“Think positive, Miami. No negative waves.”
The place was jumping with activity. There were far more horseplayers than when they’d visited four months ago. The betting lines were 20 deep with gamblers making bets on a race 3,000 miles away. Dino studied the racing form then got in line to bet the stakes races offered on the Derby undercard.
Miami had given Dino $200 and told him to bet it for him. While Dino waited at the window, Miami looked for two seats. It was so crowded, he felt lucky just to elbow his way to the bar to order a double Cuba Libre with premium aged Mexican rum. He looked around for Camila, his favorite waitress. She was serving a huge tray of six grande margaritas to a group of boisterous men. He could tell it was not their first round. He also noticed that there were two super-hot girls wearing Patron Tequila sashes over their tight green mini dresses. Wearing tennis shoes, the girls were serving shots of Patron to the gamblers. The girls allowed customers to lick the salt and lime juice off their skin before taking the tequila shots.
A loud argument broke out in the back of the bar and several beer bottles shattered on the floor. Three rough looking security guards with rifles ran in, got everyone to take a seat, and things calmed down.
An eight-man mariachi band whose members were wearing giant bright red and green straw sombreros, white frilled shirts with red bolo ties, and tight black pants, strolled into the race book while playing Mexican songs on their five guitars and three trumpets. The noise level went from loud to deafening.
Some drunk guy decided to try dancing with Camila as she worked to detach herself from him. The group of guys that had just ordered the six grande margaritas were singing now, and Miami was starting to feel good, too. With the chilled rum in his system, he took a deep breath and relaxed for the first time that day. Miami felt that something about mariachi music made him want to say, “Fuck it! Let’s party!” Dino was still standing in line, watching a television monitor before the fifth race from Churchill Downs.
By the time Dino returned to say, “We have three long shots, numbers three, four, and eight, in the next pre-Derby race,” Miami was swaying to the music.
The crowds at Agua Caliente were drunk, energetic, and loud as the race away showed the pre-Derby tight stretch run and desperate photo finish between horse number five and horse number eight. Moments later, the photo showed that Dino and Miami lost by a nose. Dino did not overreact to the loss. Losing by inches was an occupational hazard. He kept his emotions at an even keel.
Miami was sweating as time for the Derby drew close. He paced large circles around Dino, and Dino had to keep standing next to a floor-to-ceiling column where he had parked his oversized suitcase.
There was not a seat to be had anywhere.
And then, a surprise.
Big Bernie appeared in the race book in a bright yellow silk shirt and black Ray-Ban sunglasses. Dino asked him, “Who are you supposed to be? Madonna?” He also tried giving Big Bernie a hug, but Dino’s arms were not long enough to complete the act.
Another man hug between Big Bernie and Miami happened and then Big Bernie told Dino, “Man, tell me she’s going to win...I am so scared…it’s like my whole life can change on this one race. I may have a heart attack just waiting.”
Dino assured him, “I know she is the best horse, and if she has a clean trip, I believe she will win the race.”
“Should I bet some money on another horse or two, just in case?” Bernie asked. “Who do you fear the most if she doesn’t win?”
Dino said, “I think the only other speed horse is Forty Niner, and I pray he doesn’t try to duel on the lead with her. I think her jockey, Pat Day, is too damn smart to try to sprint with her early and kill his own chances. But, the great thing is, he got a terrible post position outside, in the number 17 post. He has to lose ground into the first turn from way out there.”
“Man, Forty Niner is like 6-1. Why don’t I bet like four grand on him? If he beats her, I get back like 28 grand and lock in a profit even if she gets beat.”
Miami raised an alarm. “Bernie, you can’t do that,” he said. “It will jinx her! Just stand pat and stay put! You’ve done everything you could do to put yourself in the best position to win. Big Bernie…man…you’re like Winning Colors’ coach! I remember hearing another coach, Jim Valvano, say, ‘My only job is to put my players in position to succeed.’ Big Bernie, man, you’ve done that! Dino has done that…we’ve done that! Just sit back and let it play out. You’ve done all you can do! It’s up to the gods of horseracing now. Go have a mai tai!”
“I would…but my heart is racing too fast in my chest. Really, I’m not sure I can take this.”
May 7, 1988, Churchill Downs Racetrack, Kentucky, 6:30 p.m.
In Louisville, Luis was proud to lead Winning Colors by her white halter onto the track in front of 150,000 fans. Gary Stevens was wearing the usual bright yellow silks with blue sleeves, and the bright yellow cap of the San Diego Chargers and the Klein Stable.
Luis had taken care of his gray filly nearly every day of her life and she was now calm in his presence.
The crowd sang, “My Old Kentucky Home,” as the horses paraded in front of the fans. Singing the Kentucky state song has been a tradition since 1921, despite references in the lyrics to slavery. Just two years prior, in 1986, the Kentucky legislators replaced the song’s original words “darky” and “darkies” with
