by Joe Drape
He and Baffert had been in perfect synch bringing the colt back to the track in February. Early on they were in a holding pattern, letting the colt feel his legs under him and air fill his lungs in a pair of three-eighths-of-a-mile blowouts. As the distances progressed, the wireless communication had become hushed.
“Nice,” Baffert said as quietly as if he were in church. “Pick it up a little now.”
Garcia, who looks like what little weight he carries is centralized in his cherubic cheeks, would beam a knowing smile when Baffert warned him not to go too fast. American Pharoah was a tough horse to ride in the morning because he was always on go. He galloped kindly for Jorge Alvarez, but once Garcia showed up and he knew that he was going to work, American Pharoah started revving his motor. He wanted to do what he wanted to do.
“Whenever you want to go, however far you want to go, he drags you there,” Garcia said.
What amazed Garcia the most was how quickly the colt recovered. Horses that ran as fast as he did were normally blowing and vibrating for at least thirty minutes. American Pharoah needed ten minutes, the time it took to walk back to the barn, and then was in his stall napping twenty minutes after that.
Most of the heavy lifting had been done for American Pharoah’s three-year-old debut. Seven days prior, Baffert had put a stout breeze in the colt, stretching to seven-eighths of a mile in 1:23.80. Garcia and American Pharoah were breaking from the gate this morning, and Baffert didn’t want to take much out of his colt. The colt popped from the gate and hit every fraction like he was being paced by a metronome before finishing up the three-quarters of a mile in 1:10.40. Baffert was quiet as he waited for Garcia to report in.
“Patrón,” said Garcia over the wire. “We were just galloping. He’s ready.”
It was exactly what Baffert wanted to hear.
Jimmy Barnes had taken American Pharoah to Oaklawn Park in Hot Springs, Arkansas, for the Rebel Stakes, so Baffert watched it from Santa Anita. He was serene and supremely confident. He knew American Pharoah did not need to win the race, but he knew he would. He had watched the colt mature over the winter, getting to see up close his mind at work as he walked around the barn. He was a polite and gentle horse. He seemed to stop for other horses and was curious whenever a new face appeared on the shedrow. He folded himself into his hay to rest with the grace of a ballet dancer. American Pharoah snatched a carrot from the palm of your hand like he was stealing a kiss. Baffert knew this was a special colt and he was more eager than anxious to see his return to the racetrack.
Ahmed Zayat was a wreck. He wanted to believe his trainer that American Pharoah was primed and ready, but he could not beat back his inner handicapper. The colt was coming off an injury, had not run in five months, and was shipping by air for the first time to run outside of California. The weather was miserable to boot. It was cold and rainy and the track was listed as sloppy and looked like the bottom of a bowl of day-old soup. He had called Baffert and asked if they should consider scratching American Pharoah. No way, he was told. There was not any give left in the schedule; it was either run now or miss the Derby.
Baffert told Victor Espinoza to try to go slow early, that there were no world beaters in the field of seven and he did not want American Pharoah to overdo it in his return to racing. The colt was fidgeting when the gates popped and American Pharoah bobbled slightly and tangled his feet. Espinoza kept American Pharoah relaxed and let him find his own stride. He had already splashed to the front when they went under the wire for the first time and American Pharoah was handling the wet going like he had fins on his feet. Espinoza kept the fractions leisurely— :24.41 for a quarter-mile, :49.63 for a half, and 1:15.22 for three-quarters.
In California, Baffert knew that no one was catching him today.
“Once he got to the far turn, he was just in his groove, galloping,” said Baffert. “If he’s the horse we hope he is, he’s in good shape.”
He was and Espinoza knew there were no lessons for American Pharoah to learn this afternoon. When he came out of the far turn, Espinoza began massaging the colt’s neck and American Pharoah put four more lengths on the field. Espinoza’s whip stayed tucked in his fist as he rode American Pharoah home to a six-and-a-quarter-length victory in 1:45.78 for the mile-and-sixteenth distance.
In the clubhouse, Ahmed Zayat hugged his son and anyone else who came within arm’s length of his perimeter. His colt had not only successfully returned to the racetrack but he was also clearly better than ever.
