Cigar takes '95 Classic

Breeders’ Cup ’95: Classic by Jay Hovdey

It was a small thing, a simple moment of cause and effect. Somewhere on the distant turn of Belmont Park’s vast main course, Jerry Bailey relaxed his hands on the reins and let a little of the leather slip through his fingers. His horse responded instantly, reaching out to take up the slack, clenching the bit tight against his molars. Bailey’s arms were nearly numb after pulling hard for more than a minute. Now he felt a tingle of relief. It would be all right. Once again, nothing would stop Cigar.

A few moments later, as Cigar left the field for the $3-million Breeders’ Cup Classic (gr. I) in a wake of spraying mud, it became crystal clear that the question on everyone’s lips had been pointless from the beginning. The worry over Cigar’s ability to handle an off track under Breeders’ Cup pressure was suddenly replaced by a scramble to fit him properly among the gallery of great champions. After 11 straight vicrories in three different time ones at seven different tracks, was he as good as Spectacular Bid? Seattle Slew? Affirmed? Or, gasp, even Secretariat?

Such comparisons tend to waste time that could otherwise be spent appreciating Cigar for Cigar’s sake. If anything his rise parallels that of Ack Ack, the 1971 Horse of the Year who was a respected sprinter through age four until he blossomed at five. Cigar has been perfect for a solid year of hard racing, ducking no one, inspiring poetry. Allen Paulson, his owner and breeder, compares him to a jet engine, torqued just right. Bill Mott, his proud trainer, wonders, "Why me?"

Why not? Cigar would be dangerous in anybody’s hands. He was a work in progress as a 3-year-old for Alex Hassinger in California when Paulson decided to send a large part of his stable East in early 1994. Mott had him for nearly a year before the pieces began to fit and the horse started to age just right.

Yes, he was switched from turf to dirt. But such a pat answer should probably take a back seat to the natural process that Thoroughbred racing has been subverting for centuries--—if giver the chance, horses get better when they get older.

Still, it is Mott who carries that torch. With his barn full of professional older runners and calmly developing youngsters, Cigar fits right in. When Mott won a race with a 2-year-old the day before the Classic, heads snapped in amazement. Clearly, it was going to be a special weekend.

The day was nearly ruined by a weather front that promised to lash Belmont Park with ferocious winds and heavy rain, looming like an evil reincarnation of the storm from the week before that actually forced a cancellation of racing. Like a naughty child who has been told, "Wait till your father gets home," Breeders’ Cup planners and participants cringed in horror and flinched at every gust of wind. There even were desperate plans for a postponement.

In Cigar coutry the worries were more specific. For some reason, the word went out that Cigar could not handle the mud. Paulson became obsessed with the skies, fearing his 5-year-old son of Palace Music would flounder in a sea of slop. Perhaps it was because Cigar won the Jockey Club Gold Cup (gr. I) by "only" a length over Unaccounted For when the track was "wet-fast." More likely, it was the conservative Mott who was not inclined to boast something he could not back with facts.

"There was nothing really that convinced me he couldn’t handle a muddy track," Mott said the morning of the race. "Although Jerry told me he felt a little careful in the Gold Cup. I guess it was just the fact he’d never done it before that made me put the thought in Allen’s head. Of course, there are a lot of things he hasn’t done before."

True enough. Cigar, we know, has never been a terror on grass. He has never hauled the mail. And he has never stod up on his hinds legs and sung "Dixie," but don’t put it past him.

Nevertheless, there were 10 other sets of owners who paid $60,000 for the privilege of riding the tiger. Unaccounted For, Tinners Way, Star Standard, Jed Forest, and defending champion Concern were a combined 0-for-8 against Cigar. The rest were new shooters.

"Our colt is one of the few Cigar hasn’t beaten this year," said Jim Day, trainer of Meadowlands Cup (gr. I) winner Peaks and Valleys. "He’s never run against him, either. So maybe we’re kidding ourselves."

"I know Cigar is a great horse," said Burt Bacharach, who had classy Soul of the Matter in town and looking sharp. "But in this game, you never know till you try. And we know our horse will try."

French Deputy also deserved a look off his victory in the Jerome Handicap (gr. II). Halling, from Sheikh Mohammed’s Godolphin string, was a world traveler with eight straight wins in increasingly tougher company. L’Carriere rose to great heights in winning the Saratoga Cup by seven.

It was a solid mix. Everyone’s blood was up. The presence of Cigar raised the stakes. And the track condition after blessedly moderate rains—basically a three-inch layer of mealy mud covering a marble hard base—helped make things more tense.

"I don’t understand why it gets harder every time rather than easier," said a nervous Madeleine Paulson as she tried to fill the hours before the Classic.

"I guess I’m more excited than nervous," Allen Paulson said. "I just love watching him run. You know, I was in some pretty hairy situations as a test pilot, where you had to act without thinking or you were finished. That was something to get nervous about."

