The Great Plains Breeders Bowl Turf Mile Review

He was dressed like any other racetrack regular. Brown pants that maybe used to be khaki. An untucked short sleeve red, blue, and white plaid shirt with the top three buttons undone and a faded, dingy t-shirt underneath. Scuffed black shoes that probably wouldn’t have matched the belt had he chosen to wear one. A visor that advertised golf balls that he’d never used and didn’t hide his bald spot as well as a hat would have. His weekend clothes. Maybe fifty five years old, probably used to have a full head of hear, probably used to weigh in under two ten, but not any more. Callused hands were holding his rolled up Black Type Bugler, still dirty with the ink stains from spending all day at the track and flipping through the pages.

He’d probably had a couple beers and a dog at the track (mustard on the hot dog judging by the stain on the shirt that he wouldn’t notice until his wife pointed it out). He’d driven out to the racetrack since Kansas doesn’t have much for public transportation, and even though he’d had a couple beers, they were at least a couple hours ago and he was fine to get home safe and sound.

He’d gotten home a little before dusk, left the car running, and hustled inside. “Honey, grab your jacket! We’re going out!”

“What? I’ve got a plate for you in the fridge ready to heat up! I made a roast. And where are we going? Besides, it’s Saturday. We always watch The Se..”

She barely got her arms up in time as he tossed her fall jacket to her. He set the Bugler down on the end table and grabbed his own, a light red coat with the track’s logo on it that he’d gotten years ago as a promotion at the Topeka Derby. He pulled it on and lamented that it had shrunk over the years and no longer fit quite right. The buttons were wearing out too, but that’s just something you have to deal with. They don’t give away so much any more at the track, not just for being a good patron. You have to have a membership card and an ID and swipe it and keep track of your points and get a catalogue to know what you can spend it on… just too much work. Give him a jacket one year and an umbrella the next and a couple free passes once in a while and he’ll be set.

She’d been married to him for over thirty years. She hated the red jacket from the track. She’d thrown it away once when he hadn’t worn it for a few days, but he’d noticed right away and found it out with the rest of the garbage and the recyclables. She’d blamed it on the dog, but he knew better and she knew he knew and that’s just the way things worked. But he did have a nice one, it just didn’t make any sense for him not to wear it. Got it up at the discount mall off the interstate; It had a removable liner and everything so it was good if it was cold and it was good if it warmed up some (as long as you had a place to put the liner once you took it out). But no, he had to wear that silly track jacket that looked like it was made out of some plastic/vinyl mix and was just such an ugly shade of red.

She put up with him going to the track. It got him out of the house which was always good for both of them and besides, he didn’t bet much, he knew the value of a dollar. He usually lost a little, but when he won it usually led to a surprise dinner out and that was always fun. And if he lost, it wasn’t more than he could afford. The kids were out of college and had their own homes now (too far away, and it seemed like the visits were getting less and less frequent), the little house they’d owned for years was paid for, and he was never going to bet enough to really affect them one way or the other. Just enough so that winning was a chance to go out and a loss meant that they ate what she’d already planned and cooked and they watched tv that night instead of going down to the Movie Gallery and renting a tape.

She put on her jacket and allowed herself to be led out to the car. The roast could be just as easily heated up tomorrow for lunch after church. “Well, where are we going Mr. In a Hurry to Go Out and Celebrate?” she asked with a smile after they’d gotten out of the driveway and on the road.

“You know, I hadn’t decided yet,” he answered. He paused, one hundred percent for effect. She’d heard that pause more times than she could count. The pause usually meant good news. “I suppose we should do something nice. It’s a nice night. Let’s go to Red Lobster.”

He paused again and looked at her out of the corner of his eye. He wanted to turn and look at her, but he’d been taught to be a cautious driver when he learned to drive on the farm when he was twelve and he still was. But he knew that he’d had the desired result.

