A memorial to the person who introduced me to the Sport of Kings
Like most, as 2016 comes to a close I reflect on the last 12 months and set goals of what I want to achieve next year. All in all, the highs outnumbered the lows both personally and professionally. My wife and I celebrated our ninth year of marriage in September, I produced more from a revenue standpoint at my job, was in the black for the year when it came to gambling (horses and poker) and had an awesome time doing some of my other hobbies (golfing and playing sand volleyball).
On top of that, my association with Horse Racing Nation allowed me to visit some of Racing’s greatest venues once again. I was fortunate enough to garner a front-row seat at the Arlington Million, Iowa Festival of Racing and Breeders’ Cup. In fact, I was lucky enough to combine 2 of my passions in one trip, when I had the chance to play volleyball at legendary Manhattan Beach during to my trip to California. Not too shabby for a kid that’s lived in Kansas his whole life.
While all those successes and adventures made 2016 pretty good, I think the year as a whole was a loss due to one big event. On October 26, one week before I departed for the Breeders’ Cup, I lost the person that introduced me to the sport I love most, my Dad. I’m no different than a lot of passionate fans, whose fathers introduced them to the sport as a child. Hanging out on the rail, annoying their Dads by asking to look at their Racing Forms while they’re trying to handicap the early Daily Double or nagging them to put $2 on the runner you like.
For me, the introduction started when I was about 8 and my Dad thought I was old enough to make the weekend trip with “the gang” from Kansas City up to Ak-Sar-Ben in Omaha. I remember seeing Midwest legend Who Doctor Who and Breeders’ Cup Classic winner, Black Tie Affair. The fervor with which everyone was cheering on their runners coming down the stretch really stuck with me.
Fortunately racing came to Kansas City not soon after, so Dad and I spent a good amount of time at The Woodlands Greyhound and horse tracks. During the school year, I'd rush home to do my homework and we’d zip out to the dog track on a Wednesday night. Better yet, go to the horse track on Saturday afternoon and watch the greyhounds in the evening. Once I had this much exposure, there was no turning back, I caught the bug and for that I will be eternally grateful to him.
Though we made a few journeys around the Midwest, our best trip was memorable for a few reasons. The 2002 Breeders’ Cup at Arlington Park was extremely cold and the first Breeders' Cup for either of us. For the commoners like us braving the conditions on the final turn, we found out where Chicago gets it nickname from. The day was riddled with longshots, but I think our tongues may have stuck to the frigid floors as we saw Volponi pass Medaglia d’Oro like he was tied to a pole entering the homestretch of the Classic.
Most relationships between teenagers and their parents can be tumultuous to say the least, and mine was no different. What resonates with me most about the relationship I had with my father and racing was best summed up by Daniel Stern’s character in City Slickers when he simply described that when he and his father couldn’t agree on anything, they could always talk about baseball.
That’s precisely how I felt about the relationship with my father. It didn’t matter if we fought like cats and dogs about curfews, bad decisions teenagers make, etc., we always had racing. It didn’t matter if he liked Sea Hero in the Derby, and I thought he was nuts. Or how he thought I was nuts for thinking that weight has absolutely no relevance in the outcome of races. Or when we embraced, as we both cashed on Silver Charm in the 1997 Kentucky Derby, racing was our connection. In fact, we still disagreed passionately on quite a few things well into my adulthood, but we could always talk racing.
As his health deteriorated the last 5 years and our trips to the track diminished, when I would visit him we would always have something to talk about. He’d always ask where my horse racing adventures had taken me, so I shared stories of my travels and show him pictures. He seemed to get a little boost of energy as American Pharoah swept the Triple Crown and enjoyed the pictures I shared of him winning the Grand Slam at Keeneland last year. He teased me about my opinion that I would never see a Triple Crown winner in my lifetime. And for those brief times we still talked racing.
If there's one track he could choose to visit, Santa Anita was at the top of his list. As a kid, racing at Santa Anita on December 26th was an event not to be missed. While watching the simulcast feed at The Woodlands each year, he would comment on the breathtaking views of the track nestled at the foothill of the San Gabriel Mountains and how he would like to see it in person someday. Unfortunately, he was never able to make it there for any of the 9 Breeders' Cups Santa Anita has hosted.
Therefore, I thought it fitting that Santa Anita should be his final resting place. After Beholder edged out Songbird in an emotional version of the Breeders’ Cup Distaff, I made my way to the infield with some close friends once the crowds headed for the parking lot. I said a few words to him, spread his ashes in the infield and laid Joe Mangrum to rest. He finally made it out to Santa Anita and for one final time, we talked racing.