How A Legend Says Goodbye
For a while, the storybook ending seemed to be in jeopardy. For a while, the creaky old knees on the old warhorse seemed in need of a little oil; the gears stuck just a little bit and the engine sputtered. But only for a little while: though age has chipped the paintjob and put a few dents in the bumpers, what’s under the hood never really changes; that’s the beauty of old cars and truly great racehorses. A car and a driver become one seamless, blisteringly-fast entity, as the pipes ring and the engine revs, sucks gas and then leaps forward, so do the great horses merge with a racecourse, and so did Allied Assault this weekend in the Penn Marathon.
For the first time since week 1845, a span of 123 weeks (more than 2 ¼ years), Allied Assault would not break from the gate as the favorite, and was indeed the 3.20-1 third choice behind 3.00-1 Rain God and 3.10-1 Sunnybank Memorial. The trio had come across the line in that order in their two prior races each, though a dynamic duo of three-year olds, Horseshoe Bay and Jupiter’s Moons, had led them all home in the Breeders’ Bowl Turf and Japan Classic, respectively. After three consecutive losses for only the second time in his career, one couldn’t blame trainer masterab (a.k.a. Kingab) for booking his horse’s ticket to greener pastures on the farm: Allied Assault is slated to now be retired and bred. Hearing about the imminent retirement of one of the “Big Three,” trainers of the divisional elite stepped up to give race fans one last show. Rain God and Sunnybank Memorial both committed to the race, entries were drawn, appropriate hopes and sentiments were voiced by all the appropriate people that the old veteran would be able to dig deep and pull out some of the old magic, the horses were saddled, loaded into the gate, and sent on their way. The racing world clung desperately to the hope that there was something left in the tank, to the hope that the stone-cold closer who had wowed race fans around the world for the better portion of this young decade would pull through for one last fantastic triumph, but the numbers were staring the world in the face: three straight losses, a dismal head-to-head record against rival Sunnybank Memorial, and an 0-2 lifetime record against Rain God seemed to mock his faithful.
7 furlongs into the Penn Marathon, the racing world sighed a collective sigh of resignation: Rain God, under a tight-fisted stranglehold from jockey J. Piotrowski, surged easily for the lead, overwhelming the out-classed longshot pacemaker, Careless. He hadn’t yet been asked for any real run, but the dark, piston-like legs on his lithe, smallish frame were starting to churn, and Piotrowski was about to turn him loose. Allied Assault had, in accordance with his custom, broken last, and was more than 10 lengths behind, and even the most steadfast believers in the older campaigner started to think about the not-so-distant past, where a younger, sprightlier three year old had been the only one capable of chasing down the chocolate cannonball that was surging away from the field. Certainly, the senior statesman wasn’t going to have an answer for such a performance, and the sentimental $2 win tickets were placed neatly into programs, to be filed away in a bookshelf and pulled out decades later to say “I was there; I saw the legend’s last run.”
8 furlongs into the Penn Marathon, the racing world roared to life, emulating their hero on the racetrack, who had come to life for one last, furious, unstoppable surge. In the end, the legend would insure that his legacy would be a special legacy, and his would be a special place in history.
Interviewed an hour after the race, Piotrowski swears that Rain God ran his final quarter mile faster than any other quarter mile in the race. He insists that Rain God ran a better race today than he did in either the Breeders’ Bowl or the Japan Classic. He swears that his horse’s reputation as simply a 10 or 11 furlong horse is undeserved, and that Rain God was only getting stronger through the last furlong. He doesn’t know where the sucker-punch came from. “At the top of the stretch, I was sure I had won. With a furlong to go, I was sure I had won. With 10 strides to go, I was sure I had won. I was 2nd by 2 ½ lengths. I’ve never seen a run like that.”
Q. Miller, aboard Sunnybank Memorial (who would ultimately finish 3rd), watched the drama unfold from the best seat in the house, but he took some time to digest what he’d seen: “I asked my horse to move with Rain God, but there was just no way I was going to be able to go with him. My horse was trying, and he was running his race, but a mile into the race, with Rain God just cantering out on the lead, I knew he wasn’t going to come back to me. My horse was trying, and after watching ‘Memo run for the last two years, nobody needs to be told how impressive it is to find a horse that can sprint away from him. I was riding for second by that point, looking around for Jupiter’s Moons, worried about a repeat of the Japan Classic. At this point we’re turning for home, so I sneak a peak under my shoulder, expecting to see those white blinkers he wears, and he’s nowhere to be seen, but damn if its Jupiter’s Moons I see; I see that big old blood-bay monster in that red cap and red silks, Allied Assault, charging up on my outside, ears pinned and all, and damn if I could do anything about it. He just blew by me like I’m standing still. Its not like my horse quit, but two strides and he was by me. That was it. Two strides where the first one, he’s alongside me, and he flicks his ears forward for a second, then they’re flat again and he levels out and the next stride he’s just gone. I don’t know where he came from and I don’t know where he went.”
Even those closest to Allied Assault were blown away by the performance. Kingab admits that he was questioning his charge a little bit coming into this race, saying that “Three straight losses and two poor speed figures had me honestly and truly thinking that he was very much over the hill and could not compete in G1 races anymore. There was no way I was expecting something like that. He caught Rain God with a furlong to go and I was just blown away.”
When asked the obvious question, that being whether after such a turnaround as Allied Assault demonstrated here, Kingab would recant his stated intentions to retire his charge, he was firm but not final, leaving the door cracked just wide enough to think that there may be a chance to repeat this ritual next fall for the fourth consecutive time, speculating that his charge’s hard times may not have been caused by a decline in ability so much as an unorthodox and ultimately unsuccessful training strategy: “I think I really messed him up with the 11 weeks off before the Breeders’ Bowl, and its taken him three races to running the best he has left in him. I’m sure I’ll think a little bit more before making a final decision, but I’m still leaning towards his retirement.”
If the big old boy does retire, it will be on his own terms. The racing world spent the year anticipating a showdown of the three biggest names in racing, but when the showdown finally came in the Breeders’ Bowl and then again in the Japan Classic, something felt wrong. With no disrespect intended to