Crown worth the wait, even bride would agree
There we were, kneeling inside a semi-circle of tuxedoed co-conspirators, peering up at the TV in a downtown hotel bar and trying not to holler. It was June of 1978, the reception line was forming in the nearby ballroom and we, the best man and groom, had escaped official, i.e. the bride’s, detection.
We absolutely needed to watch Affirmed outnod Alydar in that spectacular Belmont Stakes — possibly the greatest horse race anybody ever saw — to win U.S. thoroughbred racing’s Triple Crown. It simply couldn’t be missed, wedding responsibilities or not.
Immediately post-race, the groom and best man sprinted to their place in line, greeted by the cool but understanding eye of the bride. Happily, love conquered all and the marriage has endured these 37 years. So, too, has Affirmed’s Triple Crown; there hasn’t been one since, although when American Pharoah contests the gruelling mile and a half of the Belmont Stakes this Saturday at leafy Elmont, N.Y., he will be the 14th four-legged winner of the Kentucky Derby and Preakness Stakes trying to sweep the crown since the last one.
At this point, let us dispense with the obvious misspelling of the horse’s name. While the principals are backing away from blame and the origin of the mistake acquires layers of murk, we should remember the horse himself doesn’t spell very well and considers it no issue.
Affirmed, to get back to him, was the 11th thoroughbred to sweep all three races and did so in a different world although, as is common today, the far more interesting story lay on the losing side. Alydar was owned by a pair of 80-somethings, Admiral Gene and Mrs. Lucille Markey, who represented Calumet Farm, one of racing’s royal houses. Lucille, daughter of Calumet’s founder, traced her own lineage back to Robert E. Lee. Her husband was indeed a wartime admiral and insisted on being addressed and introduced as “Admiral” for the rest of his life. He also was a former Hollywood type, a fishing buddy of John Wayne who once was married, at various times, to screen beauties Joan Bennett, Hedy Lamarr and Myrna Loy. Imagine how much fun social media would have with such a background these days.
Affirmed’s crown was the third in six years, hard behind the fabled Secretariat (1973) and Seattle Slew (1977). It was a common enough occurrence to be deemed not particularly remarkable at the time . . . kind of like the Maple Leafs winning Stanley Cups in the 1960s, when four triumphs in seven years provided no hint of the coming half-century (at least) drought.
Spectacular Bid, in 1979, came along the next year and won the first two legs. When he finished third in the Belmont, and when Pleasant Colony did exactly the same things in 1981, those misses were considered aberrations. No one suspected we’d be waiting 30-plus years.
Why have exactly none of the intervening 13 worthies failed to take the Belmont? Select from a long menu of reasons: illness, injury, racing luck, bad rides, fatigue, the arrival of fresh horses, etc.
More importantly, what would it mean if American Pharoah, which looks to be improving, were to succeed — and Lord knows there isn’t anyone who knows a bale of straw from a bail bond, except perhaps those wagering on the other seven entrants, who doesn’t want to see it happen.
Racing needs every kind of shot in the arm it can absorb, however fleeting its potential impact. Because sports fans demand superstars who place highly on the alltime lists, any Triple Crown winner would dominate the news cycle temporarily, then again when he returned to the track weeks or months later. Imagine, too, how a Triple Crown champ would enhance the Breeders Cup in five months; there’s never been one of them. There naturally would be some merchandising opportunities, but a major sponsorship tie-in seems a long shot, suggesting a TC winner, no matter how welcome, would not resurrect horse racing any more than the hundreds of millions of dollars generated by the Mayweather-Pacquaio dud will re-energize boxing.
As the old saying goes, like those who appreciate fedoras, cigars and big-band music, horse racing’s adherents often represent another time and, while passionate in many cases, are far less numerous than they used to be. This situation seems unlikely to change. Horse racing once was the only legal form of gambling in most jurisdictions, before governments at all levels became our most active bookmakers and numbers runners. It also is far easier, in our instant-gratification world, to pull a handle or scratch coated cardboard than it is to invest time and dollars in learning to decipher the Daily Racing Form.
The generation that takes its orders from its hand-held devices won’t invade Woodbine en masse because of a a one-day media swoon over a Triple Crown winner. There’s more likely to be the one-day swell of disappointment, accompanied by the inevitable snide Internet pronouncements, if American Pharoah doesn’t win. Because history says the odds are so clearly against him, whatever the tote board indicates. (Fresh horses await.)
This comes from someone rooting for the horse to go all the way, simply becauses it’s time. It was time for Alysheba in 1987, and Sunday Silence in ’89, and Funny Cide in 2003 and Smarty Jones in 2004 and, well, you get the picture.
One of these times, hiding from the bride will again prove to be worth it.