the filly’s neck and hustled her into the barn for some peace and quiet. Behind them, Con’s groom carried her buckets and tack off the trailer. Sarah was intensely shy around crowds and having a top notch filly wasn’t the best way to celebrate this trait. Con was undefeated, two for two, but was coming into the Breeders’ Cup (Juvenile Fillies) off of a long layoff. Many were discounting her chances because of this, but Sarah knew in her heart that Con would give everything she had in her long frame.

The journalists and photographers were torn. They knew that more horses were on the van, but they also knew that Con was a threat in the Breeders’ Cup and needed to be photographed. A few men went around the side of the barn, hoping to catch Con in better light, but the ones who remained behind were treated to a fantastic sight – the head of the heavy favorite for the Breeders’ Cup Juvenile poked into view.

Undefeated Del Mar eyed the crowd uneasily and lipped at the chain shank in his mouth while being led off the trailer. Laura Ferguson’s two-year-old colt was generating quite a bit of excitement. Not only was he perfect leading up to the Breeders’ Cup, but also, he was a 3/4 brother to the year’s most exciting three-year-old, California. Bigger things than the Juvenile were on the agenda for Del Mar; most notably, vindicating his big brother’s chance for Derby glory. California had missed the Derby due to a foot injury.

A sharp squeal caused the photographers to forget the big, beautiful colt for a moment and look back at the ramp. Shinjitsu stood at the doorway, ears pinned and eyes blazing. Unbeaten as a three-year-old, Shinjitsu might have been the favorite for the Filly and Mare Sprint, but instead was aiming to take on the males in the Breeders’ Cup Sprint. She fussed her way down the ramp and then crabstepped towards the shedrow, nearly taking out several TV cameras with her powerful hindquarters on the way.

The rest of the horses flowed quietly: Desert Legend for the Juvenile Fillies, Trust in Love, defending champion for the Filly and Mare Sprint, the robust and bouncy Beatofmyheart for the Distaff, and last but not least the elegant Farewellinthedark for the Distaff. Laura Ferguson herself had arrived by this point, and was carefully studying Farewellinthedark’s movements. With every sound step the filly took, Laura’s shoulders relaxed slightly.

When Sarah and Con came around the corner again, Laura nodded at them and Sarah waved under Con’s neck in response. Behind Con, Shinjitsu bounced lightly off her feet, looking more like a Quarter Horse than Laura had ever seen her before. Muscles rippled and gleamed under Shinjitsu’s powerful neck and shoulders. For comparison, Desert Legend seemed almost like an old school horse, ambling peacefully along.

Laura and Sarah weren’t the only trainers who would be stabled in that barn. Soon others would pour in, and in the morning the racetrack would be full of horses doning bright purple saddle towels with their names on it. Breeders’ Cup week was an intense time for all involved – trainers and equine – and soon the track’s quiet afternoon would break into a morning circus of excitement.
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It was five o’ clock in the evening when the small horse trailer rolled into Gulfstream Park’s backside, chugging slowly towards Barn 7. Ara Davies followed behind in her red jeep, her body forward with anticipation as she scanned the barn area. The media had long gone and so had the stable hands. The backside wouldn’t stir again until 4 am the next morning.

The sun was sinking slowly past the horizon, casting pale, pastel colored shadows in the sky. Barn 7 was a large structure, and although it had been standing there for nine years, to Ara it looked brand new. The old Barn 7 – which has been divided into Barn 7A and Barn 7B, was no longer there. Ten years ago, it had burned to the ground the week of the Breeders’ Cup.

Instead of resisting, Ara let her memory slip back to that night: the phone call that jarred her from sleep, the firetrucks and police cars and the shrill whinny of horses as they ran loose from the barn, the white face of Jon Xett, housed in 7B, as his superstar miler Give Applause was led, limping and burned, into the equine ambulance on his way to the vet. Even loudest of all Ara heard the sharp cry from the fastest filly of all time, The Look, who couldn’t be rescued from the barn.

The Look – undefeated, untested, and unreal. Five for five, every pole a winning one, every finish time faster than the last, until she stormed through 6 furlongs in 1:07 flat, the fastest six furlong time in history. That record stood until the immortal Satelite blazed his way through a career. The Look had several siblings, but none of them equaled her never before seen charisma or speed, and she would always remain the fastest horse that Ara Davies had trained.

The sound of the trailer ramp hitting the floor startled Ara from her thoughts, and she turned off the ignition and slid out of the jeep. Top European miler Duc de Berry was backed from his stall and immediately threw up his elegant head, whickering in hope of a response. His groom looked at Ara expectantly, and she stepped forward to take his lead shank while he darted back into the van to unload the tack and trunks.

