by Mark Paul
Winning Colors had distanced herself further from the colts that were chasing her.
As she entered the final left-hand stretch turn, she began to outrun the field, now opening by five lengths, as the fans cheered the lone female in the race. This kind of dominance just doesn’t happen in a Grade 1, $500,000 race. Women and girls were standing and yelling, screaming, for the filly to “Beat the boys!”
Shoemaker could see she was stealing away from the field. He ceased reserving Lively One and moved into action on his mount, urging her forward with his arms while chirping to her to move now with an energetic charge against the lightning-bolt-like filly.
Winning Colors took the turns in a more efficient way than the boys; it was as if she was nimbler and more athletic than they were. Something had to give, and it was the colts. Winning Colors was cruising on the lead, still opening further on the field, turning for home now leading by an eye popping seven open lengths!
“Can she hold on? She has to be exhausted!” Dino yelled as Stevens took out his whip and gave her just one left-handed crack on her left flank as she ran full out, practically touching the rail on her left shoulder and appearing to scrape the inner fence. Tens of thousands of women and girl fans were calling out to her along with Dino, Miami, Amalia, and Ava standing and now screaming with them as she raced towards the finish line.
The jockeys on the eight colts were whipping, yelling, and urging on their mounts but could make up no ground as they raced behind the filly. She re-engaged and pulled away even farther from her competitors. Shoemaker now knew he was running for second money at best on Lively One.
Track announcer Trevor Denman reported this exhibition of winning speed in his impeccable English with a South African accent: “Winning Colors is turning in an outstanding performance! We are looking at one exceptional filly that will be carrying the hopes of California all the way to the Kentucky Derby.” And then, when she crossed the finish line, “What a winner that one was! Winning Colors! Magnificent!”
Winning Colors had beaten the top California male Kentucky Derby prospects, and she had embarrassed them by seven-and-a-half lengths in exceptionally fast time of 1:47.4 seconds.
Dino and Miami were kissing Amalia and Ava in between high-fiving everyone they could reach while yelling, “We’re going to Kentucky! We’re going to Kentucky! We’re going to Kentucky, baby!”
In the clamor, people at the surrounding tables were asking them, “How much did you bet on her?”
Dino and Miami smiled and looked at each other and said in unison, “We bet her in to win the Kentucky Derby at 50-1!”
That evening, the foursome went to dinner at Chasen’s. Miami ordered a bottle of champagne and they all raised a toast to the prospect of Winning Colors winning the Kentucky Derby.
While Dino and Miami talked about the races, Amalia wanted to know about Ava’s international travel, and Ava was interested in Amalia’s family story of how she had come from Mexico to Beverly Hills. Amalia whispered, “Ava, do you mind that Miami…Mark…is always at the track?”
“What’s at the track? Men gambling with other men…and horses…he’s done every day by like five p.m. It keeps him out of my hair.”
“What about their gambling?”
“They live! Who wakes in the morning happier than these two guys? Doesn’t seem to be a problem…they live in nice places…they seem to do well. I know plenty of rich guys that aren’t nice…or fun to be with. Mark makes me laugh.”
“Dino is like a genius at the track, I hear,” Amalia said. “He’s hardly a wild gambler. They are both a couple of characters!”
Feelings of celebration were ebbing as Miami and Dino discussed the immediate future. Before her breathtaking win against the colts, the idea of Winning Colors qualifying for the most famous horse race in the world had been an exciting dream. Now it was a certainty, but only if she stayed healthy. The enormity of the moment when the extraordinary gray filly would enter the gate at Churchill Downs weighed on their minds.
Horses are fragile, and they had seen horses favored to win national races catch fevers or sustain minor injuries even on the day of a big race, causing the animal and rider to be scratched. Dino and Miami were nervous, excited, and apprehensive about the necessity of a trip back to Mexico to collect a winning bet. They were talking about their “chance of a lifetime.”
Miami half-joked, “Dino, I need you to drive to Santa Anita and put a blanket on her tonight.”
