Posted by
ML Smith on Sunday, December 21, 2008 5:00:36 PM
WHAT WAS PHIPPS THINKING...
...when he named the yearling? The Liberal Member? I recall my comment to my brother.
"What the heck is that? Strange name, huh?"
"Yeah, I guess. Look at this." He handed me his copy of the Racing Form and pointed to The Liberal Member's chart. There wasn't much to look at - the horse was a maiden, making his first start as a three year-old...in an open allowance that included multiple winners. Angel Penna, contract trainer for Ogden Phipps, had evidently decided that this horse needed no experience at the conventional level - termed Maiden Special Weights.
"I know. Penna does that occasionally. Don't jump to conclusions - he actually may have found a softer spot. Look. Most of these haven't run in more than six months, and six of them have never run on grass before."
"No, I mean the breeding." I looked again. The bloodlines were phenomenal.
"Hey, how much money do you have?" I asked.
"$150."
"Plus my $200, that's $350 to win at 4-1 odds. I don't know why they're betting him down to 4-1, but that's fine with me...a $1700 return is okay with you?"
"Let's do it."
We knew as soon as the gates opened. The Liberal Member went straight to the front and looked like he was frolicking on that firm Belmont turf. I had binoculars and watched as he lengthened stride down the backstretch, grabbing the turf with such force that huge clods of grass and dirt flew in his wake, only to be inherited by those behind him. There is nothing like having a clod of turf thrown in your face to make you lose interest and seek the back of the pack. By mid-turn, heading into Belmont's expansive homestretch, The Liberal Member was making the field look terribly conservative. We watched quietly as he bounded through the stretch, 14 lengths clear at the finish. I looked up at the teletimer. 1:39 4/5 seconds. Two ticks off the course record for the distance, set by a son of Secretariat named Forever Sparkle. There was a story in that, too, and I reminisced while my brother went to collect our winnings.
Forever Sparkle inherited virtually none of Secretariat's physical characteristics. This was a roan 3 year-old; big like his father but clearly lacking in maturity. I actually thought he may have been slightly retarded. Forever Sparkle seemed to enjoy racing almost as much as he did watching people. The homestretch was his playground. With hundreds of people crowding the fence, he would invariably turn his attention to them...ears pricked, head turned sideways to get a better view of the humans, he managed to win his first three races and he won them easily despite the shenanigans. One thing was clear to us - he had inherited Secretariat's turf gene...a gene that has yet to be fully exploited. Secretariat used turf as a springboard. Much like a diver, he propelled himself with incredible power and grace. His only two grass races were course record performances in which he completely destroyed the best older turf runners in the country.
Forever Sparkle had the gene...but not the mentality.
July 14, 1978
A relatively cool afternoon for this time of the year - it meant that my Racing Form was dry for once; not soggy with my own sweat. We had seen all three of Forever Sparkle's races. His winning margins were 12, 6 and 8 lengths respectively. His comment line read "greenly,"
"hard held" and "distracted, won easily." Now he was entered against older, more experienced runners. One, First American, was coming off two impressive wins; in both he had to battle through the stretch in head to head duels. In both he just happened to lower his head at the wire for a narrow victory...the smallest part of a nose. In both he was forced to split horses in mid-stretch, which he did by bulling his way through. We had seen him. His temperament was...shall I say, nasty. Of his three wins, one resulted in a disqualification. A horse passed him in deep stretch. He had afterburners and came again, biting the horse on the neck as he blew by. Did this horse understand the concept of winning?
"Impossible," my brother said, "he's an animal. Winning, as a concept requires an ability to reason. Don't be ridiculous."
"I'm telling you, he's going to be a problem for the Sparkler." (as we called him)
Forever Sparkle was 9-5. We would come close to doubling our money on a $1000 bet. First American was 19-1.
"No, I'm not doing it. I'm afraid of that horse."
"Okay. How about this? We put $500 to win on the Sparkler, and box an exacta for $250 each way." I looked at the projected exacta payoffs. If they came home together, with the Sparkler on top, the payoff would be $93. That would amount to an $11,000 windfall. Oddly, with First American on top, despite his 19-1 odds, the exacta would pay $98. That meant that most of the smart money was on First American in the exacta pool. He wasn't really 19-1, he was more like 9-5. That was all we needed to know.
Four minutes to post and I had a new idea.
"Listen, if we're that sure they are going to finish 1-2, why are we betting exactas?"
"Oh no, I'm not doing that," my brother said, sounding a bit irritated.
"Okay, I'll use my own money." I boxed the two on top of every horse in the field - a triple that could pay anywhere between $9500 and $65,000 on a $10 bet if a longshot finished third. I sweated the $180 investment. It wasn't part of our enterprise which was $3800 in the black, and it was my stereo money, which I had been saving for a year. Still, I had to do it - I had seen this race; a flicker of my imagination, perhaps, or maybe...
About flickers, I knew something. I had been seeing them for almost a year. Like the rapid technical changes employed as special effects in movies, they were brief...no more than two or three seconds when everything appeared to re-format the way a computer screen does. I told no one. A stay in the local psych unit didn't appeal to me. I wasn't enamored with the thing on Duck's back, either, which had appeared following the previous race.
Duck was our silent partner. He wasn't in on our enterprise and only made one bet - always the seventh race...this one. Duck had a routine that he followed religiously. He slept through races 1 - 6, had a hot dog and bet on the seventh race, which he watched. Anyway, I learned a valuable lesson that day. If Duck asks you, "What's on my back?" don't look. The thing on his back was not by any means earthly in appearance. It looked like a small owl with transparent wings that spanned about 18 inches each and a furry head with bulging red eyes. Having looked and seen, I bolted, along with my brother who also looked. We left our poor friend siting there with this monster on his back. I'd say Duck took it rather well until the thing grabbed his hot dog and flew off. That upset him.
"He took my hot dog!"
"Did you see it?"
"Yeah. It had a face like my Uncle Irv." That was Duck.
Both Forever Sparkle and First American broke poorly from the starting gate. They were both blocked by a wall of horses at the top of the stretch. Both riders were patient and waited for holes to open, though Forever Sparkle decided to make on himself, bashing his way between horses and watching the crowd at the same time. First American was all business. They both cleared with a sixteenth of a mile left. The bumping began. Each time Forever Sparkle forged a short lead, First American gave him a nice pop, edging him closer to the inside rail. I could see that the Sparkler wasn't having any fun. It was the first time he had ever been hooked, and he couldn't see the crowd. To correct that situation, the Sparkler made a right hand turn and drove First American clear across the course, circled his flank and gained an outside position where he was able to gawk. How talented was he? In spite of all the ground he lost goofing around, he hit the wire a head in front of First American, who proceded to throw a fit, throw his rider and run off. They got him quickly, however, and it turned out that his presence was required for a photoraph in the winner's circle. It came as no surprise to anyone that Forever Sparkle was disqualified and placed second.
The third place horse was 55-1. The triple paid $2900. I made $14,000. We never saw Forever Sparkle again. Perhaps he changed careers and went into slapstick comedy. First American was sold to Sheikh Makhtoum Mohammad for $300,000. He won his first race in Dubai on a day when the temperature rose to 110 degrees. A few yards past the finish, he dropped dead. Heat exhaustion.
The Liberal Member made a name for himself as a successful stakes runner.
Me? Still Conservative!
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