A poor day at the windows for moi, the saver exacta in the Travers did not save me, went heavy on the pick fours, but the Prado in the King's Bishop killed me. Had one dollar p4 into AP, actually was pleased to be getting $268 for it. Ironic because my son, who I spent the day with, he's sixteen now, used to chase Prado all over the grounds for autographs back in the day. When my wife died back in '07 someone who knew both us and someone at NYRA wrote a letter or two and got Prado to send a massive autographed pic of Barbaro crossing the wire in the '06 Derby to my son. He still has the thing hanging up in his room.

Anyway, the pick four and three P6 consos died when AP faded late. I won't wade too deeply into the pace discussion other than to say that when AP couldn't put Frosted away after that opening mile, my heart sank a little. I do think he might improve off of a race where he had someone being a pain in his a$$ all the way around, as opposed to the prior cakewalks, but that is just a guess...

Once in a great while, the day becomes a little more than an exercise in wagering, and today was one of those days.

We went down to watch Pharaoh walk in. Once he did, the crowd thinned out, but I stayed behind to watch the rest of them come through.

The last one, the Sherriffs horse, came through, one person walking him, and Sherriffs himself on the other side, in a seersucker jacket and a baseball cap. He was grinning from ear to ear, looking like a guy who was happy to be there, like a guy who knew he was playing with house money.

Back in the seats, they stood up eight or nine minutes to post, and stayed that way. I thought they'd sit down, but they didn't. There was a palpable tension in the air. The conversations I overheard all took place in hushed tones.

When they came around the quarter pole and straightened out for home I looked around, my son was standing there with a stunned look on his face, and I was hoping he knew he was watching a spectacle for the ages, something neither of us would ever forget.