The sky was now radiating a brilliant shade of pink and orange, and Ara smiled up at it appreciatively. The Breeders’ Cup hadn’t been run at Gulfstream Park since the fire ten years ago, and it was purely coincidence that Ara had been assigned the very same barn. It was a bigger version of the old one, and was of course safer. She didn’t even have qualms about the assignment. Duc de Berry wasn’t The Look.
In his own right, however, he was a fine animal. A victor in half of his fourteen starts, the dark bay colt had taken six 1-mile stakes races in his career. The Breeders’ Cup Mile would be his final race.

Ara and Duc walked the shedrow until the sun officially set, and then the famous horsewoman turned the colt loose in his stall. He eagerly explored, then settled in at the hay net. Ara gave his nose a soft pat and headed back to her jeep.

The Look was a once in a lifetime filly, and her destiny simply wasn’t to be among mortals. A win at Gulfstream Park wouldn’t erase the hurt, but it might soften the blow a little bit. The Breeders’ Cup Mile was one of the toughest races on the card, but Duc had all the heart in the world. Ara knew that win or lose, he would give his best, and she really just wanted him to come back safely.
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Emily Hufford heard the shriek of the alarm clock through a heavy, sleep-induced haze, and groaned. “I’m too old for this,” she muttered, slowly dragging her body into an upright position and swinging her legs out of bed. Getting ready in the morning was hardly a chore: put hair in pony tail, jeans over leggings, baseball cap on head, and jacket at the door. Within ten minutes she was in her rental car, turning up the radio and attempting to become fully conscious. The clock blared, “4:07 am.”

Stable hands were moving about quietly in the barns, and lights were starting to flicker on as Emily strode smoothly through the barn area. The track wouldn’t open until 5:30, so she had plenty of time to make her first set of rounds. As the president of the Racing Association and the official Steward of the Breeders’ Cup, Emily had been to the last 16 years of racing’s Championship Day. The job was supposed to be so intense and important that it would consume all daylight hours, but Emily’s love of horse racing had drawn her to become an outrider in the mornings as well.

At the pony barn, her seven year old gelding, The Love Em Lost, nickered eagerly in her direction. She gave him a half hearted pat on the nose and promised to be back soon before moving stealthily off into the early morning air towards the long line of barns.

She could see Ronda Figal standing outside of one barn, arms crossed and earnestly studying the legs of her best horse, Thestarsajetsetter, while the evening poultice was sprayed off. Lisa Lange was leaning on the doorframe of the barn, conferring with a groom while her speedy three-year-old, Crackgoesmyheart, was circled in the barn. Emily paused to admire him with a smile – he was a Hufford homebred – and then continued on her way past the barns and towards the track.

A lone figure was silhouetted against the rail, staring towards the grandstand and unmoving. Emily walked up behind him and then stood at his shoulder. “Good morning, Jon,” she said placidly.

“Good morning. Track looks good today.” Jon replied.

Emily nodded mutely, and then together they ducked under the rail and walked several paces up the track. It felt springy under Emily’s feet, as though it was in solid, safe condition. In unison they turned and headed back to the barns.

Jon led the way to his barn, and they didn’t exchange any more words until they were inside. Jon had a peaceful, quiet way about him, and gave the impression as though hashing the chances of his horses over and over was pointless and harmful, so one never asked his opinion on such matters. In the first stall in the aisle, Tot Ziens stood proudly. The stunning black colt eyed them, studying their movements, then retreated to the rear of the stall. Next to him was Congratulations, a kind and well mannered turf horse. Emily paid special attention to Enjoy Every Moment, the final foal from superstar turf mare Cabaret. Now a three year old, Enjoy Every Moment would be bidding for the Filly and Mare Turf.

“Your colt is in the last stall,” Jon muttered as he passed Emily, nodding down the shedrow. “Be careful of him. He’s nothing like his brother.”

Emily paused, then grinned, hurrying down to the end of the aisle. She was greeted by a sharp whinny from Radee, an imposing son of Saga, who stared her down mercilessly through the dark. The ebony colored colt looked nothing like his lean and gentlemanly brother Kiddo. Emily had bred Radee, but hadn’t seen him in person since he was sold at the annual Trial By Summer Select Yearling Sale last year. The handsome colt glared down at her, then wove a nervous circle in his stall.

Emily’s watch beeped once to sound five o’clock am, and she jumped slightly, startled. “Ack! The track opens in a half hour and my horse isn’t tacked up yet!” she exclaimed to herself. Instantly she was gone, moving back towards the pony barn.

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Throne was the stuff of dreams.

