Daybreak on Long Island - Part 5

Original article written by The Steward posted 13 years 0 weeks ago

On Wednesday afternoon, the Long Island Park paddock seemed to burst with testosterone.

Skippy Bowen stood beside the massive white pine tree in a suave pale suit and a red tie, dark sunglasses shading his eyes as he scanned the competition schooling in the paddock. Josh Dutzy spoke quickly into his cell phone, pacing back and forth in front of the statue of Onwardsilvercharm in full flight for the wire during the Year 6 Long Island Gold Cup.

Gerry Hardie stood next to an out-of-place sportscaster with little racing knowledge. A camera was pointed in their direction, and Gerry gamely answered questions about his career and his particular success at Long Island Park, where he won four Long Island Classics.

Doug Kidwell stood in one of the saddling stalls, eyeing his large black colt Holla At Ya Boy, who circled calmly with a schooling pad and girth stretched around his belly. Doug had to be proud of the handsome black colt’s appearance, but upon seeing Stephen Skaggs’ Promise Not to Cry circling the paddock, he sighed.

Promise Not to Cry arched his powerful neck and strode forward. His massive hindquarters rose and fell with each stride, his shoulder muscles bunching with each step.

“He looks phenomenal,” Doug admitted to Stephen, who leaned back against the railing on the other side of the saddling stalls.

Another gray, Drive, circled to their right. His trainer, Luis Polar, hovered anxiously nearby, causing Drive to break into an uneasy trot. The Classic contender was by Don’t Mess, the brother of Promise Not to Cry.

It seemed eerily quiet in the paddock, given that so many major horses were schooling, but in the center of the grass on the left hand side, two titans of the sport were enduring a photo shoot. Norman Architecture and Bob Oliva posed congenially alongside their Louisville Derby winners Believe the Hype and Don’t Hesitate.

Although younger, Believe the Hype was not only bigger and darker, but still had half of his career ahead of him. Don’t Hesitate, on the other hand, was approaching what could be the final race of his career. He boasted well over $2 million in earnings and came from a royal family.

The photographers crowded the two studs, which stood a good twenty feet apart. “Move them closer!” one man called.

Norman looked as if he were going to comply, but Bob started telling the men off. “You’ve had your fun!” he snapped, and then urged Don’t Hesitate away from the competition. “A Derby winner photo shoot,” he muttered, “who ever heard of such a thing?”

The only female in the paddock was Fire Split the Sky, a streamlined chestnut filly with a glossy bronze coat and a brilliant white star. Paul Sellers, her trainer, walked steadily beside her, one reassuring hand placed against her lean shoulder.

“You don’t care about all these boys, do you?” Paul asked her affectionately.

Josh hung up the phone as Paul led his filly past. “Hey, Paul, did Larry do it?”

“That hoof pick thing?” Paul asked, and Josh nodded in confirmation. “No way,” Paul snorted. “Larry wouldn’t even think of anything like that. I wish he had, though. She probably never packed it in the first place.”

“Alright, time’s up!” the paddock judge hollered. “Let’s go guys, next set coming in!”

As the men led their charges out, five female trainers made the walk over into the paddock. Karie McBrian held the shank of Hit the Snooze, the royally-bred Distaff contender. Fallon Neely and Shiadra Cattari were deep in conversation, seemingly ignorant of their fillies Atmidnightwithyou and Hidden Thoughts walking up ahead. Louise Bayou looked as much of a fan as any of the tourists pressed against the outer rail; she held a CoolPix camera up and watched through the view finder as Beware the Ledge made her first lap of the ring.

The only colt in the set was Leigh Ann Anderson’s Chief. The striking dark bay swaggered haughtily, nearly bursting out of his skin.

--

Amy Schmidt wasn’t one to be on time to a party.

She liked to be fashionably late – who wanted to be first? – but when she arrived at 8:00, she was greeted by one grinning face suddenly appearing before her.

“HI!” John Hannibal Smith said cheerfully. “Thanks for coming!”

“Where is everyone?” Amy asked, bewildered and taking a step back.

“Oh, I guess there was some Pick-6 carryover in California and they all stayed at the track to watch it,” John explained. “I was the first one here. I’m ready for it not to be awkward anymore.”

Amy scanned the room. Ten rectangle tables seating 16 each were spread out on the right side of the room. A podium was to the right of the low stage, where a band played half heartedly for their modest audience. The dance floor took up the center, and the buffet was on the left.

Behind John was a registration table. Greentree Racing looked bored behind it, stacks of paper before her. “You’re not the only one here,” Amy stated, “Greentree is here, too.”

“I’m checking people in, so I had to get here early,” Greentree explained. “Come get checked in.”

As Amy was signing her name, she heard a loud rumble coming from the hall. Confused, she looked up, and Greentree did too. John looked nervous, eyeing the doorway. It sounded a bit like an earthquake was about to hit…

The door burst open suddenly, and trainers began to pour in, flooding the entrance. “Let’s get this party started!” Lisa Strummer yelled, heading straight for the dance floor. The band picked up its pace in eager response.