“Ooh! The Red Lobster? It must have been a really good day!” She always put on a show for him when he said The Red Lobster. She liked The Red Lobster just fine, the biscuits were delicious and it was really pretty good considering it was seafood in Kansas, but what she really knew it was that it was his favorite. He’d get to order a caesar salad with those little petit shrimp on there that he liked so much, then the stuffed mushrooms (with lobster and crab, not that you could really tell with all the butter), and then get to order lobster for dinner, which was his favorite. So she put on the show and acted delighted, and in truth she really was delighted because she’d get to see him have such a good time.

The ten minute drive into town went even faster than usual. He’d even changed the channel from the sports talk channel he listened to all of the time (have to know what Coach Fleming is thinking about that freshman back up guard) and switched it to the oldies station that actually had music on it for the whole drive instead of commercials. It used to be such a good channel but it just seemed it was more and more commercials these days, but they’d caught it at a good time and she didn’t even lament the change in ownership that happened seven years ago when some conglomerate had bought out the locally owned station. It was pretty much the same format and the same songs and the same DJ’s (although they fired that late night one, Donny Danger. That was ok with her; She knew he’d been a rock DJ in El Paso before he got fired there and really didn’t like the music that he was playing. He said everything right, but she could hear from the way he said, “It’s time to rock out to Dead Man’s Curve by Dan and Jean” he didn’t really mean it, it was all sarcastic just because it wasn’t noisy like the loud rock he used to play in El Paso. So she was ok that had changed.) They just seemed to add so many more commercials. But tonight there were no commercials and it really was such a nice night, so everything was just fine.

They got to The Red Lobster and the parking lot was a little bit full and she was worried they’d have to wait, but since there were only two of them they were able to get right in and sit at a little table in the corner right underneath the “Fresh Catch of the Day” chalkboard and across from the tank where they had the lobsters. She didn’t understand the chalkboard. In all the years they’d been coming here the catch always was the same, the only thing that changed was the price, which always went up. Atlantic Salmon. Always. She didn’t care where the salmon came from, it just always smelled so fishy at the grocery, it could have been Pacific or Atlantic or from the creek out behind the backyard. She didn’t want it. But it was always the catch of the day.

They got their order in. The waitress seemed new (she was), so he explained that they wanted everything spaced out, they didn’t like it when the salads and appetizer came all at once and then two minutes later the entrees appeared and food was getting cold and there would hardly be any room on the table. She worried a little that the waitress was nervous because she knew her husband could sound a little gruff when he was merely trying to explain exactly how they wanted their food, but it was something she’d heard before and new that as long as everyone got fed that everyone would be fine. Besides, he’d even suggested that she order a Bahama Mama (her favorite drink at The Red Lobster even though it was outrageous what they charged), so she knew he was in a good enough mood that the waitress could bring everything all at once and he’d still be happy.

The waitress came back with their drinks and they sat for a couple of minutes in comfortable silence, sipping their drinks and watching the lobsters crawl in the tank and the different families eat and talk and laugh. She figured that she’d waited long enough.

“How was your day at the track?”

His face broke in to a wide smile. “You know what day today was?”

She wanted to be a smart aleck and respond with something funny like “Saturday” or “Four days before Halloween” or something like that but didn’t want to ruin his moment.

“Today was The Great Plains Breeders Bowl out at the track. Probably the best day of racing of the year in here in Kansas. The last six races on the card, each one filled with some of the best horses and trainers from all around the world. We’re not just talking your run of the mill trainers either – these guys are legendary!”

She’d known him long enough to know that he was immune to being star struck or awed by celebrity. If he was this excited about seeing these trainers from whatever Great Plains was, they must be something special. Yessiree Bob. He wouldn’t be acting like this way if they were anything even remotely ordinary. These Great Plains folks must be horse racing’s equivalent of superstars like that Richard Gere or that pretty lady from Law and Order whose name she could never remember but always looked so pretty and nice in front of the camera on the red carpet at those movie premieres.

