THE SATURDAY POST

As Rapid Redux attempts his twentieth consecutive victory, the five-year-old gelding doesn’t seem bothered  that his name rarely appears in the same zip code as contenders for an Eclipse Award. 

Possibly, a quiet understanding exists that Eclipse Champions are exclusively found in the graded arena of racing.  And, just as likely, Rapid Redux isn’t the least bit concerned about class wars with the graded fields.  He seems focused on one single goal that isn’t controlled by Eclipse Award voting – winning his next race in any field.

Since December of 2010, Rapid Redux has been simply showing up at small tracks, facing rivals with similar blue-collar resumes, and grinding out victory after victory without the fuss of fancy awards or winning garlands.  He could have had a nearly invisible career, like many of his counterparts, if it weren’t for his quest to capture a prized historical jewel in the racing world – the modern North American record for winning more consecutive races than any other horse in the sport. 

There is something about Rapid Redux that makes me wish there was an Eclipse Award for such a horse.  Because, ultimately, the working-class gelding is the type of guy that breathes life into  the average race card on any given day at various tracks across the country.  Eighty-five percent of racehorses are running in claiming races on an annual basis in North America. And, I am sure that nearly every owner and trainer with a horse among that 85 percent would happily take Rapid Redux into their stable without any questions about his ability to climb the class ladder in the future.

Yet, when it comes down to the Eclipse Awards, class seems to matter deeply when we choose our champions.  And, though it would be tough to find an owner who would turn down an offer to purchase Rapid Redux for his last claiming price of $6,250, many of the same folks would probably never entertain the thought that he may deserve an Eclipse Award. This sport looks toward graded fields when crowning its champions, and, as for the claiming horses, they need to climb the ladder of class to have a shot during Eclipse Award season.

However, Rapid Redux may be doing something revolutionary in refusing to go beyond claiming and allowance territory while targeting the modern record for consecutive victories in North American racing;  he is simply ignoring the traditional criteria of what makes a “champion” racehorse.  In doing so, the gelding showcases the enormous heart of the blue-collar racehorse in capturing victory-upon-victory while brilliantly turning the sword on his critics with every winning stride toward the record.  It is as if he is defying the very idea that “champions” don’t exist in the lower levels of racing.   

In my view, Rapid Redux is a champion racehorse in his own right.  No, he isn’t the kind that wins graded outings or millions of dollars.  Rather, he is the kind of “champion” that exists where the bulk of trainers, grooms, hot walkers and various other individuals in racing make their living in this sport.  He is the “champion” that races in fields where middle class owners can afford more than a small percentage of a racehorse.  And further, he is the kind of “champion” that gives smaller owners the feeling of having a winning horse where they could not participate in this sport if they had to spend dizzying dollars to get in the game.      

There is something about Rapid Redux that makes me wish that there was an Eclipse Award that the majority of participants in racing could strive to win.  Because, without horses like Rapid Redux, the tracks would become cathedrals to the fifteen percent of participants who are extremely wealthy, extraordinary lucky, or to individuals who are extraordinarily lucky to work for someone who is extremely wealthy.  And, in my view, racing would lose its heart that day.

Whether or not Rapid Redux reaches his magic number of twenty consecutive victories, he will remain a “champion” even if he stops at nineteen races and never ventures into graded territory.  He is simply a different kind of champion; a blue-collar Champion that delivered a captivating number of victories, at seven different tracks, for small purses and little recognition until he started swirling around a coveted record in big-league racing.  There is class to any horse that can accomplish that feat, whether the outings are graded, televised or simply everyday claiming and allowance races.

Yes, there is plenty about Rapid Redux that makes me wish there was an Eclipse Award for him this season.  And no, it doesn’t have to be “Horse of the Year.”  The “Horse of the Year” award wouldn’t serve the spirit of a horse like him anyway, because, in large part, claimers and allowance horses don’t simply retire after one exemplary year.  They keep going, year after year, in a quest for more victories and more earnings to help support the everyday workers in this industry. 

There should be an award for a horse like Rapid Redux to claim at the claiming level – An Eclipse Award.  Because there are “champions” at all levels of racing, just as there are fans at all levels of this sport.  And, as a fan of all levels of racing, Rapid Redux is the horse of my year. 

Photo of Rapid Redux provided courtesy of Victoria Solzbach.

American Runner Steve Roland Prefontaine once likened his running to a creative art form in saying, “Some people create with words or with music or with a brush and paints.  I like to make something beautiful when I run.  I like to make people stop and say, ‘I’ve never seen anything run like that before.’  It’s more than just a race, it’s a style.  …It’s being creative.”  Surely, winning is the goal in the running of a race.  But, in some rare moments, the runner itself is a work of art.

When I think of a runner as an art form, Hansen paints a stunning visual portrait from any vantage point.  At 5 1/2 furlongs, the whitish blur can turn his oval canvas into a majestic 12 1/4 length victory in his maiden debut.  And, at a mile and sixteenth, Hansen can appear absolutely ethereal while claiming a 13 1/4 length win in the Bluegrass Cat Kentucky Cup at Turfway Park.  Yet, perhaps he was in his finest glory clearing a near wire-to-wire victory in the Grey Goose Breeders’ Cup Juvenile.  It was more than just a race, it was his style:  Hansen is simply beautiful when he runs a race. 

“He’s a once in a lifetime horse,” said Dr. Kendall Hansen, who owns the undefeated two-year-old colt in a partnership with SkiChai Racing.  And, as for his unique front-running style, Trainer Mike Maker has stated, “We don’t try to change him much, because if we do try, he gets mad and wants to fight. So we let him do his thing, make him believe he’s the boss.”  However, if running is an art form, Hansen’s defiance may be a part of his creative genius. 

