Kyle Kaenel, now comfortably up on his mount in the walking ring before the Friday night opener at Bay Meadows, let out a belly laugh like only a man at least three times his weight has the right to. A lot happened before we got to that chortle though.
While taking in morning works at Golden Gate Fields, at some point each morning I try to corner trainer Steve Miyadi to coax out opinions and observations. Miyadi has a significantly higher tolerance for my antics than any other backstretch denizen and if I’ve had enough coffee such that I can traverse the requisite salutary verbal sparing, I oft extract some key pearls.
On Friday morning while Movement’s trainer Jamey Thomas was working the phones and under lockdown with (other) needy owners, I set my sites on Miyadi. After I lobbed a few whos, hows, and whys, we settled on the topic of racing literature for a moment. There was a lot of “yeah, I read that,” “he really captured it in that book” and some “it was too much from the bettors perspective”. We’d read most of the same books and had mostly the same opinions of them.
Since conversations with Steve Miyadi are generally based on conflict and develop like a blend of a smart ass professor’s approach to the Socratic method and schoolyard hooligans particularly apt at playing cut down, this rare mutual ascent qualified as a
moment. Jamey had no entries on Friday night’s card and this was the perfect time to cajole Miyadi into letting me and my buddies join him in the paddock at the races later.
That night, my friends hadn’t turned up yet as the horses in the opener were being saddled. As Miyadi walked out from the paddock to the walking ring I accosted the conditioner with a continuation of the mornings discussion of racing books and thrust a copy of John Sullivan’s
Bloodhorses toward him intended to show my appreciation. The agreeable imposter from the morning had been vanquished and he let loose a tirade why Sullivan’s tome was merely a baseball book parading as equine literature for marketing purposes and was undeserving of a true racetrackers attention. This didn’t put me off and I argued back, albeit feebly, before he took jockey Chad Schvaneveldt aside for instructions. Then he gave Jockey Kyle Kaenel the low down on the other half of his uncoupled entry, which together comprised 40% of the field and attracted ~70% of the wagering dollars.
The horses were in the ring and the three horse had just passed me, the four and five horses being Miyadi’s. At this point he and Chad began walking along side the four horse as the trainer was about to leg him up and said “Brad, you’re going to give Kyle a leg up.” “Ummmkay,” I said meekly, knowing that I wouldn’t have time to say no anyway. Kyle needs to be on that horse in about four more seconds, as the two of us begin walking along side the mare’s path.
I’ve legged up exercise riders a few times, but that is with a stationary horse. Rocket science it is not but in the few brief moments as we approached Kyle’s mount I became acutely aware of the burgeoning Friday night crowd, all wanting to get a look at grand ol’ Bay Meadows before being razed. I also noticed the power of the horseflesh as one eager mare reared up and threw her head and mane about.
Now the five mare was even with us, eyeballing me with contempt, and Kyle’s step sped and shortened in a graceful skip, anticipating a leg up.
All I have to do is reach down with one hand and lift up as the jock cocks his leg, I thought to myself. Then, as I reached down, Kyle took another mini step, reached out to mount the horse when I missed his leg. He came down hard, breaking his jaw with a vicious crack while the horse reared, freed herself from the groom, trampled Kyle, took out Miyadi, then hopped the rail and trampled four or five children and an expectant mother on the apron. That and about nineteen other equally as tragic scenarios went threw my head in those last few split seconds before Kyle was aboard the odds-on favorite. He looked back at my stone white face, unleashing that big laugh, saying “Shoot, I’m riding her, and you’re more nervous than me!”
To be in the walking ring, listening in on horsemen’s banter, seeing the tacked fillies and mares parading, and then legging up a jockey, make for halcyon moments for a fanatic of this sport like me. I’ll trade embarrassment for that any day of the week, and twice on Friday nights at Bay Meadows.