“These guys were really trying today, too. You know why? These races weren’t just for glory or none of that, although I’m sure winning one of these races is a pretty significant feather in their caps. These were for some real serious cash money. Typical race here goes for what, maybe fifteen thousand if it’s a good one. The little claimers can have a purse as low as a couple of thousand. Not these! These babies were for fifty grand! That’s some serious cash, even with the way the gas has gotten all expensive.”

The waitress came over with the salads and the biscuits. Both of the salads were caesar, his with those little chilled shrimp. He started eating right away (he was never one to let good food sit she laughed to herself), but didn’t let that distract him from telling his story about the Great Plains Breeders Bowl Championship. He speared some romaine, a crouton, and a couple of shrimp with his fork that came with the salad (it’s so much easier when the chilled fork comes with the salad so you don’t have to be embarrassed that you can’t remember if you’re supposed to eat the salad with the inside or outside one), shoved the whole mess into his mouth and then reached in to his back pocket while he was chewing. He pulled out his folded up race program and opened it up.

“Look at this,” he said between bites. “Last race of the day, The Great Plains Breeders Bowl Turf Mile. Purse, FIFTY thou. Big bucks. Just the name of the race sounds important. Look at who is in here.”

He set the well-creased program down on the little table after taking the four biscuits out of the basket and putting the now empty basket on the floor underneath his chair. He spread out the program the best he could and used the salt and pepper shakers as weights to keep it from folding back up. He proceeded to give his tolerant wife (who was still waiting for the final payoff, how much he’d won on the day) a horse by horse description of all of the horses and trainers.

“Sixteen horses in this race. I didn’t know how they were gonna fit them all in there without standing a couple of them on top of each other. Turns out they had to bring a second gate out for the last two. You know a race is a big deal when they use two starting gates. Anyway, this one horse, Deputy Hunter, sure is a nice one. She’s a five year old mare and she’s won NINETEEN of her forty one starts. That’s a big number. Plus, she just won a Grade I called The Smackdown back in July. Her trainer? Barndog. Funny name for a guy, but these horse trainers, they don’t operate by regular rules. They’re kind of like rock stars with one word names and all that weird stuff. I don’t know if they legally change it or just ask people to start calling them Mr. Wonderful or whatever they call themselves, but that’s what it says in the Bugler, so that’s what I call ‘em. Anyway, that mare’s earned literally over a million dollars, and that tells you all you need to know right there!”

“The two horse is a good one as well and was trained by that Barndog fella as well. Empire Clone was the horses name. You know anything about speed figures?” She shook her head no. “This guy ran a 107 last time, and let me tell you, that’s fast. He’s never won a stakes yet, and I mean that with a capital Y, but if he can keep running them 107s, he’s gonna do it soon.” He continued on. “The three horse is from some one named Winter. Alleged Empire. I misread that a few times and kept thinking it was talking about allergies, but it was Alleged. Another girl horse. She’s fast too. Won a couple in a row coming in today against allowance horses, but seemed like a mile specialist and boy, you’d think that Winter lady had to be thinking she’d gotten herself a pretty good chance to win.”

By this time he’d pretty much finished his salad, which made his wife happy because the waitress was coming out of the kitchen with the stuffed mushroom appetizer. She hadn’t finished yet, but she really didn’t need to so put her fork across her salad bowl so the waitress would think she really was done and wouldn’t worry that the appetizer came out to soon. The waitress took the empty salad bowl from her husband and the half empty one, set the mushrooms down with a couple little plates and a couple little forks and asked the couple if they needed anything else. They said no and the husband got himself a couple of mushrooms on to his plate and continued on.