There is something about watching Hansen run that captures some beautiful aspects of Thoroughbred racing. 

Perhaps, a dimension of Hansen’s beauty is the reminder that money alone can’t buy a “once-in-a-lifetime” horse.  They simply appear in places where that unwavering hope exists.  And, where Hansen first “appeared” was when a $5,000 claiming horse named Stormy Sunday gave birth to a Tapit foal bred by Dr. Hansen himself.  The colt never set foot in an auction ring in an attempt to garner millions of dollars in bids.  There was simply a near-white colt, born to a seemingly common mare, that appeared one day in a place that could have been any foaling barn. 

Yes, there is a beauty to that priceless aspect of Thoroughbred racing. 

And, then there is a beauty that Hansen possesses when he is running his race, the way he sees fit.  The sight of the near-white colt, racing in front, as if he is simply not subject to the will of anything but his own, is a visually stunning display of the unbridled spirit of a Thoroughbred.  Sure, if running is a form of art, any attempt to change his style is a call to battle.  An artist, in creating something beautiful, follows their vision.  And, the vision that Hansen portrays is the raw beauty of a Thoroughbred in flight.

Yes, there is a beauty to that unbridled aspect of Thoroughbred racing.

And finally, there is an art in how Hansen conquers the critics who search for the limitations in his ability.  After his maiden victory at 5 ½ furlongs, observers wondered if he would be able to produce such a flashy, front-running win at the longer distance of 1 1/16 miles in the Kentucky Gold Cup.  And, when he answered his critics in a 13 ¼ length victory at that distance, the stakes simply grew higher.  Hansen faced the issue of class – Could he win at that same distance against tougher contenders in the Breeder’s Cup Juvenile?  And, in a near wire-to-wire victory, the colt provided a beautiful answer to his critics last Saturday.  Standing with the winning garland in the winner’s circle, Hansen had just delivered another masterpiece.

Yes, there is a beauty to the unknown aspect of Thoroughbred racing.

It appears that Hansen may be creating something beautiful when he runs, just as Prefontaine envisioned in his depiction as a runner as an artist.  And, in his artistry, Hansen may be doing something beautiful for racing.  He displays something that couldn’t be bought in a ring, bridled in spirit or conquered through critique. 

Hansen, racing alone, embodies the art of being a Thoroughbred.

Photos of Hansen provided through the courtesy of Heather Seiden.  To follow Hansen on Facebook, please click his fan pages at this link and this secondary link.

This Breeder’s Cup season, the racing world will turn its focus toward the victories of the equine athletes in the series of prestigious races.  A stunning victory showcases the glory of a race horse and can serve as the catalyst to transform a good horse into a great one.  Victory is how this sport counts its champions, and, for those who go defeated, they typically stand in the shadows of the winner’s circle as the victor carries the moment.

Yet, at the close of the Breeders’ Cup last year, victory was simply more than the domain of the winner in the Classic.  A certain kind of “victory” was also bestowed upon Zenyatta, standing in the cold night, as a freshly defeated mare transforming her heartbreaking loss into a moment of glory.  And so, as this Breeders’ Cup season begins, I marvel over the Zenyatta’s quest for victory and wonder if winning is more than standing in the winner’s circle.                

Perhaps, there is a little victory that occurs in the smaller moments in racing.  The victories don’t count for career records or fancy trophies, but they are possibly part of what makes a champion.  And, when I think of many champion racehorses, most of them have experienced both victory and defeat on their road to immortality.  

In the case of Zenyatta, it seems that the big mare earned a few unsung victories during last year’s Classic despite her official defeat in the race itself.      

It seems that there is a small victory through striking awe in the crowd before the gates ever open in a race.  In the minutes leading up to the last Classic, Zenyatta held court in the post-parade like no other contender.  The mare looked like a true prize fighter, daring anyone to challenge her on that oval.  In that moment, it was her show, and, for those who came to see it, it seemed that defeat was simply out of the question. 

And then, there appears to be a glimmer of victory in how a race is run before the wire is crossed.  When Zenyatta set flight under the waning autumn sky in the Classic, her dazzling charge in the dusk epitomized something otherworldly.  As she rushed past in blur, the sheer speed of her closing kick set in for the first time as I stood in the crowd. 

In the end, whether she made it to the wire first or not, there was a small victory present.  The mare had captured the victory of sending the crowd soaring at the sight of her final charge. Spectators began to murmur, “She’s going to win it!” in the last dizzying seconds of the Classic.  The voices went from whispers to shouts in synchronicity with her movement.  And, in that moment, it seems the crowd was racing along with the great mare.       

And finally, it seems there was a victory present in the least likely moment – The moment the mare lost the race.  Zenyatta, mired with fresh markings of defeat, faced the crowd and stood proudly for an ovation.  And, as the crowd rose to pay homage to the great mare, tears streamed down the faces of many people as they stood to pay her a final tribute.  Whatever sentiment those tears held, the glory of that mare was simply not in dispute.  She held the victory of honor in defeat. 

Yes, there and then, a perfect juxtaposition of victory and defeat occurred in the Breeders’ Cup Classic.  Two champions were on display – one in the winner’s circle and the other receiving a standing ovation in defeat.  And, in her defeat, Zenyatta won the prize that had repeatedly eluded the mare in perfection – Horse of the Year. 

Retrospectively, it appears there may be more than one winner in last year’s Classic.  The true winner, Blame, who conquered the perfect mare in the Classic.  And the other winner, Zenyatta, the great mare who was crowned Horse of the Year only after she conquered defeat.