Ali LaDuke appreciated this fact as her fiery colored colt circled the shed under tack. Throne’s muscular shoulders pulled him lightly over the ground as he walked lap after lap. The track wasn’t open yet, but Ali wanted Throne to be the first horse to train every morning. He eyed her as he passed again, as if to say, “Can we go yet?”

Throne was the kind of horse that gave one new meaning in life. He had revitalized what once was a prominent training career. There was a time when Ali was one of, if not the best trainer in the game. Championship honors from horses like Sim Goddess and Onwardsilvercharm had cemented her, supposedly firmly, into the top echelon of racing’s greats, but as time passed and promising yearlings turned into unproductive two year olds, Ali slowly slipped from the top rung of the ladder into obscurity. Quite unexpectedly, the ride of a lifetime was over.

Throne changed all that. He’d come into her life as a three-year-old, and immediately proved himself by winning an allowance race. A third place finish in the most hotly contested Derby prep of the season had strengthened his resume, and then a bold victory in the UAE Derby had forced many to believe in his talent. After a quiet summer and fall, Throne went on to win the Japan Cup Dirt – a massive accomplishment for a three-year-old.

Ali was almost scared to aim for the stars again, after having so many hopes and dreams fall to pieces in recent years, but allowed Throne to run with the cream of his crop starting in late winter. A neck loss to Fighter Jet in the Santa Anita Handicap was nothing to be discouraged about, especially when, just two weeks later, Throne turned the race around and fought to a gritty head victory in the $6 million Dubai World Cup. Suddenly, Ali was right back where she belonged – at the top.

While talent was certainly no longer an issue, and his heart had already been battle tested, Throne still had something to prove heading into the summer. At Saratoga he lined up to face 1 1/8 mile specialist Edict at that rival’s favorite distance, and with the courage of a champion, Throne clung to a desperate lead in the final strides to win. It was on to the Jockey Club Gold Cup, the penultimate start of his career, and Throne once again proved his mettle, defeating Fog City and Righteous, two 1 1/4 mile stars, at their favorite game. In twelve months, Throne had gone from talented three-year-old to Breeders’ Cup Classic favorite.

Ali walked next to him as they headed out towards the track. The exercise rider, David, fiddled with his stirrups and Ali’s hand rested lightly on Throne’s bridle. The fiery colt came alive as they approached the gap, his long running muscles beginning to uncoil under his flesh. Ali could see Emily Hufford up ahead on her pony, stepping out onto the surface right at 5:30 like she did every single morning. Throne strutted just a few paces behind her.

David could hardly keep Throne to an elegant canter as they headed straight up the backstretch the right way. Ali could see in the distance that Throne was getting tough, wanting to be let out to gallop. He carried his royal head high, unmistakably proud of himself. The next time the pair swept past the gap, David chirped into the colt’s ear, and Throne lowered his head slightly and roared up the backstretch, thundering towards the turn. Ali’s heart swelled with emotion.

“Lookin’ good, LaDuke!” trainer Patten Fuqua called, leading a bouncing three-year-old, Dynaslew, onto the track.

“Thanks!” Ali replied, and she could feel herself glowing. Throne was out to prove to the world that he was one of racing’s greats.
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Sean Feld could hardly contain his pride as he walked towards the main gap, several paces behind his top two-year-old colt, I Said Don’t Do It. One of the leading contenders for the Champion Two Year Old title, I Said Don’t Do It would be the second favorite in the Breeders’ Cup Juvenile. Although he wasn’t big, the glowing chestnut colt was perfectly put together with an excellent shoulder and fantastic walk.
Sean knew if his heart that this was “the one.” The one he’d been waiting for, through fourteen long years of training. Not only was I Said Don’t Do It bred to be a solid runner, he was also bred to be a Derby horse. For the first time, Sean had a legitimate chance to tackle racing’s greatest prize.

The sun had broken through the horizon and was casting a purple rays against the clouds when I Said Don’t Do It took to the track, jogging down the wrong way immediately. Sean leaned against the rail and watched him, barely acknowledging the cheerful greetings from his friends and rivals as they hurried about their morning. Media members flocked about him, an ESPN camera pointed at his face, but Sean didn’t move. Watching I Said Don’t Do It made him numb.

I Said Don’t Do It was out of Holy Matrimony, Sean’s best mare, both on the track and in the shed. After an easy maiden victory, the colt had gone on to score victories in the Grey Breeders’ Cup and the California Cup Juvenile. Only a loss to a sprinter in a 6 furlong race had tarnished his season.

