A classic day at Belmont

My favorite sports book of all-time is Bill Nack's Secretariat: The Making of a Champion. It's a landmark treatise on horse racing, often called the "Sport of Kings". On Saturday, I attended one of its classic days, the Belmont Stakes, the final leg of horse racing's Triple Crown and a race where Secretariat, and many other champions, ran into history.

Horse racing has been in my family since I was born -- my father was a trainer, and he met my mother at the racetrack. It was natural that I follow his lead; I did so as a reporter, covering the sport for the Asbury Park Press and Daily Racing Form. Attending the Belmont Stakes then, the vaunted and most challenging leg of the Triple Crown, was for me what visiting St. Paul's Cathedral must be like for Catholics. Or so I imagined.

The Kentucky Derby has its pageantry, history, and exclusivity. Sure, "My Old Kentucky Home" is a moving song. But that's never been for me. It's for the blue-blooded. Give me Belmont Park. Give me Sinatra singing New York, New York. Taking the crowded Long Island Railroad from Penn Station to the racetrack in Elmont, right outside of Queens. On Saturday, I was in the center of that.

I left for Belmont at noon, and walking to the subway, I thought, this is a perfect day for horse racing. It was probably 75 degrees, a cool breeze came in from the west, and there were sporadic clouds populating the sky. This was great for the people at the track, but even better for the horses. This year's Belmont was shaping up to be anticlimactic. There was no Barbaro or Bernardini, meaning it was only the second time in over three decades that a Belmont field was missing the Kentucky Derby or Preakness Stakes winners. Track management was calling it a "good betting race." Horsemen know that's a euphemism for lackluster.

Regardless, I was excited to cover my first Belmont, to say hello to old friends, to sit in the paddock and watch the horses saddled before the race. Belmont Park is a gorgeous racetrack, and it's sad that so few people attend the races there. The park was built to hold 50,000 or 60,000 people comfortably, but since the advent of off-track betting in New York in 1970, a normal weekend card at Belmont rarely draws more than 10,000. And yet it offers the best racing in the country.

My trip to Belmont exceeded two hours, much longer than I expected. It still amazes me that a distance of a few miles can take hours to travel by public transportation in New York. I arrived during the fifth race, about four hours before the scheduled post of 6:33 pm for the Belmont. I had to tactfully weave my way through a large crowd on the passageway into the grandstand. I was awfully anxious to get inside.

I stopped along the passageway to admire Belmont Park. The wind was strong from there and it was cool; it seemed more like fall than the last days of spring. The course reminded me of a European one - lush green turf courses (there are two), several lakes, and a boundless quality. I had to wince to see the far end of the course. I've watched European races on TV and I have been to Longchamp in Paris, and the two racetracks are similar. Both have that boundless quality. When I entered the track and strolled to the paddock - where the horses are saddled and the jockeys are given the leg up on their mounts - that comparison was even more lasting.

There are concrete stands circling the paddock, the same as Longchamp. That makes the walking ring, where horses take a lap around before heading to the track, an event itself. On the rear of the clubhouse façade, ivy snakes up the red brick walls. Tall trees, in full bloom, hover above the ring. And in the center of the immense paddock is a statue of Secretariat, who shattered the track record and all conventions of the limits of a thoroughbred when he won the Belmont by 31 lengths and captured the Triple Crown in 1973. There won't be any like him in today's race, I thought, and well there haven't been any since.

Like a quality prizefight, a classic day in horse racing comes with an exceptional undercard. Saturday was no exception. In fact, the undercard races had the potential to outshine the main event. The seventh race of the day, which I watched from the winner's circle, saw a beautiful ride from French jockey Julien Leparoux aboard the French-bred Gorella for trainer Patrick Biancone, a renowned French trainer. Biancone is as cosmopolitan as any trainer in this country; he has won Grade 1 races on three continents, in Asia and Europe and now North America.

Biancone's training excellence is only matched by his bravado. He predicts greatness for 2-year-olds before they have ever raced. He is often found chain smoking between races. He runs fillies against colts, aggressively enters his horses on short rest or where they may seem overmatched. He is an unorthodox trainer but his success has validated his style. Following Gorella's win, Biancone, wearing a finely tailored dark suit, walked briskly to the winner's circle, pumping his fist. Biancone is short, but he walks erectly as I imagine all short Frenchmen do (see: Napoleon). After the race he exclaimed that Gorella was "the best grass filly in the country." It was hard to disagree.

