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I am a horse-racing fanatic. I don't
bet, but I've been known to fly halfway across the country to
watch Seattle Slew hook up with Affirmed, or Dr. Fager take on
Damascus.
I've written for The Blood-Horse, American
Turf, Horseman's Journal, and half a dozen other racing publications,
and I wrote a weekly column on racing for more than a decade.
So it stood to reason that sooner or
later Guy Lillian was going to ask me to Explain It All To You.
TERMS
To understand horse-racing, you really
should learn some of the lingo. So let's start with it. _
Furlong_. A furlong is an eighth of a
mile, 220 yards. The term originated because that was approximately
the length of a farmer's furrow. Almost all horse race distances
are described in furlongs. A 6-furlong race is 3/4 of a mile;
an 8 1/2 furlong race is a mile and a sixteeth; a 12-furlong
race is a mile and a half. _
Turf_. Turf means grass. Most American
races -- 80% or more -- are run on the dirt. The rest, and almost
all races in Europe, South America, Australia and Asia, are run
on the turf.
Track conditions_ are fast, good, slow,
muddy, and sloppy. Strangely enough, you get your second-fastest
times not on good tracks, but on sloppy ones, because if there's
standing water on the track, it means that it hasn't soaked in
and the track is reasonably hard beneath the water. Good and
slow tracks are tiring, and this affects front-runners the most.
Muddy tracks are a class by themselves: some great horses, such
as Swaps, could barely stand up in the mud, let along run in
it; others, such as Bold Ruler, were far better in the mud than
on fast tracks. Most horses are relatively unaffected by it.
_
Weight_. It's impossible to stagger a
start, the way you can do with human runners, so when the track
handicapper tries to give every horse an even chance, he does
it by assigning different weights to them. The usual rule of
thumb is that 2 pounds equals a length, and scale weight is usually
126 pounds -- so if I think that horse A is 4 lengths better
than horse B, and that horse A is probably a length and a half
poorer than the average good horse of his age and class, I would
assign horse A 123 pounds and horse B 115 pounds. Most jockeys
weigh between 95 and 112 pounds, and any extra weight the horse
must carry is made up by putting lead weights in the saddle pads.
Over the past century, only truly exceptional horses have been
asked to carry 130 pounds or more, and only one in the past 50
years has won with 140 pounds.
HOW TO WATCH A RACE
Horses don't just run hell for leather
from flagfall to finish. They can't. The very best horses can
sustain an all-out drive for about half a mile. There are no
races that short for Thoroughbreds anywhere in America.
Competition saps a horse's energy. A
horse running three lengths ahead of the field after a half-mile
in 47 seconds uses much less adrenaline than the same horse,
running neck-and-neck for the lead with a rival, uses after a
half mile in that same time of 47 seconds.
The purpose of the jockey is twofold: to keep his horse free
of trouble (and by trouble, I mean traffic jams), and to conserve
his horse's energy and get him to relax, whether he is running
in front or coming from behind.
How do you know if your horse is doing
well?
Easy. Watch the jockey. If his rump is
way up in the air, well above the saddle, if his toes are up
and his heels are down, he's restraining the horse. (Remember:
he weighs 110 pounds. The horse weights about 1,100 pounds. He
_has_ to practically stand up and lean back to restrain the horse.)
How do you know when your jockey is asking for speed? His rump
will come down to the saddle, he'll lean forward, and he'll drop
his hands (thus releasing his restraint on the reins).
How do you know when your horse isn't
responding? Every major jockey since the now-retired Bill Hartack
is right-handed, so each of them uses his crop (it's called a
"popper", because it makes a startling sound but doesn't
hurt or leave welts) in his right hand. If, in the homestretch,
you see your jockey has shifted the crop to his left hand, it
means he wasn't getting any response from his mount and is trying
to startle it by whipping it on a side that never gets whipped.
How do you know if your jockey has confidence
in your come- from-behind horse? It's generally considered that
for every horse you pass on a turn, you're giving up a length.