“He did it exactly the way you want it; just perfect,” Zayat said. “I’m just tickled pink that he’s back, he’s healthy, and he showed us that he can relax and enjoy very, very hard circumstances.”
His mouth was racing along with his thoughts.
“This was not ideal,” he said. “The race on paper was his to lose. He hasn’t run since last September, but a horse coming off an injury, not running in five months, and shipping in, you’re asking a lot of him. We wanted to see how he’d handle it.”
When they got American Pharoah to the barn, Barnes discovered that his right front shoe was bent; he had sprung it when he bobbled at the gate. Espinoza looked at the bent shoe and shook his head.
“Most horses when that happens, you can feel something during the race, something not quite right,” he said. “With him, I felt nothing different at all, but those kinds of things don’t matter to a horse like him. That’s why I have so much respect for him.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
BARN 33
Kentucky Derby Week, 2015
Once upon a time, barn 33 at Churchill Downs was at the center of the circus that is the Kentucky Derby. It was Baffert’s barn and it was easily identified by the three shingles hanging near its entryway in honor of his three Derby winners: Silver Charm, Real Quiet, and War Emblem. From 1996 to 2003, it was the first stop for every celebrity, from New York Yankees manager Joe Torre, to Olympic skier Bode Miller, to the reigning Miss America, as well as Rotary Clubs and Pony Clubs. It was always rimmed with reporters and camera crews waiting for the white-haired trainer to pop out and do a little stand-up. Baffert never disappointed. No matter how much his stomach was turning and whatever ailments, tiny or terrible, in his horses that he and his team were fending off, Baffert always appeared to be relaxed and in command.
Over the next twelve years, though, after bringing twelve middling horses to American horse racing’s biggest dance, Baffert’s heat had definitely cooled. He never soured and remained a good ambassador, but he was forced to cede the spotlight to new faces like John Servis, who brought Smarty Jones here in 2004, and Michael Matz with Barbaro two years later, and Rick Dutrow with Big Brown in 2008. It hurt. Each of their horses came here undefeated and was the clear favorite to win on the first Saturday in May. Baffert knew better than most that you are only as good as your horses. You’re an in-demand genius when they are fast. You are the guy everyone walks past with barely a nod when your horses are slow.
Guess what? The big top was back over the Baffert barn as the 141th running of the Kentucky Derby approached, all because he had brought a couple of big horses here. It was the Wednesday before the race and when American Pharoah and Dortmund left the barn for the racetrack, it was like they were the grand marshals of the Thanksgiving Day parade. Hundreds of people followed en masse with their cell phone cameras aloft. Hundreds more rushed to the rail to secure positions to watch the two gallop. Dortmund, indeed, was a monster. He was tall and broad. Side by side, though, American Pharoah gave nothing away. He stood 16.1 hands, the equivalent of 5 feet, 3 inches at the withers, and weighed 1,170 pounds. He was better put together, more chiseled and majestic. He was Muhammad Ali to Dortmund’s George Foreman, LeBron James to Kevin Durant.
Dortmund was unbeaten in six races on the West Coast, where it was widely believed that the best three-year-olds had been competing in the prep races to get here.
On the first Saturday of April, three important prep races were run in a stretch of ninety mi
nutes to determine which horses had a realistic chance to capture the Kentucky Derby in May. When it was over, there was little doubt about the overwhelming favorite at this moment. It was Dortmund, a strapping and fast colt who had just decimated five rivals in the Santa Anita Derby to remain undefeated, which was no small thing for his owner, Kaleem Shah. Before the race, Shah was not only nervous for the first time but was also thinking about history—about two previous Kentucky Derby victors, to be exact: Smarty Jones (2004) and Seattle Slew (1977).
“I was looking to do what Seattle Slew did when he went to the Derby six for six. Smarty Jones went there six for six,” Shah said. “It was critically important that he move forward, not regress.”