“Where was I? Oh yeah, the four, the Rockriver horse. This Rockriver, last year he won the Breeders Bowl Juvenile with Degoldenstorm. This guy can train up a storm!” He laughed at his own joke and she laughed too, not because it was funny but because one of his mushrooms had rolled off his plate and the table right into the basket that was underneath his chair. “Anyway, his horse here was called Empire Hill. He’d won this year at six furlongs, at eight furlongs, and at ten and a half furlongs! You don’t just roll off the hill and get a horse to do that – that’s some skill right there. So with a guy like Rockriver in your corner and a horse that can do almost anything, you know he’s a contender. Then there’s the five, the first of two from the Legacy Thoroughbred Racing Stable. Shrewd barn. Only one win so far in it’s career, but that was in it’s first start for them after claiming it. Got it to improve 13 points just by putting it in their stables. That’s good horsemanship right there. Gotta admire that. Maybe giving away a bit of an experience edge to the rest of these and he’s only a three year old, but I tell ya, you can’t just throw something like that out. Man, these mushrooms are good!”

“The six horse was Naptown Rainbow trained by Nextbonus. You know, that guy has been around forever. They say he used to have some skills, but he kept calling his jockey Arcaro and tried to change the channel on one of the tvs in the owners lounge with his cell phone. He might not always know where he is, but fortunately he’s got those two twenty four year old hotties around him night and day to keep him going in the right direction. Couple o’ blondes that walked across the grass in the paddock in their heels like they was born to it. Legs up to…”

He stopped his story as he noticed his wife was giving him her look. He was no dummy. “Anyway, they seemed like nice young ladies to help out a geezer like that, sitting right by his side, leg to leg, even holding his binoculars up to his eyes so he could watch the race. They even went in to the bathroom with him! You didn’t hear it from me, but I think he’s faking it and he might not need as much help as he’s getting. Crafty old coot. He might not get around like he used to, but he still wins his share of races and then some. The seven was Intermystic from the Ricdav stable. His horse looked good – lightly raced three year old that seemed to becoming a mile specialist. Don’t know much about him except he talked funny, pushed an old lady who was going up the escalator too slowly, and then laughed when a kid dropped his ice cream cone.”

Much to the waitress’s relief, the mushrooms were gone (long gone, it turned out) when she brought out the entrees. She took the dish that held the mushrooms, the appetizer plates and the extra silverware away and set the food down in front of the couple. She brought back refills on the tall beer and a second Bahama Mama shortly thereafter. Dinner looked great. The Ultimate Feast for the man (lobster tail, crab legs, shrimp scampi and Walt’s shrimp (whoever Walt is)) and the Seaside Shrimp Trio for his wife. He dove in with both hands, using shrimp tails or crab legs or whatever else that was at hand to point out any important information on the program.

“The eight and nine were two more Barndog horses, Big Cat Hunter and A.P. Geisha. Big Cat Hunter was a four year old daughter of Storm Cat that was eight for thirty seven in her life and coming in to the race in the best form of her career and how’s Barndog doing that I want to know and A.P. Geisha was a five year old mare that was nineteen for forty in her life. That’s right, that Barndog sent in four horses, two of them five year old mares with nineteen wins each. A.P. Geisha just won a Grade III sprint in August, but has stakes wins at all kinds of distances, so you knew she could win it to. You have any extra butter?”

She passed him a couple Land O’ Lakes butter squares for his last biscuit. She didn’t expect a play by play, horse by horse account of everything in the race, but sometimes you don’t get exactly what you want or expect and deal with it. Besides, he was having a grand old time telling her about all of these horses that seemed so fascinating to him and the Shrimp Trio was pretty darned good, so it was all quite fine with her. But she still wanted to know how much money he’d made.

“The ten horse was a bit of a mystery to me. Owned by something called the jerkstable, Mesa Dream was a sixteen time winning mare that really had a shot. She’d peeled off three straight stakes wins earlier in the year and had some trouble in the summer, but opened up by six in her last start before tiring late and running second, so if that was a sign she was getting back in form, she certainly could go out there and take this field wire to wire. The eleven horse was something else entirely. A lightly raced four year old filly that had six wins in thirteen starts, she was trained by that Kaif. He didn’t even show up. Had one of his assistants do all the work. Paper said he had to be with his “big” filly out in New Jersey. Anyway, he talks a lot and all I read all week was how good of a day he was going to have here, then he doesn’t even show up. What a punk. Seems like he should be called jerkstable if you ask me.