The best part about I Said Don’t Do It was that not only was he a homebred, but Sean had also campaigned the colt’s sire, For What It’s Worth. A winner in 9 of 21 starts, For What It’s Worth was so supported by Sean as a sire, that a colt like I Said Don’t Do It was bound to happen.

A rowdy chestnut two-year-old, Eric Nalbone’s Lightsaber, thundered by at a sharp gallop. He anxiously tossed his head and pulled at his reins, clearly unfocussed on his work. His stride was strong, however, and Sean frowned with nerves. Lighsaber had proven himself quite capable of running with the best of the crop already.

Rounding the first turn and moving out into a long, fluid gallop, I Said Don’t Do it quickly put Sean’s mind at ease. He galloped with purpose and an eager calmness, like a contained explosion. The whirl of camera shutters sounded when he rolled past.

Sean felt a bit like a celebrity when he walked back to the barn behind the brightly colored colt. More cameras surrounded him and one overanxious journalist thrust a recorder into his face, asking him to describe the colt’s morning exercise in detail. Sean was a little shy and felt nervous about answering the questions, but up ahead I Said Don’t Do It swished his tail in annoyance, as if the only thing that bothered him during his preparation was the presence of too many media members too close behind. To prove a point, I Said Don’t Do It stopped sharply, pinned his ears, and fired a warning kick behind him.
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The sun had just broken over the horizon and Dave Shields had yet to get a single horse out to the track. His vision blurred angrily and he shook his head, struggling to keep focused. Morning was certainly not the easiest part of his day.

Out in the barn aisle, eight of the best Thoroughbreds in the world were stirring, anxious to get out to the racetrack. Dave was settled comfortably in his office chair - one he’d brought with him from California – staring down at his spreadsheet, attempting to make sense of it. The letters danced and swirled below his tired eyes, and after a moment Dave simply gave up and walked out the office door.

The scent of fresh hay and leather greeted him firmly upon stepping into the shedrow. In the first stall, a bright eyed dark bay colt watched his movements excitedly, flicking an ear back and forth. His name was Snuggle, and he was shipping in from the Southern Hemisphere to try his hand against the best horses in the world in the Breeders’ Cup Turf Sprint. In the next stall was the lop-eared, long-faced Bara, who pushed her muzzle around her hay and then cocked her head towards him expectantly.

“Who’s first?” Dave called down the shedrow, knowing that his grooms, Mike and Todd, probably paused in confusion upon hearing this question. Dave himself was supposed to know – as he had written the schedule!

“The filly is almost ready!” Todd called back a moment later.

All at once, all confusion and frustration vanished from Dave’s face. Nothing cleared his mind like taking arguably the best three-year-old filly in the world to the racetrack. Just a moment later, Wonder emerged from her stall.

Beautiful, petite, and elegant, Wonder floated down the aisle as if walking on air. Dave knew, as he gave a leg up to his exercise rider, that Wonder’s feminine grace was deceiving: no filly this year had proven to be as tough, gritty, and game as Wonder had been. She had won exactly half of her ten starts, and had run her heart out where it counted: the Triple Crown.

Third in the Kentucky Derby against a full field of colts was nothing to be ashamed of, but then duplicating that effort and finishing second in the Preakness was phenomenal. Of all the horses in his barn, including multiple grade 1 winner Fighter Jet, the eccentric miler Yume Senshi, the powerful sprinter Saturn, and the brilliant turfer Super Light, Wonder held the most special place in Dave’s heart. He watched her stride out of the barn, barely over fifteen hands, and wondered just where in her body her massive heart could possibly fit.

Wonder mouthed the bit lightly, paused before entering the track, and then obediently burst into a jog at urging from her exercise rider. Dave’s heart swelled as he watched her go. A victory by Wonder in the Distaff would not only mark the conclusion of a remarkable campaign, but it would make him the happiest man in the world.
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Amanda Saunders was so nervous, her whole body trembled and the unpleasant urge to vomit tingled in her stomach. If only she could find a way to release her nerves, all would be well. Unfortunately, Amanda was pretty sure that she would be this nervous all the way until race day.

Not only did she have six horses running in the Breeders’ Cup, but she felt certain that at least five of them had an extremely good chance to win. The breathtaking Legacy was coming off a win in the Prairie Meadows Derby. Capturingthelight had won 5 of her 10 career races. My Tsunami and Nitakupiga were both hard trying, intelligent fillies with a knack for domination on the turf.

Then there was Lost.

If all of Amanda’s wildest dreams could be poured into one horse, Lost would be the result. Nine starts and eight wins made up a nearly perfect record. His only loss had come at the hands of older horses earlier this year, and he’d finished a narrow second in that race. He was special enough to even be named last year’s Champion Two Year Old Colt.