At Santa Anita, Dortmund certainly looked like he belonged in the same sentence as those two horses. He overcame a stumble out of the gate to lead every step of the way in an emphatic four-and-one-quarter-length victory. He set fast fractions: 46.36 seconds for a half mile, and 1:10.57 for three-quarters of a mile. He finished strong, covering a mile and an eighth in 1:48.73. His rider, Martin Garcia, looked as if he were out for a pleasure ride as Dortmund turned for home. His whip was idle and blowing in the wind like an antenna.
“I didn’t do anything,” Garcia said. “He just dragged me around there.”
How Dortmund won and where he did it mattered greatly. The best three-year-old horses in the nation had resided at Santa Anita Park for the past six months. In Dortmund’s case, he shared a barn with a couple of them, American Pharoah and One Lucky Dane. The latter finished second to him and earned a trip to the Kentucky Derby as well. You couldn’t forget about Firing Line, either. Twice previously, he had dueled down the stretch with Dortmund, finishing a head behind each time in the Robert B. Lewis Stakes and the Los Alamitos Futurity. His trainer, Simon Callaghan, knew when enough was enough and sent Firing Line to New Mexico where he crushed the field by more than fourteen lengths in the Sunland Derby.
Still, there were sixteen other horses here in Kentucky lining up against Dortmund and the California contingent, and Baffert had watched on television as they made their case for being considered bona fide contenders. Among them was Frosted, who won the Wood Memorial by going a mile and an eighth in 1:50.31. So far he had shown more potential than results. In his prior race, the Fountain of Youth at Gulfstream Park in Florida, Frosted hit the stretch looking like a winner before pulling himself up and finishing fourth. Afterward, his trainer, Kiaran McLaughlin, had throat surgery performed on the horse, suspecting that Frosted had displaced his soft palate on the floor of the airway near the larynx and partially blocked his airway. If the Wood was any indication, the procedure was a success. McLaughlin’s owners, Sheikh Mo’s Godolphin Racing, had been trying since 1999 to win the Derby trophy, one of the few premier races on the planet that they had not won.
“We know he has a ton of ability, and the last race really made us scratch our heads, asking why he would go to the lead and throw his head up and stop,” McLaughlin said. “We did everything we could to change everything we possibly could.”
In the Blue Grass Stakes in Kentucky, Carpe Diem established himself as the class of the East Coast–based horses. He had won four of his five races and impressed his jockey, John Velazquez. He took command at the top of the stretch and rushed on for a three-length victory.
“There wasn’t much speed in the race,” Velazquez said. “It was a nice slow pace, and I didn’t want to fight him very much. Down the lane, I asked him, and he responded right away.”
At least a month ago, there was little doubt that Dortmund would be the horse to beat come the first Saturday in May. Horseplayers were always looking for omens and, like his owner Shah, had found it in the fact that Dortmund was undefeated coming to Kentucky, as were his father Big Brown, Seattle Slew, and Smarty Jones. Each of those three found themselves in the winner’s circle beneath Churchill’s twin spires. Baffert, however, knew not to get ahead of himself. He had lost with seemingly unbeatable horses, including Point Given and Lookin At Lucky.
“Just enjoy the moment because the next race is going to be the one,” he kept reminding himself.
Besides, he also knew that the best horse in his barn, in the country, hell, maybe even the world was running the following Saturday in the Arkansas Derby. If you drew a line through the debut race of American Pharoah, the colt was not only a perfect four for four but also had never even been challenged by another horse.
Again, Baffert sent Jimmy Barnes and remained in California. He was taking his new lifestyle seriously and trying to eliminate unnecessary travel. He thought—or at least hoped—that he was in for the full five weeks of the Triple Crown. Baffert knew that sending American Pharoah back to Oaklawn was like sending a bazooka to a knife fight. The colt was full of himself. He told Barnes to pack for a long trip. He and American Pharoah were going straight to Louisville from Hot Springs. He was so sure that the colt was going to win that he called the track announcer at Oaklawn—Frank Mirahmadi, a friend—before the race and told him to get a special call ready.
The colt definitely lived up to Baffert’s expectations. He broke smoothly, but this time Espinoza settled him off the pace set by a horse named Bridget’s Big Luvy, who sprinted to a three-length lead in a wicked fast opening quarter of 22.77 seconds.