A little over three weeks ago, Edgar Prado, widely considered the country's top jockey, probably thought he would be at Belmont on the verge of winning the Triple Crown with Barbaro. Nobody could have predicted, lest Prado, what befell Barbaro in the Preakness. On Saturday, the 38-year-old Peruvian rider seemed determined to compensate for that loss.

He won the eighth race, the $250,000 Woody Stephens Breeders' Cup, with a masterful ride aboard Songster. He kept his horse to the outside to pin down Garrett Gomez and his horse, the heavily favored Too Much Bling, along the rail with little room to run. Two races later, he guided Cacique to a front-running win in the Grade 1, $400,000 Manhattan Handicap, conserving just enough of his horse's energy to win a thrilling head bob at the wire. Prado's sense of timing, his ability to weave through traffic or save ground, and his internal clock (gauging the fractions of the race) is unparalleled in the sport.

I watched the Manhattan Handicap in the grandstand with several friends, and there was a palatable sense of anticipation growing in the crowd. There were no stars in the Belmont but the event still had meaning. It was still a classic race. Earlier in the day I was surprised with how few people were in attendance. There were rows of empty seats along the track apron and I guessed there couldn't have been more than 50,000. That's rather small for the Belmont Stakes. In the end, the announced attendance was a shade over 61,000.

But following the Manhattan Handicap, with the Belmont Stakes next, the track was more crowded and people were already placing bets on the race. As I walked through the tunnel that connects the track and paddock, I passed Christophe Clement, who trains Relaxed Gesture, beaten a nose in the Manhattan. The difference was $160,000 between first and second. Clement was watching the replay several times, as if he was hoping the order of finish might change. He just shook his head and laughed. "That's horse racing," he said, to nobody in particular.

There were several hundred people in the paddock when I arrived about 25 minutes before the expected post time. Trainers were stationed in the stalls and saddling their horses. Owners were pacing. I saw Bob McNair, owner of Bob and John, and the Houston Texans, standing by himself, probably too nervous to talk to anyone. At 6:17 pm, the twelve jockeys in the race walked into the paddock. The colors of their silks seemed brighter than usual, almost shining against the green backdrop of the trees. I wished Eibar Coa luck, the rider aboard High Finance, an old acquaintance when he rode at Monmouth Park in New Jersey and I was a reporter there. I liked Steppenwolfer and Jazil, but I reserved final judgment until I saw how the horses looked.

At 6:20 pm, the trainers gave the jockeys a leg up onto their horses. Then Frank Sinatra belted out his tune. The Derby and Preakness have older, more traditional songs, but the Belmont has the timeless "New York, New York." As the horses took one lap around the circle, Sinatra began, "Start spreading the news..." I think it was the sweetest version I had ever heard, especially when he sang, "If I can make there, I'd make it anywhere."

I pushed my way to the edge of the walking ring, packed five-deep, so I could see the horses en route to the track. After closely watching each horse, I jotted in my notepad how awesome Jazil looked. He was powerful, well-built, and his muscles were taut against his glistening black coat. He was bouncing around on his toes. Bluegrass Cat, one of the favorites, was on edge and he scattered the crowd in front of me when he reared up. His rider, John Velazquez, was trying to calm him down. Both horses were eager to run.

After the horses left the paddock, I staked out a spot in the tunnel to watch the race on TV. I didn't have binoculars so this would have to do. The lukewarm favorite was Bob and John at 9-2. I had never seen such an even betting race. I liked Jazil, who was 6-1, Steppenwolfer, and Bluegrass Cat. At 6:36 pm, the bell rang and the gates were opened in the 138th running of the mile-and-a-half Belmont Stakes.