A little while later, back at the barn, Mott was in stall No. 3 putting a tongue tie on Cigar. Juan Campuzano, Cigar’s groom, polished his pride nad joy one more time before leading him out of the shadow and down the road to the Belmont paddock.

Just as Cigar began his walk, accompanied by Mott assistants Tim Jones and Simon Gray, there was a ruckus in another stall. Mott rushed down to find a colt named Wild Event, a promising 2-year-old half-brother to champion turf horse Paradise Creek, tangled in his bedding.

"He had all four legs up against a wall, cast in his stall," Mott said. "We had to deal with him or he could have been hurt. It suddenly occurred to me that I might miss the Classic."

Not much chance of that. Wild Event was quickly rightened and seemed none the worse for wear. Mott tore off down the road at a dead run to catch up with Cigar, stopping only to pull up his socks. By the time he reached the paddock, Mott’s $22 Wal-Mart "rainy day" shoes were covered with mud. But he hardly noticed. There was more footwear drama just ahead.

Cigar was wearing his simple aluminum plates with a traditional toe grab that had been put on about 10 days after his victorious Jockey Club Gold Cup, Oct. 7. The morning of the Classic, blacksmith Jim Bayes pulled off the hind shoes and hammered a slight downward angle to the tips, creating what he explained was the same effect as a cleat or a sticker.

"You want to put on a new one?" Mott asked as he inspected the wear on the left plate.

"No," replied Bayes, who also works for Shug McGaughey. "This shoe is perfect."

As far as Bobby Frankel was concerned, though, they looked illegal. The eagled-eyed Hall of Famer caught a glimpse of Cigar’s hind shoes as the favorite walked by the saddling stalls. He then went to an official.

"That horse is wearing turndowns," Frankel said. "Maybe someone should take a look."

Turndowns, now banned in most jurisdictions, were the show of choice for several New York trainers two years ago. With their extreme downward angle at the back of the shoes, they could grip a loose surface and provide better traction than more common off-track plates. They also were found to be more jarring on impact, and heaven help the rider or horse stepped on or grazed by the blade of the turndown.

"Cigar was not wearing turndowns as we define them," said Clinton Pitts, steward for The Jockey Club. "They were more like what is called a ‘trailer.’ They were not specially forged, and there were no wedges building them up. They appeared to be shoes right out of the box."

While Cigar calmly submitted to an inspection from official horse shoer Tom Goettsheim and Bailey stood nearby, the other Classic horses circled under their riders.

"Get the weight up!" cried out Pat Day from atop Unaccounted For, concerned that Cigar was getting a subtle advantage.

The tempest ended. The shoes were okayed. And Cigar left the paddock, emerging onto the track to the cheers of the fans who waited through sporadic rain and the occasional shy splash of sunshine for a look at their hero. Mott vented his displeasure over the delay with paddock officials, made a mad dash to his box, hiked up his socks again, and focused on his horse. Now it was up to Cigar.

By the time the big bay with the flowing, multi-colored tail entered post 10, he had been bet down to 7-10. Unaccounted For, after his brush with greatness in the Gold Cup, was a stubborn 5-1. Halling, the European mystery, was 8-1, and Soul of the Matter fourth choice at 11-1.

The start was clean, especially for Cigar, who surged away from the gate and gave Bailey a clear shot at good position as the field left the short chute toward the backstretch.

Star Standard and Chris McCarron went right to the lead, followed by L’Carriere and a hustling Jorge Chavez. Gary Stevens let French Deputy settle from his No.1 post, working his way off the rail until he was following Cigar. Soul of the Matter and Kent Desormeaux let the leaders go, then began to gradually establish position.

Day, in the meantime, stuck to the inside with Unaccounted For, keeping Cigar in his sights.

"We decided to be a little more aggressive, move a little earlier today," the jockey said. "Maybe get the jump on Cigar."

By the time the field was halfway down the backstretch, Cigar was racing in third, on the outside of L’Carriere and Star Standard. Bailey was rocking back and forth, trying to save his horse ofr as long as he could.

"He was like this," said Desormeaux, doing a rough imitation of a guy trying to land a 400-pound marlin. "Pulling so hard! What would he do if Jerry just let him go? Just let him be free? Would he ever stop?"

"I’ve thought about that before," Bailey said later. "Maybe someday. Maybe his last race, when we don’t have to leave anything in the tank. But not today."

This day was different, because even though Cigar was pulling hard, Bailey could not be sure his horse would dig into the ground with the same confience when he was given his head and asked to run. So Bailey waited, and waited, and finally, passing the half-mile marker four-horse wide, he let Cigar have some rein.

"At that same point in the Gold Cup he came off the bit," Bailey recalled. "That’s when I knew he wasn’t real comfortable with he track. This time, when I gave him a little, he grabbed right for th bit. That’s when I knew."

The rest of the jocks found out in a hurry.

"I was right behind Cigar until he left me standing there," Stevens said.

"Ididn’t see him until about the half-mile post, when he blew my doors off," McCarron added, shaking his head.

