My First Triple Crown Winner

In a bedroom adorned with pictures of horses and cluttered with toy horses, I glued my eyes to the television as I watched the coverage of the Kentucky Derby. I was a horse-crazy, eight-year-old little girl who was relishing the world of horse racing for the very first time. Little did I know, by watching the 2004 Run for the Roses, my life was changing. I was finding my passion.

On that special day, Smarty Jones won me over. During the pre-race coverage, the colt’s story was shared. It was the colt’s near-death experience as a two-year-old – which occurred when Smarty Jones had reared and hit his head on a starting gate – that earned him a place in my heart.  To a young, horse-loving girl like me, the story of a horse escaping death and making it to the greatest race in America was the greatest story ever told. During the Derby undercard, I fled to a computer to learn everything I could about Smarty Jones.

As the horses loaded into the starting gate, I was already quite emotionally invested. Over and over, I muttered, “He has to win. Let him win.” These words continued throughout the race as I remained focused on the dark chestnut colt. When he galloped through the slop to victory, I leaped in the air, jumping up and down. I had just fallen in love with horse racing. And I didn’t look back.

Two weeks later, my young eyes danced as they watched Smarty Jones annihilate the field in the Preakness Stakes, setting a record for the largest margin of victory in history as he strode home to win by 11 ½ lengths. With this dominant win, I hoped with all my heart that he would make history by becoming racing’s twelfth Triple Crown winner.

It was not meant to be. On the day of the Belmont Stakes, my heart sunk as Birdstone swept past the Derby-Preakness winner in the stretch, leaving my beloved Smarty to finish second. Still to this day I can hardly watch the replays of that race. But it was that day that I realized that the Triple Crown was anything but an easy accomplishment. It would take a truly great horse to sweep the series.

Year after year, my attachment to and knowledge of horse racing expanded. But it was the Triple Crown that made me come alive. As years passed and the drought that had lasted since Affirmed in 1978 continued, the importance of the Triple Crown became apparent to me. Without having a Triple Crown winner from my own lifetime to cherish, I researched and read about the eleven immortal Thoroughbreds that had accomplished American racing’s greatest feat. As pages turned, the images played through my mind: Citation furthering Calumet Farm’s legacy, Secretariat dropping jaws with his record-making victories, Seattle Slew remaining unbeatable, Affirmed denying rival Alydar. Each Triple Crown winner had brought so much joy to the nation as they earned a special place in Thoroughbred history.

But since 1978, the Triple Crown had gone unclaimed. Since 2004, I had watched every year in hopes that a special horse would come along and rewrite history. On several occasions, I thought I had found that horse.

In 2005, I thought that horse would be Afleet Alex. But he struck out as soon as the Triple Crown began, finishing third in the Kentucky Derby. He redeemed himself after that, dominating both the Preakness and Belmont, but I was still rather disappointed that he had not captured all three races. I spent that summer racing my dog while riding my bicycle, pretending I was Afleet Alex and she was Giacomo. I made sure I won each time. On my bicycle, I won the Triple Crown for Afleet Alex.

In 2008, I was so convinced that Big Brown would win the Triple Crown that, on the morning of the Belmont, my friends and I all wore Big Brown buttons and pins and carried Big Brown signs in a small-town parade. I cried when he lost. I had been so convinced that the brilliant colt could win the Triple Crown. His loss was only further evidence to me that a Triple Crown win was not something that would come easily.

Since then, two more horses – I’ll Have Another and California Chrome – had won the first two legs of the Triple Crown, only to leave racing fans waiting yet again. But in 2015, everything finally fell into place.

I have never been to a Triple Crown race. I have always watched on television, yearning to be there and hoping that one day I would be. In the five-week span that the series covers each year, the Triple Crown has never been tangible to me. But that changed in a peculiar way this year.

No, I did not have the opportunity to attend a Triple Crown race this year, but by a twist of fate, American Pharoah was training at Churchill Downs in preparation for the Belmont Stakes while I was visiting Kentucky. On the first morning of my trip to the Bluegrass State, my mother and I made the trek from Lexington to Louisville to watch the Derby-Preakness winner put in his first post-Preakness breeze.