I watched Jazil throughout the race, following the blue silks with white stripes of Shadwell Stable, because he was galloping along so nicely. Halfway through the race, after some fast fractions set by Bob and John, 18-year-old Fernando Jara let him loose, and he started passing horses as if they were standing still. He unleashed a powerful, sweeping move after six furlongs, and by the top of the stretch, with over two furlongs to run, he was already in front. I looked back and saw no other horses gaining ground. Bluegrass Cat ran very well to hold second, but he was no match for Jazil, and Sunriver and Steppenwolfer ran late to pick up third and fourth.

But Jazil was much the best this day, handling the champion's distance of 1 ½ miles better than any other, and stamping himself into Belmont Park history. The final time wasn't particularly fast - 2:27.86 - and much shy of Secretariat's record 2:24. The story of the race was Jara, who had never won a graded stakes race before, let alone a classic race, and has only been in this country for two years since leaving Panama.

Furthermore, the win cemented the powerful influence Arab owners now have in American racing. Sheikh Mohammed bin Rashid al Maktoum of Dubai won the Preakness with Bernardini in the silks of his Darley Stable. His brother, Sheikh Hamdan bin Rashid al Maktoum, who races under the moniker Shadwell Stable, owns Jazil. Rick Nichols, Shadwell's racing manager, said after the race that Sheikh Hamdan watched it in Dubai live at 2:30 am.

In the post-race press conference, Jazil's trainer Kiaran McLaughlin said that he dreamed about winning this race, growing up in Lexington, Kentucky. "That's why you wake up at 4:30 every morning to do this," he said. Jara, who had a great big smile on his mud-baked face, was quiet and probably not too confident about his English with reporters asking questions and cameras flashing. But he did say, "You have no idea how I feel right now. When I was a kid I watched this and said I would be there one day."

Sitting in that room, jotting down notes, I couldn't help but smile myself. I felt a great joy for Jara to accomplish such a feat in his young career. But I thought that I saw some of myself in Jara. Not that I would be ever be in his position on such a stage. But that, as a kid growing up, I too watched these same races with my father, while Jara watched them with his father, also a trainer, in Panama. And when I began working at a newspaper, I dreamed that I would be at the Belmont Stakes one day, as a reporter.

So as I left the press room, and walked to the exit, with the sun calling it a day over beautiful Belmont Park, I found myself singing aloud, "If I can make it there, I'd make it anywhere."

WC Journal: Serbia-Holland

The great thing about the World Cup is the camaraderie. Every four years, the whole world comes together to watch (arguably) the greatest game on earth. Everyone has their sympathies; everyone has their own individual love of the “beautiful game.” Just the other day, I ran into some Mexican guys on the bus, arguing the strength of their Group D.

The bad thing about the World Cup is the time difference. It’s 8 AM on a Sunday morning. I’m pretty hung-over and it’s cold in our apartment.

Yet, my roommate, Pete and I have agreed to wake up for the Serbia-Holland match-up this morning. Last night in a drunken euphoria, we agreed to celebrate soccer by arising at this god-awful time to match this glorious contest.

Unfortunately, that was before the sake-bombs.

But I digress.

Pete and I are big soccer fans. We grew up playing together, from local YMCA soccer and the way into high school. As I said before, everyone has their loyalties, however small they might be. Pete’s family has some Serbian roots on his maternal side. He was there actually there in Serbia last summer.

As for myself, I’ve always been a fan of the Dutch. I love their history of strong players, names like Cryuff, Van Basten, Davids and Bergkamp. These names might not mean anything to the typical soccer-naïve American, but to any fan they recall masterful technical skill. Plus, I love Amsterdam.

Before I get going, I should probably throw in a quick notice. While soccer is game of inherent beauty and style, it is, unlike most American games, not a game that is conducive to easily identifiable highlights. I might seem pretty uppity about the grace of soccer, but it’s difficult to describe anything but the goals in cold-hard prose. With that in mind, allow me to climb back up on my high soccer horse.

It’s 8:05 AM. The game just started. Pete just got up. My coffee is done. Let’s get this running journal under way.

8:09 – It’s a good game so far. The Dutch look great in their bright orange jerseys. The Serbs have had a lot of chances. Pete looks tired.

8:13 – The flow of the game is beginning to pick up. That’s one thing I love about soccer. Many Americans find soccer boring. I think it’s just impatience. The emotional pace of soccer might be a little slower and gentler than football, but it’s more natural flow. There are small gains and subtle tactical changes that most Americans are too inattentive to notice.