So if your jockey goes five wide on the far turn, he's saying,
in essence: "My horse is so strong today, so full of run,
that I'm willing to spot the leader 5 lengths in the homestretch,
just to make sure I'm outside of all the traffic and have a clear
lane to the wire." (Tired horses, like tired humans, tend
not to run in a straight line. The easiest way to avoid them
is to go wide and come down the middle of the track - _if_ you
feel your horse is good enough to go wide.)
And, of course, if the jock tries to
sneak through on the rail, or pick his way through horses like
a broken-field runner in football, he's not as confident and
he's saving every bit of ground he can.
Off-tracks: if you like front-runners,
the best time to bet them is on muddy tracks. Why? First, they
won't get mud thrown up in their faces like the horses behind
them (and enough mud in the eye or up a nostril can discourage
_any_ horse), and second, the horses directly behind the front
runner could pick up 10 to 20 pounds of mud on their necks, chests,
and shoulders. (Remember the handicapper's rule of thumb, that
two pounds equals a length? That means if you pick up 16 pounds
of mud, you're spotting the front- runner an extra 8 lengths.)
TIME
You can also get a notion of how the
race will turn out by looking at the fractions, which are posted
every quarter-mile on the infield tote board.
A good, usually victorious, time for
6 furlongs is 1:10; for a mile, 1:35; for a mile and a quarter,
2:01; for a mile and a half, 2:29. As you can see, the average
quarter-mile takes a bit longer as the distance increases (and
for those of you who care, it's estimated that a Thoroughbred
can run 5 lengths in a second, which makes it very easy for a
sport that divides times by fifths of a second.)
The world records are, of course, a good
bit faster: 1:06 1/5 for 6 furlongs, 1:32 for a mile, 1:57 3/5
for a mile and a quarter, 2:24 for a mile and a half.
Anyway, once you know what a good time
should be, and how long a horse can sustain his top speed, it
doesn't take much to look at the time and figure out what's likely
to happen.
For example, you're watching the Kentucky
Derby. It's a mile and a quarter. Five horses are bunched near
the lead. The time for the first half-mile is :45 3/5 seconds.
What conclusion can you draw? That none of those five will be
around at the end. They've used themselves up too early, and
there's more than half the race to go.
Okay, now we're watching a 6-furlong
sprint. Same scenario: five horses bunched up front in :45 3/5
seconds. What conclusions can you draw from that? That one of
them will probably win the race -- after all, a final quarter
of 24 seconds, much slower than they've been running, will still
get him home in 1:09 3/5, usually a winning time. Which horse
is the likeliest? Check those jockeys: whose rump is highest
in the air? Who's already whipping his horse before the others
do? Is the one on the outside riding confidently, or asking for
an all-out effort already?
How do you beat a top front-runner, a
Seattle Slew or a Dr. Fager? By making him use himself early.
You get him to run that first half-mile in 44 seconds, and he
won't be around at the end. You let him get away to an opening
half-mile in 48 seconds, and the race is as good as over. If
he's a front-runner, he very likely will not relax and let another
horse take the lead without putting up a struggle. A front-runner's
only weak spot is his stamina, and if you don't force him to
expend his energy early, you've lost before the race is half
done.
How do you beat a top come-from-behinder,
a Forego or a Damascus? By setting the slowest possible pace.
That come-from- behind horse wins by catching tired horses with
a final burst of speed. Run that first half mile in 45 seconds
and you're properly softened up for him; sneak away in 48 seconds,
and your horse will be a lot fresher, and harder to catch, in
the homestretch.
Did the favorite draw an inside post
position? Good. Run alongside him, right behind the leader, and
never give him room to move ahead. If he wants the lead, his
jockey will have to slow him down until he's behind you and has
enough room to maneuver to the outside.
You're in front, your horse is tiring
a bit, and you know that the come-from-behind favorite has yet
to make his run? Don't hug the rail. Move out as far as you dare
toward the middle of the track, and make that favorite go even
wider. His jockey will have just a fraction of a second to decide
if you're purposely going wide (and hence he can cut inside of
you) or if your horse is getting leg-weary (and hence might bear
to his left any instant and close the inviting hole he just made).