“Wait, wait!” Greentree cried in protest. “You’re all supposed to…” Her attempts were futile. Within minutes, the dance floor was crowded with girls who had no interest in eating. Michelle Calderoni, the regular belle of the ball, was sparkling in her finest aquamarine dress and dazzling, studded headband. Chani Ruzzo and Tammy Stawicki were grooving wildly, their eyes sparkling in the lighting. Karen Shields had some of the finest dancing skills they had ever seen before. Lisa soon joined them after signing her name at Greentree’s booth. Jack Johns hung back nervously, but was quickly enticed into performing her famous Egyptian dance.

“How did you all get here so fast?” Amy asked Ladonna King, looking around at the raucous commotion.

Ladonna held a martini in one hand and seemed in a good mood. “AR Roberts was alive in that $1 million Pick 6 pool to the last race. We stayed behind to wait it out with him. He didn’t hit, but the 5 of 6 payout was still five figures!”

“No way!” Amy gasped. “That’s awesome! And he won the Steeplechase the other day, too – good week for him!”

The song ended to much groaning. “Hey, now,” Leonard Beagle called from the front of the room, speaking into the lead singer’s microphone, “we do have to make some announcements before you go diving into the buffet.” He looked pointedly at Chase Downing and Joseph Griffitt, who both had plates in hand and were hovering anxiously near the towering display of cuisine. “Make sure to bid in the auction over by the registration table, because Mike Prevost is generously donating a free breeding to Astonishing.”

The crowd chorused in a series of loud cheers.

“While you’re over there, make sure to SIGN IN,” Leo said forcefully.

The cheers quickly turned to boos.

“Also, our friend Danny Daniels will be doing his stand up routine during the band’s break later,” Leo added quickly, smirking, before turning the mic back over to the band. The cheers started again, as did the music, and no one heard Danny squeak, “What?” in confusion.

Tammy Fox and Alyse Schuver sat at the first table, both picking absently at their plates. “Are you nervous?” Alyse asked Tammy, noticing that she could barely swallow a single bite.

“No,” Tammy answered too quickly. “I’m just not very hungry.”

“Me, either,” Alyse smiled knowingly.

Callie Anderson and Mike Eaton weren’t having similar trouble. They ate happily, chatting about breaking two-year-olds.

“I like to really test them to see what they are made of early,” Mike told her, biting into a slice of roast beef.

“I’d rather wait, though,” Callie countered, “I want the good ones to get a chance to develop!”

The most animated discussion in the room came from Scott Eiland and Matt Wilson. On the outside, it looked almost as if the two hated each other.

“Heard that all your horses needed to try the NT – new trainer – equipment change,” Matt snapped at Scott.

“Well, I heard that Year 24 called and it wanted to let you know that you left your good horses there,” Scott replied.

“Oh, ouch,” Matt rolled his eyes. “At least I’ve had more than ONE good horse, and I didn’t even ruin that one!”

“At least I can handle having a good horse and don’t need to be rushed to the hospital,” Scott snarled.

“Alright, alright, you win,” Matt conceded. “See you in the morning to look at that baby I told you about?”

“I’ll be there,” Scott confirmed.

By the bar, Santino Di Paola contemplated what to drink. A Coke would keep him up all night, but a Spite wasn’t strong enough. A lemonade sounded too sweet, so he opted for an iced tea. As he walked away from the bar, he changed his mind, turned around, and got the Coke.

Jon Xett sat alone at the last table, the one that late arrivals were expected to occupy. In the darkened corner, he looked almost menacing, but Nathan Sellers approached without hesitation. “Hello, sir,” Nathan said boldly, extending his hand and sitting down next to the Hall of Famer.

“Hi, Nathan,” Jon replied, shaking his hand. “What can I do for you?”

“Well, I have this newly retired stallion, Greatest,” Nathan started. “I was wondering if you might consider breeding one of your superstar mares to him, maybe even Funny De Way It Is, with the 3 x 3 Conduit inbreeding it might be really neat…”

Jon leaned forward, listening closely.

Three tables away, table seven was on the verge of a food fight. Ronnie Dee had mischievously launched a pea at Chuck Whittingham across the table from the end of this fork. The pea landed nowhere near the target, but the movement caught Chuck’s attention, and he frowned at his peer.

“Are you trying to start something?” Chuck asked.

“Not at all,” Ronnie said, reloading the fork with a carrot stick. This one he aimed at Brittney Ellison, who seemed completely unaware as she chatted happily with both Christopher Wilson and Los Vargas about nicking. “It’s just that I’m a little bored,” Ronnie explained with a grin, launching the carrot stick.

Brittney caught it out of midair. The men gaped at her, surprised.