8:17 – The games first goal. Striker Arjen Robben breaks away at midfield for the Dutch, makes a 30 yard run and gently slots the ball away, past the Serb goalie. As former American midfielder John Harkes describes it, the goal is “clinical.” Well said, John.

8:23 – I guess it might worry some people that the Serbs have a forward named Milosevic. Pete however assures me that Milosevic is fairly common surname in Serbia. The Dutch names are fun and must all be said with the tongue in the very front of one's mouth. Van Persie, Van Nistelroy, Sneijder. Super.

8:28 – Pete and I discuss the hilarious Dutch fans. These people are the very picture of unintentional comedy. Those freaky, deeky Dutch.

8:32 – Pete’s girlfriend, Melissa joins us. We have a little post-drinking night break-down. As we are going into analytics, the first yellow-card of the day is awarded to Dejan Stankovic of Serbia for diving. For those of you not familiar with soccer, it’s the only sport I know where you get punished for faking an injury. You can’t make that stuff up (there's a double-meaning there).

8:39 – Rather than pace and energy in last night’s Argentina-Ivory Coast game, this match-up has been defined by ball control and technical skill. The Serbs look good, but the Dutch have had more chances. They have been able to exploit the Serb defense on a number of occasions.

8:45 – As the Serbs make the first substitution of the match (each team gets three per game), Pete comments on the classic mispronunciation of Serbian names by American announcers, i.e. Vidic = “Vee-ditch” rather than “Vi-dek.”

8:48 – Half-time. I should start thinking about those promised pancakes.

9:06 – The Serbians have a great chance right after the start of the second-half. They win a corner-kick right in front of their fans on the south-end. As the camera pans into the small section of Serbian fans, they continue to press into the Dutch third. Pete mentions how little face time the Serb fans get in comparison to the telegenic Dutch.

9:08 – Dutch goalie Edwin Van der Sar is forced to make a tough play on the ball while not using his hands. It’s funny to watch goal-keepers play the ball in this manner, like trying to watch place-kickers make throws on botched snaps in football.

9:14 – Dutch midfielder Giovanni Van Bronckhorst receives a yellow-card for a hard challenge on a Serbian player. Is this not the best sports names you’ve ever heard?

9:18 – Holland makes their first sub, bringing in Denny Landzaat for Mark Van Bommel. More great Dutch names.

9:20 – Pete and I remark at how quiet Manchester United forward Ruud Van Nistelrooy has been to this point. Pete is proud that the Serbs have limited the strongly-favored Dutch to one goal. If this were a Playstation 2 game, he would not be so quiet.

9:23 – Things get a little touchy as the Serbs are awarded a free-kick right outside the Dutch penalty area. Still feeling the effects of those sake-bombs, I make myself another pot of coffee and wish that I hadn’t started last night out with so much Jagermeister. In a little slice of irony however, I realize that much like the World Cup is a celebration of international culture, last night was a celebration of international liquor.

9:28 – Van Nistelroy comes out, as the Dutch bring on Dirk Kuyt. Try saying that name successfully in normal conversation.

9:31 – As we move into the seventieth minute, fatigue begins to set in and the Serbs begin to get desperate. Long, hard-fought contests like these usually result in late-game fouls and injuries. Some of these injuries are the result of little scuffles, others of simple exhaustion.

9:37 – The ball rolls out of play and the camera pans over the Dutch crowd. Check out those Dutch girls. Boo-yah.

9:40 – The Dutch grab a free-kick outside the Serb penalty area as Serb defender Ivica Dragutinovic cuts down Robin Van Persie. Van Persie narrowly misses a goal on the resulting shot. Dragutinovic is rewarded with a yellow. Good stuff.

9:46 – Pete and I share a quick discussion over the types of World Cup games. We clearly identify this game as a possession game, highlighted by very few, but well-designed scoring opportunities. Rather than a wide-open game where the chances are many and varied, this game is mostly limited to short, quick counter-attacks.