In the clubhouse, Zayat was confused. In the paddock, neither he nor Barnes had told Espinoza to rate the colt behind other horses. All American Pharoah had ever done was go to the lead. Watching with his wife at home on his couch, Baffert was concerned. The colt was just galloping down the backside.
“Oh, what’s happening?” Jill Baffert asked her husband. “What’s he doing? He’s not running.”
“Either he’s got him shut down, or he’s not going to fire today,” Baffert said.
Espinoza had, indeed, shut down American Pharoah. He wanted to teach him how to relax early. It was the only way they were going to win in Kentucky. There was plenty of early speed in this current crop of three-year-olds, and when twenty horses break before more than 150,000 people as they do in the Derby, horses and riders often panic and a game of high-speed bumper cars erupts as the field heads to the first turn. A mile and a quarter is a long way, and Espinoza knew the horse that found its cruising speed quickest and could track panicked front-runners was the one most likely to still be running in the stretch. He wanted American Pharoah to be that horse.
“If I’m going to be in the lead, they’re going to go after me,” he said.
He had the perfect setup to see if the colt could track other horses. He had to take it. If Baffert got angry, Espinoza would accept the consequences.
American Pharoah understood what he was doing and patiently stalked the front-runner through a still-fast half mile in 45.99 seconds. As they approached the far turn, Espinoza dropped his hands ever so slightly and American Pharoah blew by Bridget’s Big Luvy like a rocket. Baffert saw Espinoza pick him up again at the three-eighths pole. He and Jill sank back in their couch. With fifty yards to go, Espinoza eased up on the colt, crossing the wire eight lengths ahead of the field in 1:48.52 for the mile-and-eighth distance.
“He has not been asked the question, but everyone knows the answer!” roared Mirahmadi, making Baffert smile at home.
Afterward, Espinoza phoned Baffert and told him that American Pharoah was the most talented and best-prepared horse he had ever been on heading into a big race.
“The way this horse runs is unbelievable,” Espinoza said. “I don’t feel like he’s running that fast and then I look back and he’s so far ahead. He was doing it by himself and doing it easy. We’re going to win this thing.”
Baffert thought so, too, but he could not say so publicly. Everyone had asked and the trainer did something that did not come naturally: He dodged the question. He had to keep his own counsel. It was wise, of course—Kaleem Shah and Ahmed Zayat, each provided Baffert with an ample number of quality horses. Why alienate one or the other? He had kept the colts apart the past five months
to avoid that. So, he kept quiet and enjoyed the comparisons made to the legendary trainer Ben Jones, who brought a couple of iconic colts named Citation and Coaltown here in 1948. Jones was the only trainer to win the Derby six times, including victories with Whirlaway and Citation, who went on to win the Triple Crown in 1941 and 1948, respectively. Baffert was flattered by the comparison to Jones and would be fine with running first and second as Citation and Coaltown had done.
Most everyone roaming the backside of Churchill Downs agreed with Espinoza. It did not happen often that a variety of constituencies rallied around a single horse. This was the Derby, after all, the single greatest betting race on the calendar. It is the only time in American Thoroughbred racing that twenty horses get in the gate. It’s the only race on the calendar where the pools are awash with “square,” or “dumb,” money rather than that of “sharps,” or devoted horseplayers. Between the unruly field size that increases the odds for bad luck and the once-a-year players betting on horses’ names or the fact that the jockey is a woman, serious money can be made.
In the past twenty-five years, for example, the average payout on a $2 win bet was $28.77; for a $2 exacta ticket, or picking the top two, it was $920.23; for a trifecta, top three, it was $11,131.35; for a superfecta, top four, it was a whopping $84,860.40. Horseplayers spent the week leading into the Derby looking for “steam,” which was any morsel of information ranging from a minor injury to a poor workout to the trainer being distracted by his mistress. Wise-guy picks, or horses talked up because they appear to be overlooked but end up being heavily bet because everyone is talking about them, usually ricochet from the backside to the surrounding bars.
“Who’s your Derby horse?” is a question you ask, or are asked, twenty times a day, and usually get twenty different names of horses.