Mythicat was the twelve and came from the Spartan Racing Stables. Deep closer that was coming in off a prep win over in Europe, he really had to be considered. Trainer had a flask and a beer in hand just about the whole time I saw him. Not sure if that’s good or bad. I guess if I looked like that I’d probably drink, too.”  He took a break to take a long pull from his draft beer.  “The thirteen was Long Island Wells and was trained by Fabman farms. Horse had a couple bad starts in stakes his last two, but won a couple of allowances before that. Had a shot to win. But you know, the horse is really only the secondary story there. That Fabman. He is a piece of work. You know what he did after he got his horse saddled? Go straight up to the owners box? Nope. He went out to his truck, took a couple of saplings he had in there, and planted them along the side of the road leading in to the track like it was Arbor Day! He also helped out with the kids on the pony rides during some of the earlier races when he didn’t have a runner. He even stopped a mugger that was trying to steal a kind old ladies purse! I tell ya, Fabman is NOT a misnomer for that guy. I don’t think I’ve ever seen or met a kinder or more giving person. It was like he had some kind of glow or halo around him. He had people around him asking for autographs all day and he signed every one, posed for pictures, whatever! It was really, really amazing. This is the kind of guy that makes you look at the world and think to yourself, ‘Dang, there really are good people out there, people who make a difference.’ I’m not one to get all emotional or anything, but I somehow found myself in line with some of the autograph seekers and when I got up to him, well let me tell you, I don’t know what overcame me. I didn’t have anything for him to sign, I guess I could have used my Bugler but you know how I lose those even when I try to keep them. So I just stood there next to him for a minute, and then gave him a big ol’ hug and said, “Thanks.” I tell ya, they just don’t make them like him any more.”

He pushed his now cleared plate away from him. He leaned back in his chair and sighed. “Now that was a gosh darned good meal.” Not only was it tasty, but he knew he’d made his wife’s night by taking her out to her favorite spot as well. Just needed for the waitress to stop by with the check, pay the tab and drive on home for a good nights sleep.

But first he wanted to finish his story. “The fourteen was Alytax, the second runner from the Legacy Thoroughbred Racing Stable. She was a bit of a longshot, but had a couple good races late last year and early this year that definitely could put her in contention. And you know how trainer’s can be with those entries. One looks good, then they get the other one, the longshot to cash. Can’t put anything by them I tell ya. The fifteen was from Zman, who I think named himself after a super hero, but I’m not sure. The horse was King’s Song, a four year old son of Unbridled’s Song that was coming in to the race in great form with an allowance win two back and a close up second in a seven and a half furlong stakes last time. Plus, you have a trainer that thinks he’s a super hero, you gotta pay attention. You just gotta. So anyway, the last horse here was the sixteen, North of the Park. He was trained by the Slowracers Stables. He was another that had some allowance wins earlier in the year that would put him right in position to win this thing! Plus, the mile was his best distance. What a crazy race, I’m one hundred percent serious, anyone in this race could win!”

The waitress stopped by at this point to see if they needed anything else.

“You know, you could just give us the… you know, hon, you want a cup of coffee?”

She didn’t answer right away, trying to see if this was his way of saying the story wasn’t done. Well, he’d gambled all day, she could gamble now and see if a cup of coffee would get her the story of just how much he really had made betting on these horses. She didn’t have much interest regularly in his stories, just listened because she knew how much he enjoyed telling them, but somehow this was different today. Maybe the people involved were compelling. Maybe it was the excitement of knowing they were competing for so much more money than usually was at stake at their little Kansas track. Maybe it was just such a big event, shoot it even had the word ‘Great’ in the title, that she just couldn’t help but get carried away in the excitement. Somehow, even though she didn’t know anything about these people or horses just a couple of hours ago, she found them now fascinating. The Great Plains Breeders Bowl Championships were, for lack of a better word, interesting.

“Yes, please. I’d love a cup of coffee. Decaf.”

“Me too. Regular though.” He grinned. “Put a little lead in the tank for the drive home.”

