Winning Colors was deemed one of the brightest prospects in the barn, and Lukas had his son Jeff take over the day-to-day training plans of the rising star. Jeff personally checked on her throughout the day, and made sure Luis had everything she could possibly need. Jeff told Luis, “We both know she’s special. Just focus on the gray, Luis. Full time...all the time. If anyone complains, tell them to see me.”
“Si, señor. I will…like she is mine!”
Luis had his work cut out for him. Winning Colors was becoming feistier all the time. It was around this time that Gary Stevens told a reporter, “The safest place to be around Winning Colors was on her back.”
She was like a young male stud—so powerful that she required a high level of training and racing to deploy her energy, or she was dangerous to be around.
January 20, 1988, Santa Anita Racetrack, California
At Santa Anita on January 20, 1988, the fillies loaded into their gates for the stakes event, and Winning Colors broke in scintillating style at the bell, quickly establishing a one-and-a-half length lead, blasting into the first left-hand turn. She started the long run down the backstretch, and Stevens tried to rate her energy, but she continued to pour on her early speed, again running sprinter-like quarter-mile and half-mile fractions of 22 seconds flat, and 45-and-four-fifths seconds.
Lukas was staring with concern at the track’s tote board to see these early fraction times posted. He was not happy with what they saw for her first half-mile pace. What he saw was that she was not rating for her jockey!
Stevens was trying to get her to relax, trying to teach her through his hands on the reins, to reserve her extraordinary energy and speed. He was amazed the moment she seemed to understand what he was trying to teach her; the change was fast as she suddenly showed a new sensibility, and relaxed. For the first time in her racing career, she was obeying him, and not running off.
Winning Colors entered the second turn two lengths in front. Still she was cruising at such a high rate of speed that the other fillies were overmatched early. As she exited the final turn, she was four lengths in front! Stevens noted that she always seemed to run faster in the turns. For the first time that day, her jockey asked her to run by letting his reins out a notch and chirping to her, “Let’s go girl…let’s go girl…now…. Hah…. Hah…. Hah.” She was happy to be set free and use her bundled power and energy as she jetted away from the field, winning easily, without ever being asked for her best, winning by six-and-a-half lengths over the other 3-year-old fillies.
Under his helmet, Stevens was smiling because she had just shown him the one thing he was hoping to see—that she was intelligent and was learning to be rated. She was not just a one-dimensional, speed crazy horse. The morning training sessions designed by Jeff Lukas, with Stevens riding her at dawn, were paying off. Champion racehorses are not just born, they are taught, coached, and developed. The Lukas team had patiently waited for this moment, and they now understood she was maturing into a potential champion racehorse. Winning Colors was showing the sense and intelligence to go with her natural brilliant athletic ability.
Chapter 2
Would You Bet Your Life on a 50-1 Shot?
January 23, 1988, Agua Caliente Racetrack,
Tijuana, Mexico
It was dark in Mark “Miami” Paul’s bedroom when the sound of the telephone jarred him awake.
“Miami, wake up! Today’s the day. You need to take me to Mexico.”
“It’s Saturday. Dino, go back to sleep.”
“No. Wake the hell up. I’ve been pouring over the numbers all the damn night long. She’s going to win the Kentucky Derby…and we are going to cash a bet for a quarter million. For sure.”
“I was at the Lakers game and I got into the Forum Club…until one a.m.”
“Miami…man…wake up. If you don’t take me…I’ll go myself. I know her odds are going to drop if we don’t bet her soon, and it will cost us tens of thousands of dollars when she wins the race.”
“Dino, don’t go alone to Tijuana. You know how oblivious you are when you’re gambling. You’ll get killed, man. Give me a second….”
Miami got up and stumbled into the bathroom, threw some water on his face, toweled off, and went back to the telephone. “OK… Let me get some coffee and wake up. I’ll pick you up in an hour. Dino, you really think this filly can win the Derby?”
Miami took his time through a coffee and toast breakfast, showered, and went to his closet. He picked out a teal colored cotton t-shirt, and white linen slacks. He reviewed all 11 of his Miami Vice styled jackets, each with three-quarter length sleeves, in silk pastel colors. He grabbed a white one, and donned (without socks) one pair of his six sets of white tennis shoes. Now he could go pick up Dino Mateo in Santa Monica.
At 9:00 a.m., Dino got into Miami’s red turbo 300Z
