Alan F. Balch - Now, about Pegasus . . .
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No, I’m not talking about the Pegasus World Cup. Not yet, anyway.
I’ve been a fan of the original Pegasus since my earliest memories around horses, when he was the symbol of the American equestrian governing body. As drawn by George Ford Morris, he appeared on the engraved medals and embossed certificates for horsemanship we were all trying to win.
For those of us interested in pedigree, he was sired by Poseidon . . . Greek god of horses, incidentally, along with the sea, earthquakes, and storms. And never underestimate the influence of the bottom line: his dam was the hideous, winged, venomous monster Medusa, no doubt the source of his own lovely, powerful wings, but not his handsome countenance. Nor his stunning white purity.
His jock was Bellerophon, who invented the riding helmet and safety vest, and, needing no whip, had his hands instead on a shield and golden spear.
Bellerophon was sent on the original Mission Impossible (well understood by every single one of today’s riders, no doubt) – to slay the ferocious, fire-breathing, hybrid monster Chimera, whose very sighting was an omen for disaster. Pegasus was his vehicle, and the necessary if not sufficient condition for vanquishing evil.
In short, the horse came first. Still does. Without Pegasus, the jockey was nowhere. And the monster would live.
So it is quite fitting, at least in one sense, that the world’s richest race would bear the name of the heroic and inspirational Pegasus, thunderbolts and all.
In another sense, sadly, it simply calls attention to the chaos we face in American racing, particularly in California . . . top and bottom of that Pegasus pedigree, by the way, trace back to Chaos. Repeatedly.
According to media reports, the 473-ton, 110-foot tall, dark steel and bronze depiction of Pegasus stomping a dragon (absent his jock) cost $30-million to construct at Gulfstream Park in Florida. The World Cup purse there was $12-million in 2017, and is being elevated to $16-million in 2018.
Out at faraway Santa Anita, owned by the same outfit, the Blood-Horse reported in 2013 that $15-million had gone toward more grandeur in the track’s most sumptuous areas, its Chandelier Room and added mezzanine suites. More recently, apparently millions more have been dedicated to new table terraces and other opulent enclaves nearby.
In all, what’s that? Probably $50-million in statuary and splendor alone. Not those purses. Not even counting the ongoing maintenance and improvement of that magnificence, as status, monuments, and indulgence for the privileged few.
Despite the commitment of all that investment in extravagance and shrines, pre-eminent horseman D. Wayne Lukas didn’t hesitate publicly to decry the deplorable and decrepit state of the stables at Santa Anita following the draw for the Breeders’ Cup Classic that same year. “I would be embarrassed to take an owner out there now,” he said, despite having called the Santa Anita backstretch home when he first joined the Thoroughbred community in 1978. His own shed-row at the time had become the exemplar for all to emulate, there and everywhere else he raced. He believed in luxury for his horses.
Our Sport of Royalty has always depended on commoners. We commoners, to begin with, actually take care of the horses. And as King Henry himself said, “All men are equal – on the turf, and under it.” In more contemporary times, it has disproportionately been the commoners (among the horsemen, as well as in the grandstand), who have made the tip-top magnificence possible. After all, as I never tire of reminding those who just won’t hear or comprehend, 90% of the races (filled by the commoners and bet on by commoners) must be attractive enough to fuel the betting that funds the 35% of purses that go to the stakes and our royalty, only about 10% of the races.
The World Cups in Dubai and Florida take the yawning gulf between hype and reality to a new level of absurdity. There are probably 20 horses from the tens of thousands active in the world who will contest them in a given year, along with their connections. In the American case, almost all of the money they’re running for is their own, so perhaps that “makes sense.”
What doesn’t make sense in any way is the ongoing neglect of investment in backstretch facilities and conditions, for horse and human alike, whether at Santa Anita, Golden Gate Fields, or any track, any place in the world, in a sport where the horse comes first, and its human caretakers should, too.
This is our Chimera, and we clearly have the resources to vanquish it . . . if not the will or the proper priority. Remember that even Bellerophon ultimately learned the hard way that glory by itself is not entitlement, unceremoniously dumped by Pegasus. He ended up alone, hated by gods and man alike.