“Sprinters,” she explained. “You have to have excellent reflexes if you work with sprinters.”

Ronnie and Chuck both laughed, echoed their agreement, then started to discuss their chances in the Steward’s Cup.

The music stopped suddenly and there was a commotion on the stage. “Excuse me,” a clear female voice rang over them. 150 heads turned in the direction of Brianna McKenzie at the edge of the platform, looking both fierce beautiful in a satin black dress. “I just have something I’d like to say to you all,” she snapped, her temper reflecting in her cheeks. “It’s despicable that everyone is blaming my friend Larry for a lost hoof pick. It’s a freaking hoof pick. Larry would never go into someone’s barn and steal a hoof pick. Maybe some of you are that dumb, but he’s not. I hope you apologize to him and stop talking behind his back.”

She took a breath, glared out over the crowd, and then thrust the microphone back at the singer before storming off stage. After watching her go, the heads turned to find Larry sinking lower into his chair.

“Hear, here!” Jason Barkley said loudly. Others murmured in agreement. Someone even called, “Sorry, Larry!” over the din.

As the night faded into morning and the dancing ended, Robert Mertz approached Larry with a grim expression. Larry looked up apprehensively.

“I never thought you did it,” Robert said firmly. “That was all just crazy stuff made up by a bored group of people with too much time on their hands.”

Larry allowed a rare smile and nodded appreciatively. “I know. Thanks.”

--

At 5:00 am on Thursday morning, Barn 20 was already fluttering with activity. Unlike most of the trainers shipping in for the Steward’s Cup, Susie Raisher trained out of Long Island Park year round, and called Barn 20 home.

Her 35 horses stabled at the track all needed to be exercised, not just her two Steward’s Cup entrants. The lovely filly Boann, who got upset with too much crowd noise, would go in the first set, along with Wow, a goof of a colt with a big heart but questionable head.

“Same as yesterday, okay?” Susie said to Boann’s exercise rider. “Back them up to the turn and then go one and a half.”

“Sounds good, boss,” the rider nodded.

Wow stopped on his way out and shoved Susie with his nose. “I love you too, you enormous child,” she said affectionately. “Go get them.” She slapped his neck and Wow snorted excitedly and skittered out of the barn.

In the Barn 20 annex, Jarrod Brush kept his four runners away from prying eyes. The most valuable of them, The Secret Wedding, leaned towards her fan already, enjoying the breeze lifting her mane and forelock. Using Thursday’s weather as an indication, the Steward’s Cup would not be held on a pleasant fall day; it would be blazing hot.

Jarrod led the compact gray filly Movin On Up out of her stall and into the aisle. “You ready for your last little spin before the big day, little girl?” he asked her kindly, holding her steady while the exercise rider adjusted his stirrups. Movin On Up bobbed her head obediently in answer.

He followed her out to the track, keeping his eyes open for any of her competition. Jack Heissenbuttel’s Right Lady was headed to the training track, and Jarrod swiftly sized her up.

“Morning,” Jack called, a little sharply, as if to warn Jarrod that he, too, was watching the competition.

“Yep,” Jarrod replied.

Mike Bryant lingered by the gap to the main track; his horse A Lot of Lost had been the first one on that morning after the outriders and their horses. The colt came off blowing, his nostrils flared wide. Mike caught his rein above the bit and had to jog to keep up with the colt back to the barn.

Because of the heat, trainers were sending their runners out early. Jesper Kraepool’s lone starter, Crack the Vault, finished up his gallop by 5:08 am, and Benny James’ dazzling filly Look Intelligent jogged off the track by 5:12.

Movin On Up finished by 5:18 and Jarrod followed behind her back to Barn 20. He liked what he saw, and smiled to himself.

--

During the break, horses gathered outside of the gap awaiting the signal that the tractors had cleared. Four horses stood patiently, including the massive bay Big Gamble from the Donnie Hidalgo barn. Big Gamble tugged impatiently at the bit, his muscles twitching away the flies.

Joel Schwartz’s Shoot Out and Mark Geuken’s massive colt Fast Freddy seemed oblivious to each other’s presence. They were both scheduled to start in the Juvenile Sprint in about 30 hours.

A strapping gray filly, Flat Out Weapon, stood nearby watching the boys. Her trained, Murray McNickle, jiggled her shank to keep her interested and not falling asleep.

Not a single photographer crowded them. Instead, they were pressed against the rails of the horse path, snapping away at a 17-hand high dark bay filly. The filly’s white stripe and glowing dapples reminded onlookers of another famous racehorse of old, Zenyatta.

Trainer Sarah Chase posed proudly with her undefeated filly, looking up at her in admiration. Sparkle Factor’s head towered several feet above Sarah’s, but the filly dropped her nose to nudge Sarah’s chest.

“Awww!” the crowd exclaimed. Sarah laughed inwardly, knowing that Sparkle Factor only wanted to get onto the track and run.

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