9:52 – The final whistle. The Dutch have defeated Serbia-Montenegro 1-0. It was a good match, typical Dutch soccer. It’s time now however to start thinking about breakfast and the noon game, Mexico-Iran. The US plays tomorrow. Hope to see you there.

Peitz and Steppenwolfer Ride Under the Radar

You had to fight through reporters to talk to Nick Zito at the post position draw for the 138th Belmont Stakes today. Same for Todd Pletcher, the reigning Eclipse Award-winning trainer who has two favorites – Bluegrass Cat and Sunriver – in the race. And even Tom Albertrani was in demand, more so to talk about Bernardini, the Preakness winner that’s skipping the Belmont, than his actual Belmont runner, Deputy Glitters.

Away from the scrum around Zito, where reporters and cameramen were jockeying for position, was trainer Dan Peitz, hosting a much smaller audience, describing why he believes Steppenwolfer, the star of his barn, is most capable of passing the “Test of the Champion” that is the mile-and-a-half Belmont Stakes, the final leg of the Triple Crown.

But Peitz prefers it that way. Always has. Unlike several trainers in the Belmont – Todd Pletcher, Nick Zito, Bob Baffert – Peitz is not a household name. Steppenwolfer has raced under the radar throughout the Triple Crown trail, despite running third in the Kentucky Derby.

Peitz has never been in the national limelight. Unlike many of his peers, Peitz has earned his position the hard way. He started as a hotwalker, the first job you take in a barn, for trainer Paul Adwell in spring 1977 at Oaklawn Park, about an hour drive from his home in Little Rock. After that, he progressed from groom to foreman to assistant trainer over eight years for trainer Joseph Cantey Jr. In 1980, that barn won the Belmont Stakes with Temperence Hill.

Peitz has been training at Belmont Park on his own since 1987, and has maintained a small barn in this area for the last two decades, but the native Arkansan has never fit the New York mold. He is reserved and modest, and always accessible at his barn in the morning.

Peitz resides in Elmont, New York, around the corner from Belmont Park, and in the summer he stables at Saratoga. He’s a veteran of the New York circuit, but he said he still calls Oaklawn Park home, where he returns in the winter and can spend time with his parents. It’s the place where he first started going to the races at age 14.

Other than dedicated horseplayers, Peitz’s barn has raced in relative obscurity. In 2005, for example, Peitz had 81 starts and won six races. Steppenwolfer can change all that. In fact, in his career, Peitz has only saddled one Grade 1 winner – Capote Belle, who won the Prioress and Test Stakes in 1996 – for the same people who own Steppenwolfer, Robert and Lawana Low of Springfield, Missouri.

The Belmont drew a 12-horse field, and Steppenwolfer will start from the 11th post. He was installed as the 9-2 third choice, and his regular rider, Robby Albarado, who is based in the Midwest, will travel to New York to ride.

There is no Barbaro, the Kentucky Derby winner who tragically broke down in the Preakness Stakes before a national audience. And there is no Bernardini, talented enough to win the Preakness in only his fourth career start. But there’s a wide-open field, which will make for an excellent betting race, and the Kentucky Derby runner-up, Bluegrass Cat, was made the lukewarm 3-1 morning line favorite.

Prior to the Belmont, trainers are always asked: Can your horse handle the distance? I think this question has become a moot point. Most 3-year-olds no longer have pedigrees that suggest they are suited for 1 ½ miles, especially if they have been on the grueling Triple Crown trail. In the last five years, no Belmont has been faster 2:27 2/5, over three seconds slower than the 2:24 track record set by Secretariat in 1973.

As the years go on, the times will slow, but there will always be a winner. Whether a horse can handle the distance is a relative, not absolute, question. Instead, the question is not can your horse handle the distance, but which horse best handles the distance relative to his competitors?

And the answer this year appears to be Steppenwolfer, something Peitz has been telling anyone who would listen for months.

“People told me when he ran in the Southwest [February 25 at Oaklawn Park] that he would win the Belmont,” Peitz said. “And here he is now.”