It was the first time I had been to Churchill Downs since 2011. As always, the twin spires took my breath away as thoughts of the history that had been made beneath them galloped through my mind. As I wandered to the rail near the sixteenth pole to await my first glimpse of American Pharoah, the history and tradition of Churchill seemed to come alive right before my eyes. I pictured the grandstand and infield overflowing with fans, singing “My Old Kentucky Home.” I envisioned Triple Crown winners like Whirlaway, Secretariat, and Affirmed racing down the stretch to take the first leg of series. And, as the time for American Pharoah to make his morning appearance grew nearer, I visualized him standing in the Derby winner’s circle with the garland of red roses draped over his shoulders.

Suddenly, American Pharoah – alongside his beloved pony, Smokey – appeared on the clubhouse turn as he jogged in my direction. I held my breath as I laid my eyes on the colt for the first time, zealously taking photographs so that I could document the moment forever. There he was, right before my eyes – the horse who had the chance to end the Triple Crown drought.

I walked away from Churchill Downs that morning on cloud nine, spewing words to my mom along the lines of, “We’ll be able to say we saw a Triple Crown winner work out before the Belmont.”

That morning alone would have been enough, but the week got even better. On Saturday, with press credentials in hand, I arrived on the backside of Churchill Downs, where I watched American Pharoah gallop around the track before standing just inches from him as he received a bath and walked the shedrow. I’ll never forget the moment when American Pharoah stopped right in front of me in his barn at Churchill, posing for my camera as his soulful eyes focused upon me. As he walked away, I turned to my mom and said, “I’d tell you to pinch me but I don’t like to be pinched.”

We had planned to leave Kentucky to return home to Texas on Monday, June 2, and when the news surfaced that American Pharoah would have his final work for the Belmont that morning, I made it a point that we stopped at Churchill one last time before departing the Bluegrass State. That day, a steady rain fell over Louisville, but along with a swarm of media and fans, I followed American Pharoah devotedly, taking an endless amount of photos of him. I had no umbrella; I didn’t even have a hood on my jacket or the proper shoes for rain. But something within me told me that this horse was special, so I stood in the rain to cherish the final time I would see him before he made his Triple Crown bid.

To add to the admiration I had for American Pharoah, just days before the Belmont I dialed the number for John Hall, the yearling manager at Taylor Made Sales Agency who worked with American Pharoah as a yearling. I interviewed him about the colt as a youngster before writing an article about it. Thanks to the kindness of those at Taylor Made, I had even more room in my heart for American Pharoah.

In the blink of an eye, Belmont Day arrived. It had been 11 years since Smarty Jones set a fire within me that will never be extinguished. Many aspects of my life had changed since my fascination with the Triple Crown began, including my further involvement with the Thoroughbred industry, but I was still horse-crazy – perhaps even more so than had been as an eight-year-old.

I glued my eyes to the television screen in hopes that American Pharoah would accomplish what had not been achieved in 37 years. Throughout the afternoon on Belmont Day, my nerves ascended to the point where I could feel my heart beating rapidly as post time neared. Nonetheless, I was confident in American Pharoah. Perhaps it was because he was clearly the best of the group, or how tremendous he had looked in person. Maybe it was because I had witnessed firsthand the presence he has – a cool character who possessed the “look of eagles.”

As soon as American Pharoah took the lead after breaking from the starting gate, my confidence only continued to skyrocket. As the steady fractions were posted and jockey Victor Espinoza held the colt back, I knew he had it. Around the far turn, Espinoza had not even asked American Pharoah for his run.

But as Frosted attempted to deny American Pharoah triumph, memories of various Triple Crown disappointments that had occurred since Affirmed’s sweep of the series in 1978 flashed through my mind, but one in particular haunted me for a split second: Birdstone overtaking Smarty Jones in the final strides.

However, that worry lasted for just a split second. American Pharoah proved himself a special horse, a rare animal we are lucky to witness. My heart soared as he began to pull away as the field entered the stretch while I screamed “OH MY GOSH” over and over, my face in my hands as tears streamed down my face. As I leaned forward, closer to the television as the bay colt made his history-making stretch drive, my parents cheered along with me. When American Pharoah crossed the finish line in front, they ran to me, hugging me. At last, I had witnessed a Triple Crown winner.

With American Pharoah’s Triple Crown triumph, I had experienced a range of emotions I had never before faced. It took several minutes for the euphoric tears to reach an end and for the smile on my face to finally fade. I declared June 6, 2015 the happiest day of my life. It was the day one of my biggest dreams reached fruition, the day the drought came to an end, the day the racing industry was on top of the world.

Oh, and, I was so confident in American Pharoah that I wrote the majority of this piece before the race was even run. Thank you, American Pharoah, for making my wildest dreams come true.