To that makr, Cigar had run six furlongs in 1:12.36, give or take a tick, and was poised to assumbe command. As he banked gracefully around the turn, with Bailey glancing left to gauge the progress of L’Carriere as well as Unaccounted For along the rail, Cigar began running faster and faster, until soon he was in a race of his own.

"It’s as strange feeling," Bailey said. "I never really sense any change in his speed, or the way he is traveling. It’s just that I look around, and the horses who were beside me are suddenly far behind."

That can happen, especially if a horse is going to finish 10 furlongs with quarters in :23.31 around a turn and :23.91 for a final half in :47.22. Ciagr’s Classic was clocked in 1:59.58, fastest of its 12 runnings.

L’Carriere and Unaccounted For were still going hard in a good race for second as Cigar lengthened his margin to win by 2 ½ length. L’Carriere, owned by Virginia Kraft Payson and trained by H. James Bond, beat Morven Stud’s Unaccounted For by a length, while Soul of the Matter came up to be lapped alonside in fourth. Star Standard held on for fifth money and the last piece of the purse.

The rest strung out or practically eased. Peaks and Valleys, Tinners Way, and Concern came next, followed by French Deputy and Jed Forest. Halling was a distant last.

"I knew he wouldn’t handle it," said French Deputy’s trainer, Neil Drysdale. "The track was identical to his last race here when he had trouble."

Frankel was equally glum about Tinners Way.

"He had no shot," Frankel said of the Pacific Classic (gr. I) winner. "He’s got size eight feet, just sliding around out there. You don’t think I would have liked to use turndowns?"

Mott later called Frankel a "crybaby" for questioning Cigar’s shoes.

"Crybaby? He called me that?" Frankel shrieked. "Now it’s war. Hey, I’m only looking out for the interest of my owner. If I say something AFTER the race, then maybe that’s being a crybaby."

The only controversy now seems to be where to place Cigar in the history books. Forgive Paulson for calling him the "greatest ever" and "a horse without any flaws." If the owner is willing to race Cigar in 1996 as a 6-year-old, he can call him the second coming of Pegasus and we’ll all just sit back and enjoy.

Mott is generous in his praise, but in a different way. He lives with Cigar, Dealing in the small things, shaping a life that keeps the horse fit and strong. Cigar goes through the same aches and pains, good and bad days, that most horses experience. Mott sees this, then watches in amazement when the horse puts on his "Game-face," as the trainer calls it, and does his job, time after time.

"I think of all the great trainers who have gone through wonderful careers without having a horse nearly as good as this one," said Mott, who turned 42 last July. "Why did this happen to me?"

How much credit, then , can a trainer take for a horse like Cigar, who has gone from an also-ran to a superstar in less than 12 months.

"I’ve ofter wondered about that," Mott said. "I suppose it mostly makes a difference in subtle ways, knowing how to react when problems present themselves. Certainly, when you have a horse of this caliber, your management becomes very important. There are always a lot of reasons to run, or not to run."

More often than not, Paulson and Mott were running with Cigar, from Florida, to Oaklawn Park, to Pimlico, to Suffolk Downs, then on to Hollywood Park, where his Hollywood Gold Cup (gr. I) climaxed the fist half of the campaign.

Finally, after three races at Belmont Park, it wa over. The pressure was off. After the Paulsons left the barn in the afternoon—Madeleine accompanied by her Jack Russell terrier named Oliver—Mott joined his crew to chew over the day.

"You know, Gilda wrote a poem about Cigar," Mott said, nodding toward stable hand Gilda Libero. "It’s very special."

"Read it, Gilda," someone demanded as Libero produced a typewritten sheet. Then another voice said, "No, Bill."

It was suddenly quiet as Mott began to recite in his flat, Midwestern baritone, simple as the South Dakota plains. He stumbled over a few words at the start, then fell into a smooth rhythm, like a hors rating kindly, enjoying the ground.

"I slip the surly bonds of earth," he read, "and for fleeting moments fly, "Above the sandy, loam race course, beholden to your eyes. "My tail streaked blond and silber, leaves a trail of wispy smoke. "Its plume does cloud my rivals, on it they seem to choke."

Mott took a breath. Everyone was smiling, nursing beers. He went on, slower now, feeling the words.

"My days are spent quite simply, but pleasant all the same. "Folks who come from miles around, with reverence, say my name. "With pointed pencils poised they stand, on every word enraptured. "Giant eyes zoom in and out, my essence they attempt to capture.

"I bask in sleepy sunlight and chuckle to myself. For when all the talk is said and done, and judgments handed in, I and those who love me know, what’s there has always been.

"Eye to eye, who dares to look, I capture their reflection. "A mirrored gaze reveals their soul, now open to detection. "With knowledge of the answer, a question I do ask: Rise up now…"

Mott stopped. He closed his eyes hard. He was crying. And as the people around him threw their arms and consoled him through their own happy tears, the trainer of the horse named Cigar gulped a breath and finished the verse:

"Rise up now, so truth be known, are YOU equal to the task?"