Steppenwolfer was purchased as a 2-year-old for $375,000 with the intention of running him at the classic distances of the Triple Crown. He’s by the young sire Aptitude, who won the 2001 Jockey Club Gold Cup at Belmont and only improved as the distances increased. The Lows allotted a rough budget of $250,000 for the Ocala Breeders’ Sale auction in April 2005, but their longtime agent, Tom McCrocklin, exceeded that budget to buy a gray son of Aptitude, whose pedigree suggested the stamina and endurance of a classic-distance horse. The Lows named the colt Steppenwolfer and sent him to Peitz, who has trained their horses since 1992.

Steppenwolfer has only improved as the distances have increased, much like his father. He ran into Lawyer Ron at Oaklawn Park, finishing behind that horse in three consecutive stakes race. And in the Derby he ran into Barbaro. Now, the competition isn’t as tough, and his main rival is Bluegrass Cat, a colt who has taken the same path following the Derby.

Still, on the eve of the Belmont Stakes, Peitz is happy that he skipped the Preakness after finishing third in the Derby, and he is very confident that his colt will handle a mile-and-a-half, one long lap around spacious Belmont Park.

“So few horses want to go that far,” Peitz said after the post draw. “This distance really is further than most of these horses want to go, especially after the grind of the Triple Crown. But that’s why they call it the ‘Test of the Champion.’ And I think my horse fits very well. I have always thought he’d run better in the Belmont.”

Since Barbaro’s injury has focused attention on horse racing for all the worst reasons, there’s been a growing refrain that the Triple Crown should be reformed. Peitz disagrees.

“That’s what makes it the Triple Crown,” he said. “I like the way it is now. It’s not supposed to be easy. That’s what makes it great. If you don’t want to run, don’t enter.”

And Steppenwolfer really wants to run. Last Friday, he sizzled in a six-furlong workout, one that had people on the backstretch buzzing about one of the fastest workouts they had seen prior to a classic race such as the Belmont. He breezed six furlongs in an eye-opening 1:10.36, catching Peitz by surprise, but something that the trainer said was completely Steppenwolfer’s own doing.

“The track was fast, but it was still a pretty great work,” he said. “Hopefully he runs back to that work in the Belmont. But he put the speed into himself. He did it in hand, and had a nice gallop out afterward.”

Following the workout, Peitz said he “put the Woody Stephens work” into Steppenwolfer. Stephens, the Hall of Fame trainer, won an unprecedented five consecutive Belmonts in the mid-1980s. Stephens was the epitome of old school; as Peitz recalled, “he worked them fast and they ran fast.”

This Saturday, Peitz will try his best Woody Stephens impression. Maybe then New Yorkers will finally hear about Dan Peitz.

Backyard World Cup

By its title, you might imagine that this is an article about the upcoming soccer tournament being held in Germany.

You’d be wrong.

To the young soccer players around the globe, the term “World Cup” has a double-meaning. It is not only associated with the larger, afore-mentioned contest, but also with a competition of a lesser sort. To the youth of the world, these two hold similar value, though second is the kind of competition you play in a backyard, rather than a European stadium.

As an adult, I would hardly consider myself an athlete. But I digress.

As a child, particular a soccer-obsessed child, there were few moments of my day not spent in search of games and challenges of material competition. Looking back now, I can’t believe what energy I had, but those were simply the demands of youth.

On a typical summer morning, I would have hopped on my bike right after breakfast in search of a basketball, soccer or baseball game somewhere in the neighborhood. Usually, the games would last until someone got physically hurt or emotionally abused, which usually translated into about an hour and a half (possibly less depending on the competitors). At that point, we would all usually retire to our respective homes for a quick lunch, be back out at the playground by 1 PM. The games would then re-commence.

These games however were not your average games. Baseball was not baseball, basketball was not really basketball, and soccer was almost never really soccer. These games played in their regular fashion take a large amount of competitors and usually we have never had enough to field one side, much less two. So there was always a variation of a normal game. Basketball was usually played in the style of a game of Horse or 21. Baseball was actually home-run derby. And soccer…well, soccer was something special.

The main variation of soccer that we played was called World Cup. Now, like any variation on a non-regulatory game such as this, there will be many different names and rules depending on the participants and their geographical location. Such is the case with beer-pong. I’ve sometimes heard this game called “Wembley” after the famous British soccer stadium outside of London. Young American soccer players that we were, growing up in the time of explosive growth for the sport, we fancied ourselves quite fashionable by calling it such.