Amanda peered at him through long, thick dark hair, and he stared right back, unflinching. She was holding his shank in the shedrow aisle while his groom Mark scurried anxiously about, double checking leg wraps and tightening the girth. With a sudden swiftness and cunning, Lost drew back his lips, pinned his ears, and attempted to take a chunk out of Amanda’s jacket. She popped him on the nose just as quickly, and although he regarded her with contempt, he settled.

Lost was terrifying. His speed was breathtaking, but training such a talented horse could be difficult. Every move was scrutinized by not only the media, but by rival trainers as well. Amanda was contemplating this when Nitakupiga kicked the back of her stall and My Tsunami cried out in response.

“Are you ready yet?” a voice called impatiently down the aisle. Amanda’s best friend, Becca Banner, was holding the lead shank of her horse, Yamikishi. The tiny black colt stomped in frustration and tugged at his reins.

“Almost!” Amanda called back. She gave a leg up to the exercise rider and led Lost down the aisle behind Yamikishi. The two friends, with their two sprinting stars, were going to the track together.
Photographers mobbed the gap where the horses entered, and Amanda could see them up ahead milling about anxiously. It was just after 7 am, and the first wave of horses on the track had eased off, with the second wave about to appear. Yamikishi pricked his ears and began to swing his hindquarters away from the crowd, mouthing the bit nervously. Becca automatically reached up to stroke his neck. Behind them, Lost watched, observing quietly.

Amanda heard footsteps behind them, and turned her head slightly. The sight that greeted her wasn’t exactly welcome. Dave Shields walked easily beside his top sprinter, Saturn, who strutted impressively towards the track. He looked at Lost with an unnerving stare, white foam beginning to appear on his shoulders and flanks. “Morning!” Dave called cheerfully.

“Hey,” Mandy called back, less than enthusiastically. An aggressive, eager Saturn wasn’t exactly what she wanted to witness so early in the morning!

Lost, Yamikishi, and Saturn all stood just past the gap and basked in the gentle glow of the dawn. Photographers were snapping photos incessantly and Mandy felt a little bad for her friend Becca because Lost and Saturn were hogging most of the limelight. The three colts turned one after the other and jogged the wrong way up past the grandstand, and for a moment, Amanda felt her nerves ease. It was a gorgeous morning in Florida, and she trained one of the best sprinters in years! The thought was comforting and she smiled inside.

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Emily Hufford shifted forward in the saddle, balancing herself on her gelding’s neck, and stretched her back muscles. The old horse stirred slightly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, then stilled.

A flashy bay colt jogged up along the outside rail where Emily and her mount patiently stood, watching the morning action. Emily noted that young trainer Laura Pony was in the saddle, so the high-strung and mouthy colt must be Right Hand Man. The son of King’s Best had done just about everything right in a nine race career, boasting 6 wins in 9 starts, with 2 place finishes as well. “Good morning!” Laura called out, lifting her crop in a salute.

“Hey there,” Emily smiled back. “How’s it going?”

“Oh, same old, you know… quit!” Laura brought the crop down upon Right Hand Man’s shoulder as he attempted to duck and drop her on the outside rail. “Guess we’ll be going now. See you later!”

Emily grinned and waved them off, then watched as Adjust the Lens, a mid-range shot in the Turf Sprint, galloped by, his head tucked in and his mouth open. His rider leaned back hard in the stirrups, hollering, “Easy big boy! Easy!” Another Turf Sprint contender, the burly Link, jogged by on the outside rail a few minutes later, headed up towards the grandstand.

A coal-black two-year-old colt walked on his hind legs down by the gap, his head twisted back and his mouth gaped open. “Get up there!” his rider called, cracking him hard on the shoulder and flank, and seesawing on the reins. Emily didn’t recognize the colt, but she saw Eric Nalbone dash forward and grab his bridle, so she pieced together that it must be Epic, one of the contenders for the Breeders’ Cup Juvenile.

Down the rail a few paces away from her gelding, Emily noticed Tasha Langley hanging over the rail, chatting with an exercise rider aboard her horse Left Behind. Emily’s face lit into a grin and she steered her gelding over towards the trio. Left Behind, a small, compact bay colt with a white blaze, had been born and raised at Emily’s own Trial by Summer Stables. “Hi, handsome boy! Hi, Tasha!” Emily greeted them.

“Morning! Beautiful day, huh?” Tasha responded. She slapped Left Behind on the flank. “Get out there and get going!”

The sprightly colt jogged off, head held high, and Emily was proud to watch him go. Success stories like his really touched her heart. Tasha had walked away with Left Behind after spending only $4,000 at auction. He’d made back nearly $500,000.