Their biggest debate was what her odds would be in the full Derby field. They estimated there would be 16 to 20 horses, which is a huge obstacle. In a large field, the potential to run into horse traffic increases. An average thoroughbred race has a field of seven to nine horses, but that number is doubled for the Derby. In fact, if there are over 14 entrants, two starting gates are required to be placed side by side, just to accommodate that many animals. The post position, assigned by random draw, is so important that owners and trainers feel a lot of stress just prior. They hope not to draw any of the first five posts for fear of being trapped on the inside. Any mishap, especially at the break, would leave the difficult task of weaving through as many as 19 other horses that hope not to be blocked even once. Many a potential Derby champion lost their best chance at glory just seconds into the race by a poor break onto the track.
The other fear at the post position random draw is getting a gate too far outside. Physics of these outside post positions cause the horses to run wide over the entire race distance of one-and-one-quarter miles. Over 40 percent of the racing is done while in the two turns. Going wide for much of the race makes those outside post horses cover considerably more ground than those horses that get an inside trip.
Because of her ability to achieve early speed, Winning Colors had a huge advantage in such a large field. If she broke well, she should be able to flee the field behind her and let them try to maneuver a successful trip while weaving their way through traffic. In fact, this was the fear of the other trainers; the huge gray filly would break on top and they might never catch her.
Dino said, “I bet she goes off as the 3-1 favorite.”
“No, Dino, I think these sexist, male, old timer horse players will bring wheelbarrows full of money to bet against her. Remember? The manager at Agua Caliente told us, ‘She cannot win.’ I bet the bastard loses his job when he has to pay us!”
“Yes, but women will come out to the track to bet on Winning Colors with both hands!”
The good thing for Miami, Dino, and their fellow big cash gambler at Agua Caliente Big Bernie, was their Mexico future book odds of 50-1 were locked in at that set number. They simply didn’t care what race day odds the Churchill Downs fans bet Winning Colors down to, as their Agua Caliente future bets were set at $5,000 to win $250,000 for Dino and Miami, and Big Bernie’s $20,000 to win $1,000,000…American dollars…in Mexico.
By comparison, because Luis and his stable friends had wagered one month earlier, before she had won her first stakes race around two turns, their Las Vegas odds were 100-1 on their $2,000 wager to win $200,000.
The other lively debate between Miami and Dino was how to collect the money from the bet they placed at Agua Caliente. This was now a deadly serious topic and several concerns topped their list. Would the race book go out of business if she won? It was rumored the track was in escalating financial trouble now that live racing had ceased. There was no way to understand the corporate legal structure of a Mexican racetrack or the track’s true financial health. And then came questions about its owner’s ties to the drug cartel’s money.
Dino was willing to embrace another chance. “I think we should go down and bet more on her. Seriously.”
Miami resisted. “I agree it’s a great bet,” he said to his friend, “but we have so much risk already, with fear of not getting paid, or even more likely, getting robbed or killed. I’m out.”
There was no way for Miami or Dino to presume the amount wagered on Winning Colors at the Agua Caliente
future book already, at average odds of nearly 50-1. They guesstimated that $200,000 had been wagered on her, so the track’s exposure was likely $10,000,000 or more. That was a lot of money for a financially starved Mexican racetrack.
They discussed the possibility of being robbed after they collected the money. They verified that there was no other option of collecting than being there in person with any winning ticket worth over $1,000. Nor could they get a check. Gamblers dealt in cash. Tax issues also became a concern. Dino felt strongly that they must be at Agua Caliente when Winning Colors won because perhaps only the first persons in line would get paid before there was the equivalent of a run on the bank.
Miami responded by saying, “I’ll check on prices for chartering a Brinks armored truck.”
“Miami, no way Mexico will allow armed US private guards to take a truck over the border.”
The idea of chartering a Mexican armored truck did not instill confidence in the two gamblers either. Miami said, “That’s like paying someone to come and rob you.”
Dino and Miami were optimistic about the outcome of the race, but now they were frightened, too. Miami came up with an idea: “If we are scared about collecting our $250,000, what about Big Bernie? He’s got $20,000 on her at 50-1, according to Twenty Percent Tim. That’s $1,000,000 for Christ’s sake. I would be scared to death to take $1,000,000 at Santa Anita from the cashier’s window to my car. But in fucking Tijuana! He must have a plan. I’ll find out tomorrow.”
