CLASS. PURE CLASS

Once I was asked what was my favorite interview in a quarter century of televised Thoroughbred racing. The answer was easy. "Paul Mellon and Mack Miller after they won the Champagne at Belmont with Sea Hero,", I said.

It was with some trepidation that I awaited their entry to the winner's circle. I fretted during the two-minute commercial, wondering how I might connect with these titans of the turf.

I worried needlessly. The pair cavorted with joy, slapping hands and generally laughing it up. Our discussion was brief and to the point, mainly that the Kentucky Derby was the ultimate goal, which they annexed a few months hence.

The recent death of trainer Miller brought forth accolades from all who had the privilege to know him. He liked to wonder how he got so lucky.

"I really only had two jobs in my career. One was with Charles Engelhard (owner of Nijinsky). Engelhard was known to subsist on a diet of champagne and chocolate and suffered severe gout which forced him to use a cane when in his 40s".

Upon Engelhard's premature demise, Miller was hired by Yale man Paul Mellon.

Mellon already had an Epsom Derby under his belt with Mill Reef.

The universally loved Miller could do it all, having bought some mares from the Engelhard estate and raced them to win important races with longtime partner Smiser West.

Your correspondent got into the act with the purchase of the mare Song of Syria from West who went on to produce champion Chilukki for Canadian owner Norman McAllister.

Some of the Mack Miller magic must have rubbed off again when I bought a yearling Thunder Gulch filly named Tweedside for another Canadian, Eugene Melnyk. She went on to win Grade I races. As I signed the ticket I heard Smiser tell Mack, "gee, Mack I thought we'd get more than $l00,000".

CAPE TOWN SALE

I take my show on the road to Cape Town for a new international yearling sale January 27-28. The excursion is designed to familiarize global players with South African bloodstock. Inquiries are welcomed.

HERE'S HOW IT'S DONE

Jerry Hollendorf was basking in the glow of his latest Eclipse Award, well earned by Blind Luck, a few hours after Indian Winter captured the San Pedro Stakes at Santa Anita.

Indian Winter stalked a torrid pace to win twice from three starts. I bought him for a partnership organized by Hollendorfer at the OBS sale last March. When a young horse can attend such a scorching pace like that in the San Pedro one begins to wonder about stamina.

Not a worry I would think.

When I buy juveniles there is a lot of pedigree study executed before I even leave for the airport. I am seeking horses who distinguish themselves in the breezes; the third leg of the stool is a rapport with a reputable consigner who has shown he, or she, can produce runners.

Indian Winter qualifies on all counts. First, he is a half-brother to Gr. III winner Sindy With An S. She earns more points for having a stakes-horse by ordinary Five Star Day and a $119,000 earner by Johar.

The second dam did not win but her full-sister produced stakes horses by failed stallions like Dance Brightly and Acceptance. In these cases the credit invariably comes due to the female.

It really gets interesting in the third dam which boasts two-time champion Ashado and is replete with graded stakes horse like Sun River, Foresta, Victory USA and Saint Stephen.

Indian Winter is the third SW bought from Ciaran Dunne's Wavertree Stable. He bids fair to be the best of the lot in his trainer's talented hands.

NO BLAME, NO GAME

They say you only hurt the ones you love. If that's true, then there was a lot of pain to be distributed at the Eclipse Awards. It was easy to love both Zenyatta and Blame on their merits.

My handicapper's mind had me choose Blame after a Breeders' Cup for the ages was decided in his favor. That point of view shifted when I realized that, while Blame may have been Horse of the Year for 2010, Zenyatta might make historians crown her as the Horse of the Century.

Blame can only enhance his reputation now through success as a stallion. The mare's exploits will be the stuff of lore regardless of her subsequent ability in the breeding shed.

When a filly named Regret became the first female winner of the Kentucky Derby in 1915 she was known forever after as "the only Regret". Who was second that year?

Who cares?

Man O'War and Secretariat dominated the twentieth century and verbal combat over who was better spilled over into the present day. Secretariat even got a movie.

Zenyata's Hollywood connections assure that she may soon star on the silver screen.

"Records are made to be broken" is one of sport's hoary cliches that proves itself with some regularity. Ask Bret Favre, UConn basketball and Sunny Blossom. Sunny Blossom, you say?

In recent weeks a couple of team sport idols bit the dust while Sunny Blossom lost the distinction of Santa Anita's fastest sprinter since the l989 Palos Verde Handicap.

A snappy 1.07.1 was all that Sunny required to set a standard that lasted more than two decades. A highly touted juvenile named The Factor broke the previous time barrier.

Extenuating circumstances contributed to The Factor's suddenly newfound fame. First of all, there was no comparison between the racing conditions. The new champ showed his stuff over a Santa Anita strip that was posting absurd fractions in every race, at every call. That pattern became a habit in the early days of the Santa Anita meet, propelled by a souped up dirt track.

Second, Sunny made his mark in a graded stakes at the expense of arch-rival Olympic Prospect. The Factor was beating maiden juveniles.

Finally, a significant gap between running times convinced me that my hero had indeed demonstrated something exceptional. Horses were running in 1.11 on the 1989 card, for instance, a sign of a dead track. Everybody was flying around the Årcadia oval a few weeks ago.

Gary Stevens rode Sunny Blossom that fateful afternoon and he saw no need to even uncock his stick. "No one could have beaten me on that horse that day", he repeats whenever a little nostalgia surfaces.