The track was nearing its first renovation break of the morning. Emily waited quietly in anticipation, for her favorite part of the morning was soon to be at hand. Almost all of the horses had completed their gallops, and Emily’s eyes anxiously scanned the track, looking for a horse that she was oddly fond of, deep inside her heart. After a moment she saw him standing at the top of the stretch, looking down towards the wire. A red shine against the dark dirt, Mighty Big stood out from all other horses.

Last year’s Kentucky Derby winner, Mighty Big was 50% talent and 50% heart. His career was like a roller coaster – 15 starts, but only 5 wins – but he had made over $2.6 million and had never finished worse than fourth. When the gates opened, one could fully expect to see Mighty Big on the lead, his short red legs churning strongly underneath him, carrying him to the wire until they just could no longer handle the pressure. He was coming off a win in the Kentucky Cup Classic, an excellent confidence boost for a horse with a questionable reputation. Mighty Big had broken many a bettor’s heart, but as the colt broke off and came barreling down the stretch, ears flat against his head and his short strides eating at the earth, Emily had to recognize that he’d found his way squarely into hers.

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The track was closed for renovation, and Bob Oliva glared at his clipboard. In one hand was coffee, in the other hand was his cell phone. His assistant trainer at Hialeah, Alan, typically failed to follow directions. Unfortunately for Bob, one of the best sprinters he’d ever trained, Echo Iced, was at that track prepping for that weekend’s Sprint Championships. Bob was still trying to figure out if he had time to make it through the Breeders’ Cup Turf at Gulfstream, then get to Hialeah for the Championships. If not, which race did he prefer to be present for?

Bob snapped his cell phone shut and walked into the barn aisle to soothe his nerves. The barn was very busy because it was the generic barn that all Breeders’ Cup contenders went in to if their trainer wasn’t based at Gulfstream Park in the winter. Sarah Chase was down the aisle with Always Will, a Sprint contender, rubbing his drooping ears. Laura Ferguson ran her fingers down the forelegs of Beatofmyheart, a speedy Distaff hopeful.

Bob’s lone stall in the barn was smack in the middle of the shedrow. Behind him was Sale Topper, one of the best turf horses in the world. He had a very tall order in the Turf because he was shipping in from a huge win in Australia just two weeks before. Arrogant and proud, Sale Topper was the kind of horse that could bring Bob right back to the top of the game, a position he had held for years before he had taken a small break from training and his name slipped slowly from the ranks until it no longer existed.

What hurt the most wasn’t Bob’s vacation from training horses – it was the long term effects. The top horses in his barn had been two year olds at the time, and now they were running for other trainers. Some horses, like the good allowance filly Break Away and the sturdy mare Wined and Dined were minor losses, painful but durable. Far worse was the success of Oliva homebreds Pincay and Adjust the Lens, top contenders for their respective Breeders’ Cup races.

Up the aisle on Bob’s other side was Emily Mitchell with her three Breeders’ Cup contenders. The first horse was the beautiful filly Seven Wonders, the third horse was the gutsy Successinthecity. In between them stood Pincay, a small but powerful gray colt who had earned 9 wins in 11 lifetime starts, a staggering record that made Bob physically ill. Pincay should have been his horse… should have won all those races for him!

Bob shook his head wearily and gazed out across the grounds to the next barn. Just outside the doorway he saw Alysse Jacobs talking to Ali LaDuke. Alysse wasn’t running any horses in the Breeders’ Cup this year, but she had every right to feel exactly like Bob did. She must have felt his eyes on her, because she turned to see him and half smiled. Their expression read the same.

For Alysse, her break from training hit possibly harder than Bob’s. Just a week ago one of her homebreds, Connoisseur, had retired with 5 wins and almost $400,000 to her name. That kind of loss would be crushing to any trainer, but the Breeders’ Cup Classic made Alysse’s head spin. In the race were two homebreds, Throne, the favorite, and Empire, that year’s Preakness winner. Between them they had earned 16 wins and over $8 million on the racetrack.

Alysse gave Bob a sad but fleeting look, and he understood completely. One day, they would rise to rejoin the ranks of the leading trainers, but for now they simply had to watch.
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The track opened again at 8:30.

Emily Hufford noted that Colors Bright, a dashing and lively filly from Susie Raisher’s barn, was the first horse on the track, jogging down the wrong way. Breeders’ Cup Classic contender Fighter Jet strutted boldly onto the dirt, and Sara Kendall’s hard knocking, talented older star Runtoapremont was close behind. Third in the Sprint last year, “Runny” had every right to take home the trophy that weekend.