Miami and Dino turned back to Amalia and Ava who were chatting together. The two women were becoming good friends despite coming from different backgrounds. Ava used her hands, gesturing frequently in speaking, while Amalia sat rock still with perfect straight posture and her hands always at her sides or in her lap.
Miami suggested desserts of chocolate soufflé and the girls smiled in approval. After the bottle of champagne, another of chardonnay, and stuffed from two shared desserts, Miami and Dino paid the check.
Dino commented, “If Winning Colors wins the Derby we can almost afford to pay for this dinner.”
April 10, 1988, Santa Anita Racetrack, California
At the track on the next day, a Sunday, it didn’t take long for Miami to find Big Bernie in the lower clubhouse, alone, eating a carved corned beef sandwich covered in mayonnaise and drinking a Diet Coke, at a stand-up table under a track TV monitor. Forty-one-year-old Big Bernie was wearing a white silk shirt that was way too big for him. A tall man, at six-foot-four, Big Bernie also had a big personality. He wasn’t bad looking despite his girth; he was just huge, even while standing next to another big guy like Miami.
Big Bernie’s face lit up when he saw his friend. He gave Miami a man hug that nearly crushed the breath out of him. “Miami, my man! You need a loan? Need some help picking a winner? Where’s your girlfriend…Dino?” Big Bernie’s laugh at his own joke boomed through the clubhouse.
“No Bernie, I don’t need a loan. We are going to win our future book bets on Winning Colors.”
Big Bernie suddenly got quiet and looked Miami in the eye. “Who told you? Shit, it was Twenty Percent Tim. I knew it. That scumbag.”
“He didn’t tell me. I figured it out. Look, big guy, it wasn’t hard. Which regular track guy do we know who: A) recently had a big score at the betting windows and B) has the balls to bet 20 large on anything? Everyone knows you hit for $200,000 on that Hollywood Park Pick 6…and, Big Bernie…everything about you…is, well…big. I figured it out pretty easy.”
Miami opened up to Big Bernie. “We have 5K on her at Agua Caliente. We bet it before she lost to Goodbye Halo, and we got down on her at 50-1. That’s $250,000 to us if she hits. It’s not shit compared to what you got riding on her, big guy. But…there are some problems about cashing out in Mexico. Like will they pay us or not?”
Big Bernie lowered his voice and said, “I don’t want to talk about it here. Take me out to dinner and I’ll tell you my plan to get paid. And, bring a nice girl for me, Miami. You know all the ladies, man.”
“Meet me at the Warehouse Restaurant in Marina del Rey on Monday night at 8:00 p.m.,” was Miami’s reply.
Miami picked the Warehouse Restaurant in Marina del Rey because it had a great view of the boats, was 15 minutes from Hollywood Park racetrack, and even more because they served the strongest rum drinks on the planet. He didn’t know exactly how many drinks it would take to get a guy the size of Big Bernie loaded, but this place knew how to make a damn good mai tai for sure.
When Miami got there, the song by Kenny Loggins, “Footloose,” was being piped into the speakers over the fake bridge, over the fake moat that led to the restaurant that was designed to look like a tropical paradise. Big Bernie was already sitting at the bar with a mai tai in hand, wearing a yellow sports coat and green tennis shoes. Big Bernie gave Miami another crushing bear hug. He signaled the bartender and said, “Get me another mai tai and one for my friend here, too.”
“Miami, where do you buy your clothes, man? You look like a big version of Don Johnson! Man, we got to do this more often dude. This is fun! Where are the girls?”
“We’ll worry about the girls later.”
Bernie looked disappointed, but for two hours they talked while eating sizzling pu pu platters of pork ribs and steak and fish dishes, with their glasses of ice, rum, and fruit juices always full.