Sunny could be a quirky ride. He had back troubles which probably accounted for the fact that he invariably broke slow enough to spot rivals a length or two. Once in gear, he would take the front and go as fast as he could go. He rarely ever changed leads during a race, another costly habit.

A more endearing attribute was winning the final leg of big money Pick-six wagers

at Bay Meadows and Golden Gate Fields.

While we no longer see his name on the program, Sunny Blossom will be a fond memory in years ahead.

One of a Kind

In 1968 I was golf editor of the New Orleans States-Item, fresh from an NCAA career uptown at Loyola University. I got a call one day from Larry McKinley, a popular disc jockey at a blues station, inviting me to play in a golf tournament at Pontchartrain Park.

When I showed up it was apparent that I was the only Caucasian in the field. I was informed by Larry that white golfers avoided Pontchartrain Park rather than play alongside black players in the midst of the civil rights movement.

After hitting off the first tee I was approached by a member of our group who said "hey, white boy, do you want to play for some cash".

If memory serves, we agreed on a $5 Nassau or so and were nip-and-tuck in the match when a torrential storm rolled in from the lake and flooded the course. Sunday's round was cancelled also and the only action to be found was at the various dice games that ensued.

Some months later I headed North to try my luck at tournament at golf. I became just another dew sweeping, trunk slamming impecunious rabbit who hastened back to journalism.

And I never met Joe Bartholomew, more's the pity.

KNOCK 'EM DEAD

Galen May liked to gamble and it may have cost him his life. A key man in trainer Jerry Hollendorfer's organization, Galen was entrusted with Kentucky Oaks winner Blind Luck at Churchill Downs.

Galen was semi-retired after a life on the racetrack but Jerry would call on him whenever he needed a seasoned hand to prepare a horse for a big race until he could arrive on the scene. I got to know him from his frequent trips to Kentucky on behalf of Hollendorfer. He was a quiet and friendly man.

After Blind Luck's epic victory in the Oaks Galen returned to his California home.

Police arrested a neighbor of May's and charged him with murder. The motive was said to be robbery. Galen was a regular patron of a casino near Sacramento and the killer may have known his routine.

There is a sense of danger that pervades a gambling site, one of the few remaining businesses dealing in "cold cash".

I can recall several other big scores that resulted in homicide.

Fair Grounds had begun to offer the exacta as part of its wagering menu in 1969. There was an exacta only on the last race each day.

One day there was a lot of hooplah coming from the clubhouse bar. A regular had hit for big money in the last race exacta. A boisterous impromptu party broke out among a group of clubhouse regulars.

I drove home to my apartment on Esplanade in the French Quarter and thought nothing of it until I read the morning paper account of a murder victim who had been robbed of his winnings on the Fair Grounds exacta. He was shot in the carport of his apartment about a half-mile from where I lived on Esplanade.

I was at Hollywood Park one day when another steady high roller hit a Pick-Six for $40,000 and crowed about it enough to alert everybody in the park.

An assailant followed him down Century Boulevard towards the airport. The victim turned into the portico of a luxury hotel where he was shot dead. A gust of wind began to blow the money away and the thief could grab only a small amount. The scene sounded like the finale of "Treasure of Sierra Madre" when Humphrey Bogart watched his gold dust disappear in a sand storm.

The unlucky horse player drove a Jaguar with a vanity license that read YRU POOR.

Moral of the Story: If you hit a big lick it's best to keep it to yourself.

RESTITUTION NOT RETRIBUTION

Jockey Patrick Valenzuela has been blessed over the years with a certain bonhomie that, no matter how many times he has burned the racing population, there's a tendency to consider his misdeeds as "victimless".

I don't think so.

Patrick burned me and my Santa Barbara Stable partners but good by failing to keep his engagement aboard our horse Sunny Blossom in the Frank DeFrancis Memorial. The DeFrancis was the richest sprint in the country, other than the Breeders' Cup ,with a $300,000 purse.

Sunny Blossom was capable of six furlongs in 1.07.1, a Santa Anita record which still stands. It made sense to take him to Baltimore in hopes of upsetting champion Housebuster.

A number of our partners made the trip to Maryland, excited to take on the best eastern sprinters. The Kesslers from Seattle; the Caligiuris from New York and Santa Barbara; the Koenigs from Los Angeles; Nick Ben-Meir from Beverly Hills; Bob Estrin from Hollywood and various extended family boosters were all on hand.

Patrick was due to take the "red-eye" from Los Angeles which would give him plenty of time to prepare for the race. Despite calls to the hotel there was no word from our jockey. An hour before the race he finally called the stewards and claimed to be sick.

We had to scramble for the best jock we could find, namely Edgar Prado who was tops in Maryland but a far cry from the household word he was to become. His English skills were limited.

In the confusion in the paddock our trainer failed to give the word to Prado that Sunny Blossom did not like to be whipped, nor did he want to change leads so there was no point in trying to make him change.

Housebuster went to the front and never looked back. In deep stretch it was apparent that Sunny Blossom could not win. To my horror I watched as the substitute jockey whacked our horse a number of times as if he was trying to get him to change leads. You could see him swerve to try and escape the left handed stick.

Sunny Blossom exited the race dead lame in the stifle and did not run again for many months.

The partners on hand had spent tens of thousands of dollars in order to attend one of the nation's top races and came away with nothing but a sour taste and an injured horse.

Pat Valenzuela? Not a peep out of him.

I am not interested in retribution after all these years. But there is something called restitution and I challenge Pat to make good on his many indiscretions and donate a significant sum to the Winner's Foundation.

You're making money now. Ten grand ought to do it.