Donnie Hidalgo was perched in a box seat in the grandstand, watching through binoculars as his elegant Irish-bred filly, Soft and Sweet, danced smoothly over the dirt. Conformation and temperament wise, the filly was a “perfect ten.” Amanda O’Brien’s In Chaoots was the first horse to gallop under the wire, stretching out eagerly from a stiff breeze down the stretch. The dainty filly Foxfire cantered by lightly for trainer Julia Hogan.

Racing fans and media members were filling up the grandstand, eagerly pointing out their favorite Breeders’ Cup stars and snapping photos. A cheer went up when Been Worthwhile, a top three-year-old colt, galloped easily down the stretch past the wire, collected and controlled. He would be a longshot in the Classic for trainer Alyse Schuver.

At 8:45, the crowds milling about on the rail were treated to the sight of Fog City, the reigning Horse of the Year and Breeders’ Cup Classic winner, who stood quietly just past the wire for a good ten minutes before starting his exercise. “Is that really Fog City?” one girl cried. “He’s amazing!”

Some of the early birds had been able to see last year’s Kentucky Derby winner Mighty Big before the break, but others had yet to glimpse a Derby winner. That changed when right at 9 am, Coup D’etat stepped onto the track.

Daryl Singhi sat comfortably on his stable pony with Coup D’etat at his side. The three year old Kentucky Derby winner stood quietly, eyeing the track. His elegant, dark bay head hung easily, as if he didn’t care that he was in a heated battle for Simmy Champion, or that the second biggest race of his life was in a few days. Daryl reached over and rubbed the colt’s neck absently.

Daryl would run six horses in the Breeders’ Cup this year. They were all solid: Speedboat, the wide-eyed frontrunner in the Dirt Mile, the handsome Democracy in the Juvenile, the sweet Wined and Dined in the Distaff, and the talented Prologue in the Juvenile Fillies. Coup D’etat, of course, added to that mix quite nicely. However, Daryl’s best prospect was back in the barn, waiting for the turf course to open for training.

Monaachi was the barn favorite; and easy going son of Galileo who defied his headstrong family heritage. The game three-year-old miler touted six wins in nine starts, and had earned back over $1.3 million. Taking into consideration his sale price, $77,000, he was an extremely profitable horse.
To win the Mile, he was going to have to outrun speedsters like Jon Xett’s Stage Magic, outstay older horses like Steph Wilder’s Angels Help Angels and Ara Davies’ Duc de Berry, and hold off excellent closers such as Thestarsajetsetter. With all of these big names in the race, it was easy to overlook perhaps two of the most competitive, the fillies Tears of the Stars and Seven Wonders. Also a three year old, Seven Wonders boasted a record of 7 wins in 8 starts. She was trained by Emily Mitchell and deserved a long look at the windows.

Mallory Guesnon posted by on her stable pony, sitting tall in the saddle with her heels and shoulders dropped comfortably. Behind her came a pair of fillies, For Luck and Happy Ending, side by side. They moved with the easy, happy stride that most of the Guesnon horses displayed. Mallory lifted a hand in greeting and Daryl nodded back.

Coup D’etat stirred and Daryl realized the track would soon close for turf workouts, so he had to get moving. He clucked once and Coup immediately pricked his ears and picked up a jog, headed towards the wire.
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Her breath caught in her throat as Susie Raisher watched Empire sweep majestically towards the clubhouse turn. This year’s Preakness winner, a dazzling bay son of Chesapeake Bay, Empire was one of the favorites for the Classic. High strung, charismatic, and breathtaking, Empire was the horse lover’s dream. He looked surreally like Bernardini, a top class racehorse from a few years before.

Outriders headed for the gap to the turf track as soon as Empire floated past. He was the last horse to exercise on the dirt that morning. Susie urged her pony, Limbo, into a jog and crossed the dirt herself. She had two horses that would be galloping on the turf that morning, as well.

The first set of horses began to mill about and they seemed to be a relaxed, well behaved group. Isabella Penzance stood in the dirt, holding her horse Palpitations on foot while Dreamhimbacktolife circled behind her. The two horses were some of the best in her barn, and would be competing in the Turf and Turf Sprint, respectively. Palpitations was one of the most remarkable horses in training, looks-wise, and had earned nearly $2.5 million racing three seasons. He was the first horse onto the turf when it opened, bursting into a collected, regal canter.

Queen Mary and Tears of the Stars came next, side by side for trainer Tammy Fox. She stood in the clocker’s stand, eyeing them carefully, stopwatch in hand. Queen Mary was a spunky chestnut filly, and Tears of the Stars was a professional older mare. Together they were the cream of Fox’s crop.

