It's difficult to describe the mystical air that surrounds Saratoga to the person who has never experienced it firsthand. Where do I even begin? I suppose I must start with the actual product, the seven week meet that never lacks excitement. While England has Royal Ascot and Dubai has the Carnival, the United States has Saratoga. Countless graded stakes bring together the country's finest and most talented horses and horsemen, all to battle it out for a chance of the eternal fame that Saratoga grants. Saratoga boasts 37 graded stakes races, an unprecedented 17 of which are grade ones. Those kind of prizes are unrivaled in the world, let alone the country. Champions like Secretariat fell here, while stars such as Kelso and Personal Ensign cemented their claims to fame. Racing like this does not exist anywhere else in the country.
It's not just the stakes races of Saratoga that make the place unique. It's the everyday card. Allowance races that hold future stakes implications, claimers that are as competitive as it gets. My personal favorites are the two year old maiden special weights. Studying the bloodlines, you never know what you may see. Horses purchased for over a million dollars at the Keeneland sale will debut, owners wondering if their investment will strike gold or cost them a pretty penny. There are the horses coming from exclusive bloodlines, that the owners have maintained over many generations, like the Phipps or Godolphin runners. It's not rare to find the son or daughter of a champion mare, a half-brother to a multiple grade one winner, or even the nobody who throws in a freak performance, launching unknown connection to dreams of Derby success.
Then there is the atmosphere of the actual racecourse. Walking to the track, there's a never ending bombardment of little kids offering iced waters or teenagers waving Pink Sheets to passersby. "Iced water- $1 here, $5 in the track!" Kid's got a point.
I see people dressed in jeans and shorts, a lawnchair slung over the arm and a cooler in tow, while a group of ladies toting heels and hats trot by, giggling off the buzz from their Bloody Mary-filled brunch. Entering through the gates, the place takes on the air of a carnival. I watch as performers dance about, browse through little shops filled with knick-knacks, explore the countless food stands, and take in the energy that almost holds its own pulse. Whether sitting in the casual backyard setting, or mingling with the fancy elites in the boxes, the high from a day at the races is guaranteed to provide excitement. My personal favorite is the turf terrace- high above the boxes in a tiered table setting, it provides a beautiful view of the track mixed with a lovely breeze that can take the edge off of an otherwise hot and humid day. Not to mention the food- while some are afraid to try racetrack sushi, I'm a big fan of the newly-introduced Pharoah Roll.
Whether a casual bettor or heavy gambler, a day of playing the card can be thrilling - as a winner - or depressing - as a loser. Either way, the actual process is exciting. I love studying the racing form or the program, analyzing past performances, connections, and bloodlines. If it's a two year old race, I'm guaranteed to travel to the paddock to more closely examine the field - is he sweating? Does she have that certain air of promise about her? - it's all part of the experience.
There's almost a science to it. Chad Brown off the layoff on a turf route? You can rest assured that I have money down. Kiaran McLaughlin entrant in general? He's batting at around 42% wins, I can't discount him. Graham Motion first time in the United States? Bingo. Todd Pletcher two year old? I almost have to use it in my ticket. Nick Zito first time starter? Think I'll pass.
Then again - you never know. Kelly's Prize at 55-1? Who in the world would've had that? Oh yeah, my uncle. He hit the tri for $13,000. Even a "sure thing" is not a sure thing. My friend had two horses in the third leg of his pick four the other day- Farraj, a $1.6 million purchase for Al Shaqab and Todd Pletcher, and Marking, a Kiaran McLaughlin trainee who was working in company with Watershed, who freaked earlier in the meet. What happens in the gate? Marking flips over, kicks Farraj, both late scratches. My friend is stuck with the newly-anointed favorite, a Rudy Rodriguez trainee who runs fifth. No bueno.
Still, there isn't another feeling like approaching the clerk and laying out a bet, no matter how simple or extravagant, and receiving that slip of paper that holds the momentary promise of riches in your future - all of it comes together to make a day at the races what it is. Cheering my horse to the finish line holds a thrill like no other. I am always watching people on the rail, seeing how some virtually ride "their horse" to the wire, while others slap the program against their legs, and some jump up and down, fists pumping into the sky as their horse crosses the finish line in front. Others appear a bit more dejected after a race, getting beaten by a nose, or a quarter pole. Either way, it is guaranteed that there will be a fair mix of winners and losers, and nothing beats the thrill of being "right" about the outcome of a race.
After the stakes races wind down and the card wraps up, people begin to trickle out of the track. I prefer staying through the last race. Uncashed tickets line the grounds, solo cups strewn about. The few souls who remain alive to the pick six, or the degenerate gamblers looking to make amends in their last shot of the day, remain firmly seated, eagerly anticipating the final race. Ladies who were perfectly primped at the start of the day can be seen exiting the track with their heels in hand, while a few drunk men stumble over their untied sneakers. A day of debauchery concludes with a trip to The Horseshoe, one of the favorite post-race watering holes, or to Siros, where just one drink can cost you a small win ticket. A good part of the crowd remains for a night at The Post, located next to the paddock, where the brave bet on Del Mar and the defeated drain their sorrows in beer.
While the day at the races has concluded, the nightlife of Saratoga just begins. I can't promise I will behave. But that is a story for another day...