Usually the jockey will play it safe and go wide -- and you might
have made him go just wide enough so you can hang on and win.
It's all strategy, and it's fascinating
when you understand what you're seeing.
16,307
There are, to date, 16,307 ways to lose
a horse race. There is only one way to win: get home first.
Bill Shoemaker is widely considered to
be one of the two or three greatest jockeys in history. He was
the winningest rider of all time, both in numbers of wins and
in money won, when he retired. (Both totals have been surpassed.)
And yet Shoemaker was capable of some
of the most bone-headed blunders in major races that anyone ever
saw.
Take the 1957 Kentucky Derby. Please.
A racetrack places poles every sixteeth
of a mile, so the jockeys can look at the pole as they pass it
and know how far they are from the finish. The sixteenth pole
is a sixteenth of a mile from the finish wire, the eighth pole
an eighth of a mile, and so forth.
Shoemaker was riding Gallant Man. He
was a "plodder", a come- from-behind horse who lacked
early speed but got better and stronger as the races got longer.
He'd been running 7th for most of the way, but then Shoemaker
put him to a drive, and he began catching tiring horses. At the
head of the stretch he caught the tiring favorite, Bold Ruler.
At the eighth pole he caught Round Table. At the sixteenth pole
he was within inches of catching the leader, Iron Liege -- and
then Shoemaker, who'd ridden in half a dozen Derbies and already
won one, mistook the sixteenth pole for the finish wire and stood
up in the stirrups, easing his horse. He realized his mistake
in less than a second and sat back down and started whipping
Gallant Man again...but at the finish wire it was Iron Liege
by a nose, and there is no question that Shoemaker standing up
for that second cost Gallant Man more than the four inches he
lost by.
It came less than a year after an equally
glaring blunder. In horse racing, 2-year-olds and 3-year-olds
usually run at equal weights -- but after two years on the track,
there's usually very little doubt as to which is the best horse,
and racetrtacks couldn't draw competitive fields if they didn't
start handicapping the outstanding horses by making them carry
more weight.
Now, if you're riding horse A, and carrying
125 pounds, and you beat horse B, who is carrying 119 pounds,
by 2 lengths, in all likelihood the handicapper is going to increase
the weight spread from 6 pounds to 10 pounds the next time the
two horses meet...so, from the point of view of the trainer and
jockey, you want to win a handicap race not by the biggest possible
margin, but by the smallest safe margin. Why win by 5 lengths
and pick up 10 pounds in your next start when you can win by
one length and only pick up two pounds?
Shoemaker was riding the brilliant Swaps
in the 1956 Californian Stakes. Swaps had just set a world record
in Florida; he would proceed to set world records in 4 of his
next 5 starts, something that neither Man o' War nor any other
thoroughbred ever did. And since all those upcoming races were
handicaps, Shoemaker knew that he didn't want to win by a dozen
lengths (though Swaps was clearly good enough to do so). The
race began, Swaps lay back in 3rd place, moved up to the lead
on the far turn, and entered the homestretch four lengths in
front -- and Shoemaker decided he'd better cut that victory margin
down so that Swaps didn't pick up too much weight in his next
race.
And of course, as he was slowing Swaps
down, Porterhouse, a nice but not outstanding horse, ran the
race of his life and caught him two jumps short of the wire.
By the time Shoemaker realized what was happening, it was too
late to get Swaps going again, and he lost by a head.
There are 16,305 more ways, but you don't
really need to learn them all today.
THEY DON'T LOSE ON PURPOSE
Eddie Arcaro, considered the greatest
jockey of his time, was riding a mediocre horse in a very unimportant
race at Belmont Park. It came in 9th in a 10-horse field.
Upon returning to the unsaddling enclosure,
Arcaro was confronted by an irate trainer.
"Why didn't you listen to instructions?"
demanded the trainer in a loud, piercing voice. "I told
you to lay fourth to the far turn, move up to third at the head
of the stretch, and then come on to win!"
"What did you want me to do?"
responded Arcaro. "Leave the horse?"
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