“The big score on the $200,000 Pick 6 I hit really did change my life, and not just the money. Man, it made me be ahead of the track and the gambling game for my lifetime. The day I cashed that ticket was the best day in my life. It’s just so hard to get a big score like that home. It’s not like building a house brick by brick until you’re done. It’s more like…like a game of Jenga. The thing is so fragile and just when you’re almost going to cash it some damn thing can happen and it all falls, like your horse losses by a photo finish, or breaks bad. But the next week after my score, I was sad because I seriously thought about cashing out and quitting the game I love. I love the track like you do, Miami. I’m the happiest when I’m at the track. But it’s such a brutally tough game to win at. The house take is like 20 percent and it just grinds you down. The house gets like three or four times what the sports books take out in commission on betting sports.”
Big Bernie took a huge draw of his mai tai.
“But Miami, on the other hand, the gamblers at the track are mostly idiots. Like how can I not beat their sorry asses? Most of them have never opened the racing form in their lives. I just have to be a 20 percent better gambler than those idiots who are betting their mom’s birthday numbers, or on horses that have pretty names. I study the form, and I know the trainers and their angles. I subscribe to the best insider workout reports on the 2-year-olds in training, so I know how fast those young horses are before anyone else does. I know which post positions are like death for which horses, and which ones are a plus at every distance.”
“Are you betting a lot more now since your score?”
“No. I’m betting less most days than before my score, because I know I have capital now to make big bets when I see something I like at good odds. I’m making fewer small bets and more big bets. Miami, I swear I’m not going to give this money back easy. Hey, tell me a track story of your own.”
Miami was feeling pretty lit after three drinks.
“OK. Back on July 7, 1977, that’s 7-7-77. Right? I’m at the track. The first race comes in…sure enough the number seven horse wins. The second race comes in. Yep, the number seven horse again. So we have a seven-seven daily double. The place is going crazy. We are all waiting for the seventh race of course.”
“So what happens in the seventh race?”
“The number seven horse is like 20-1 on the morning line, but the fans hammer him at the windows, betting him down to like the 2-1 favorite!”
“What happens?”
“Sure enough Bernie…he comes in seventh!”
The two men belly laughed for several minutes until Miami steered the conversati
on back to the Derby. “What do you know about the financial health of Agua Caliente? I hear they are going to go bankrupt. How can they pay us if they’re frickin’ broke? I’m also hearing some scary things about the owner of the track…that he is mixed up with the cartel down there. I am worried they’ll have us robbed or killed on the way from the track to the US border. If you hit your $1,000,000 on Winning Colors, how in the hell are you going to get that kind of serious money back into the country? And, Big Bernie, what about taxes?”
Big Bernie smiled. “That’s just it, Miami. I’m not bringing the money back.”
Miami looked at him like he was drunk—which he was. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Big Bernie leaned forward, his eyes got wide, and for a moment, Miami thought he was about to cry. “Miami,” he said, “you have always been a good friend to me. You treat me good, just like you treat everyone else. But look at me. I weigh almost 400 pounds. What jobs do I get in Los Angeles? Just phone sales jobs, selling loans, or bathroom appliances, or crap. Funny thing is I’m great at it, I’m always the top sales guy everywhere I’ve gone.”
“Man, that sucks.”
“I hate it. I don’t get girls. I’m just the fat guy.” He stopped talking and sat back in the dark booth. Miami could see he was about done talking for the evening, but somehow…it seemed as if he still wanted to tell him more.
“Big Bernie, man, I’m with you, I want to win on this filly, too. I’m worried about you, and about Dino, and about myself, too.”
Big Bernie paused. Then he sat up, leaned forward, and said, “Here’s my deal. I know a guy who works at the track’s race book. I trust him…I think. If Winning Colors wins, I’m going to put my money into the Agua Caliente race book betting account. They take really big bets there. Bigger than Vegas. I won’t leave the track with the money, at least for a few weeks, or two months tops. I figure they won’t kill me if I deposit the money with them. Shit…they probably figure I’ll just lose it back. Then I’ll have my Mexican attorney transfer the money to his legal trust account, or a Mexican real estate escrow account. Miami, I won’t lose it back! I’m going to buy a motel on the beach in Rosarito, 10 miles south of Tijuana. I’ve already picked it out. It’s so beautiful! You will love it. You and Dino can come down and party with me on the beach. Bring some girls. It’s like a one-hour drive south of the Del Mar racetrack.”