It is a very simple game. All you needed were some aggressive contestants, a patch of grass and a goal. The field and the goal could easily be accommodated if one did not an available soccer field or regulation-sized net. Only one goal is needed. Often times, we used someone’s backyard and a fence, marking off the goal with either a shirt, another ball, or a large, noticeable rock (kids never worry about the danger of such decisions). The playing field being set, the rules are equally straightforward. One could easily consider it the “21 of soccer.” The object is to score more points than your competitors, who are, everyone else that is playing.

The game, much like its name-sake tournament, is played in rounds. Each round, you try to get to five goals as quick as you can. The last person left without five goals is eliminated. Necessity calls that someone needs to begin in goal. That person therefore has a free-pass to the second-round. Like the rest of the field-players, the goal-tender has no allegiances. After each goal, he starts the play anew with a fresh punt or throw to a neutral location. Strategy ranges from skillful shooting and ball control, to those cherry-pickers who lurk near the net to scramble upon loose-balls.

What about those who are eliminated, you ask? Forget about them. They usually end up playing goal-keeper in the later rounds or sitting on the side-line watching. It’s a ruthless game.

Let me re-iterate this point from the last paragraph in case you missed it: this is a ruthless game. Everyone is out for themselves, and like in those driveway games of 21 you used to play, fouls are only called in ambulance situations. After the keeper puts the ball in play, anything is possible. Elbows fly wildly, legs kick unnecessarily high, and taunting is decidedly encouraged. Anything to get to that next round.

When it's all said and done, the final round is usually incredibly entertaining. Both remaining players are winded, and with luck, bloodied. The keeper in this situation is crucial; if they can keep the players running by tossing long throws or making wild challenges on breakaways, they can ensure a hard-fought battle. It is a physically demanding, yet exceedingly satisfying game to win. It is the type of game that inspires champions; the type of game that makes one feel on the top of the world.

After Memorial Day, It's All Baseball

Memorial Day Weekend is always special. It’s a time when most of us officially recognize the beginning of summer, though according to the seasonal calendar, we should actually celebrate on the summer solstice, June 21st. In Scandinavia, June 21st is the popular holiday of Midsummer, a wild day of revelry devoted to the enjoyment of spirits and loosening of morals. For Americans, however Memorial Day is probably the more apt commemoration of the coming of better weather; it harkens American attention to all things summer, including trips to the beach, girls in bikinis and of course, baseball.

Sure, most passionate baseball fans have already been to the ballpark a few times before Memorial Day; we’ve probably watched many more on television; and it’s certain that most of us have caught Baseball Tonight more times than we really ought to have. But a lot of other distractions are behind us. This is the point where we wonder when the NBA Playoffs are finally going to end (honestly, why don’t they just make the season a little longer and make basketball continuous throughout the year?). College sports are entirely out of the way (unless you happen to follow the College World Series closely). Horse racing is an exciting weekend diversion, but by its short, intense nature, compliments the long baseball season nicely. Ditto golf. And finally, though it is always on the mind, we are all a little hung-over from the NFL Draft to heed football much attention.

Baseball then is the brightest star in the summer sports concentration of the average American fan. We are finally getting into the long days of summer baseball, when the real issues emerge. The flash-in-the-pans of May (see: Chris Shelton) are beginning to fade; injuries are starting to make significant impacts on certain clubs (see: the Cubs); and the trade deadline looms. June marks the coming of the REAL baseball season. If you aren’t completely enamored with baseball by June, you are either uninterested in baseball or a Kansas City Royals fan.

Now that the Bonds story is done for the year (thank goodness), here are a few storylines I expect to continue to develop as the summer progresses:

1. Can Pujols break the single-season home-run record? You know he can do it, he’s the most dominate player since the ‘roids wore Barry done to a bat-swinging, balloon-headed tin-man. The little known story with Pujols is his exceptional defense. From everything I hear out of St. Louis, the man works harder on his defense than he does his offense. Clearly, though he has very little need for plate-work.