Neither wanted cream or sugar, and the waitress took the remaining plates and utensils from the table and returned quickly with the two cups of coffee. She also dropped the check off (tastefully in the middle of the table, but just a little bit closer to the husband) and let them know they could pay her whenever they were ready. After she left, he picked up the check and looked at it seriously, making sure there weren’t any mistakes. He winced a little bit at being charged $6.95 for those Bahama Mamas (on the inside, he wasn’t going to let his wife see it), but he knew it was worth it.

He pulled his wallet out and counted out some bills, plus a respectable 15% tip. He never understood those people who were tipping more than that. Shoot, he used to leave a quarter for the gal at the diner when he got breakfast back before they tore it down and put up Barney and Nobles or whatever it was called. He did the math in his head… well, she was getting a little more than 15% today. That was fine, she brought the food out perfectly timed and didn’t complain that the basket for the biscuits was on the floor.

His wife couldn’t help but notice that there were a lot of bills in the wallet. Certainly more than had been there at the start of the day. He wouldn’t have gone to the ATM without telling her. Plus, he made sure to do his business with a teller so he wouldn’t have to pay those fees. She’d heard that story before. “Sure it’s only a dollar. But you do it enough and it becomes five, and then ten. Paying THEM to get MY money! Never gonna happen!” And she couldn’t be sure, but she was pretty certain she’d seen at least one hundred dollar bill in there with all the twenties, maybe more. How much did he make?

“What happened in the race? Who won? It wasn’t that dreadful Ricdav, was it? I hope it was that Fabulous Man, he seems like such a sweetheart.”

“Even though there was some speed in the race, Barndog’s A.P. Geisha broke really well and got clear early. North of the Park and Long Island Wells both had good position stalking her and by the time they got midway around the far turn, it looked like a three horse race as both North of the Park and Long Island Wells started to make up ground. Mid-stretch, it looked like A.P. Geisha was going to hold off her two challengers, when out of nowhere and rallying widest of all, Big Cat Hunter came absolutely flying down the center of the track to just beat A.P. Geisha in a photo finish. North of the Park nosed out Long Island Wells for third. Big Cat Hunter paid $19.80 to win, the 8-9 exacta returned $105.10 and the 8-9-16 trifecta paid $963.00.

“You hit the trifecta???” she asked excitedly.

He shook his head sadly. “No, no trifecta today.”

“The exacta?” That still paid pretty good. Maybe there was only that single one hundred dollar bill in his wallet.

“No. Unfortunately, no exacta.”

“You bet on that Barndoggy to win?”

“No, I lost money on the race.”

“Who did you bet on then?” She wanted to know now.

“I believed the hype. I bet that Kaif horse. She ran really badly.”

It was time to be direct and find out how he got all that money. “You must have won some other race. I know you’ve got money in your wallet, I saw it, plus you just spent a lot on dinner. You won some race today.”

“Actually, I lost every race I bet on today. I bet all those Kaif horses all day. They all stunk. For a guy who claims he’s so good, he sure lost a lot of races. He wasn’t even close. I don’t think he had one finish in the top five. It was pretty ugly. He cost me $100 today”

She was aghast. One hundred dollars was as much as she’d ever heard him lose in a day. “Why are you spending so much on dinner if you lost money? And why is there money in your wallet still?

He grinned as he re-stacked the money for the waitress and pushed his chair back to stand up and put on his red race track jacket. “I got a hot dog like usual after the third race and got seventy five cents in change. I’d already had a quarter in my pocket and didn’t want all those coins jingling all day while I walked around the race track. So I took my buck in change, bought me a scratch off ticket, and hit for five hundred. I put four hundred aside and let myself gamble a little bit. If that rat of a trainer Kaif could win a race that counted, we’d have done really well. Instead, we still did really well.”

“It was a great day at the track.”

They walked out to the car, holding hands like they first did over thirty years ago, and drove home. They listened to the oldies station on the way, and in another stroke of good luck, there were no commercials on the trip back, either.