Susie smiled when her pair, Vernacular and Whileaworldsleeps, stepped onto the turf course together. All at once, Vernacular came alive, sizzling with electricity and crab-stepping anxiously. Whileaworldsleeps, a quiet older gelding, eyed his younger stablemate with a hint of disdain before moving off a ways ahead.

Emily Hufford rode up next to her but didn’t say a word as the first set of turf horses completed their gallop. They exited the track and although Susie knew she should get back to the barn, she couldn’t help but linger and watch the drama that was sure to unfold.

Rado came first, mouthing the bit and looking around nervously. He must have sensed the high energy behind him, because all at once he swung around, nearly knocking trainer Josh Dutzy into the dirt. Rado pinned his ears and came face to face with Stop and Stare, the most talked about horse on the backside.

Mallory Guesnon walked several paces away from her star colt, eyeing him apprehensively. She had opted not to fit him with blinkers for the routine gallop, but was regretting that decision. Stop and Stare pinned his ears and stopped dead, glaring at Rado, then began to swing his hindquarters nervously, as if unsure how to proceed. Josh moved in and grabbed Rado by the bridle, trying to spin him back towards the track.

A sharp whinny pierced the air, and all eyes turned to Jolene Danner’s Acapulco, ears pinned, backing slowly away from Stop and Stare. If one looked closely enough they could see the long, narrow scar where Stop and Stare had taken a chunk from Acapulco last year. Acapulco backed straight into Super Light, who jumped forward into Amanda Saunders’ My Tsunami, who wheeled into stablemate Nitakupiga in response.

Emily kicked her gelding into action, riding forward up to Stop and Stare. He pinned his ears and turned sharply to savage her arm, but she tightened her hold on his bit and pulled him quite firmly up to the turf course. Josh had already released Rado onto the green surface and Emily turned Stop and Stare the other way. Acapulco circled nervously outside the gap while Super Light and the fillies walked through.
“That was fun!” Emily called to Mallory as the horses settled and continued about their training. “Let’s hope that doesn’t happen in the paddock on Breeders’ Cup day!”

Brianna McKenzie leaned back in her overstuffed office chair and let the glow of the morning wash over her. Training was finished, the horses had been fed, and it would be a good two hours before racing started. The world had a palpable content feeling to it.

In the first stall in the aisle was the old warrior, Inspired Myth. Most horses were retired after their four year old season – most good horses, at least – but not Inspired Myth. The solid campaigner had finished second in the Dirt Mile last year by a head, and was hoping to avenge that loss on Saturday. The next stall held Inspired Jet, who had also finished second in the Breeders’ Cup (Filly and Mare Sprint) the year before. The final Breeders’ Cup contender in Bri’s barn was Comet, a talented sprinter.
All of the horses looked peaceful resting in their stalls, which gave Brianna a sense of calm. She heard a commotion outside, and glanced around the corner to see trainer Karie McBrian attempting to keep the high strung filly Zapped on the ground while the farrier hesitated behind them. Bri half smiled and went back to daydreaming.

Just a year ago she had been in a similar position, watching her famous mare Piece of the Dream push hay around her stall. Piece of the Dream had won the Distaff last year, but Brianna had retired her in the summer. ‘Dream had already done everything asked, and there was nothing left to give.

A parade of horses passed the barn, and Brianna recognized most of them as Breeeders’ Cup entrants. They were going over to school with the first set at 11:30. Pillar of Strength led the way, his powerful shoulder muscles bunching and releasing, his massive arched neck like an insurmountable crest.
Pillar of Strength’s trainer, Gerry Hardie, walked a few paces away from the gigantic horse, alongside his easy going gray filly, Queenoftheangels, who simply pricked her ears and examined her surroundings. At Gerry’s side was Ladonna King, and they were speaking animatedly.

Behind Gerry’s pair of schoolers came Ladonna’s five Breeders’ Cup entrants. They were led by Twilight, the defending champion of the Filly and Mare Turf and one of the few horses who had ever made Piece of the Dream work for her finish position. Vampire was next, ears pinned and obviously nervous about walking over to the paddock. Alcatraz required two handlers, one on each side, Quiet Excellence was an imposing physical presence, and Streamlined stepped lightly in the rear.

From high atop the grandstand, Emily Hufford watched the single file line of schoolers as they approached the paddock. Fans were beginning to pour into the track from off the streets, eager for the first day of racing, Breeders’ Cup week! The quiet hum of voices would soon be a dull roar, ending in a tumultuous crash on Breeders’ Cup day when the gates opened and the best Thoroughbreds in the world vied for championship rights. Emily had to smile as she returned to her work – it was times like this when she remembered why she loved her job.


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