2. Will the surprise division-leaders (Tigers, Diamondbacks) fade? The White Sox might be too much for the Tigers, but with Detroit’s pitching, anything’s possible. As for the Diamondbacks, I think they have the better shot at winning their division, though the NL West is a story in itself. Remember last year, when the Padres made the post-season with a losing record? Well, at this point in the season, not one of the NL West teams has a losing record. Even the once-hopeless Rockies are in it.

3. What stars will go in the trade-deadline? Much like the NFL Draft, the MLB trade-deadline is one of my favorite events of the sporting calendar. I love the surprise and uncertainty. Some of the big names this year are Dontrelle Willis and Barry Zito. How much more can the Marlins sell off? There is also a question of who else will become sellers this year. Do the Cubs scrap the plan this year and sell off Maddux, Prior or Wood? If not, who else has good pitching to offer? The normal bottom-feeders (Royals, Pirates, Devil Rays, etc) are very light on desirable talent, and the top-level teams (Red Sox, Yankees, Mets, etc) all have more holes to fill than usual. It could be an interesting deadline.

4. Who wins the AL East? Ahh, the age-old question. For all of us non-Boston-or-New York fans, we can’t help but find ourselves drawn to this rivalry. It is, without question, the best rivalry in sports. I find that is hard to find a sports fan who does not find themselves slightly pulled from one side or the other in this opposition, regardless of whether you have any interest in either team at all. In the end, I guess I might as well just throw this out there: I’m rooting for Toronto.

Published Letter To The Editor

I sent my column about Barbaro and the state of horse racing to the Daily Racing Form, my old newspaper, and they published it in the Letters to the Editor section in Sunday's edition. It's a revised and shortened version of what I posted here. Take a look:

Incident indicates basic faults

I would argue that there are two main reasons why Barbaro's injury is indicative of a general malaise in horse racing: (1) the weakening of the Thoroughbred breed and the propensity to breed for speed and not stamina and endurance, and (2) the proliferation of performance-enhancing drugs.

Both these causes are linked. The weakening of the breed is in part because various drugs are being passed through generations of horses. Lasix, a diuretic popularized some two decades ago and now permitted in every state, has never been sufficiently proven to be effective in preventing bleeding in horses. Furthermore, the proliferation of "supertrainers" in the last 10 years has revealed many trainers who win at staggering percentages, especially after claiming a horse.

In Europe, the modern Thoroughbred is much more stable for several reasons: (1) a total ban on drugs, (2) races are run almost strictly on turf, (3) a general patience with horses, and, less notably, (4) the training of horses at expansive farms in the countryside in an element more suited to positive health and safety. In the United States, horses remain in small stalls for most of their days, train at short distances that stress speed and add to training injuries, and remain packed in barn areas that are often nasty environments.

The breeding industry has also added to the rise in breakdowns on the racetrack. The fashion of breeding to Storm Cat and his offspring has caused many horses to be more proficient at six furlongs than 1 1/4 miles. Horses now are bred to win at a young age when they are physically immature. But who can blame horsemen who rush their horses to the races at 2 with the great purse money in this division?

Horse racing is in denial, but it must come to terms with its mountain of problems. It may be very painful and take decades to overcome. To undergo that pain, however, is the only way horse racing can survive.

Ryan Goldberg
Astoria, N.Y.

Follow Up On My Horse Racing Column

This follows my point on the insurmountable problems in horse racing. Tom Albertrani, trainer of Preakness winner Bernardini, began serving a 15-day suspension today for a drug positive.

"Tom Albertrani, the trainer of Preakness winner Bernardini, began serving a 15-day suspension on Monday after one of his horses tested positive for the banned tranquilizer acepromazine. The suspension was reduced from 30 days because Albertrani waived his right of appeal."

Most of the successful trainers in horse racing have laundry lists of drug suspensions. Richard Dutrow, who trained 2005 champion Saint Liam, served a month suspension last year, and his assistants won at such a high clip that they nearly won the training title in New York.

If a trainer is suspended, he can still be active in training, giving instructions to his assistants, etc. My proposal is this: the horses who test positive should be prohibited from running for a certain period of time. To suspend the trainers has no real effect. To suspend the horse hurts the owners, who will have the incentive to take away their horses from "juice" trainers. That is the only way this awful and dangerous trend will stop.