Page 12 - May 2008 The Game

12 The Game, May 2008 POedro Alvarado
arrive and the hotdogs are warm, Pedro Alvarado jogs the track, examining it, running a few feet off the rail, swinging wide in the turns, testing the depth and the footing—a lone gure in the early afternoon. “It’s just what he does,” said someone on the backstretch. “Makes sense to know it if you make your living over it.” And Pedro knows the racetrack, the physical side of it and the mental. He knows how tough it can be.
him to the game when he was eight years old. As he grew older he started asking people around the track how
he could get into racing and found
out that there was a jockey’s school at Hipódromo de las Américas in Mexico City. Young Pedro attended the school for two years.
The local
Mexican tracks
had good riders
but his heroes were
La tte Pincay and
Angel Cardero
who used to come
to Mexico City for
the big races. After
an apprenticeship,
with a talented ex-
rider turned trainer
named Jose Brava, he emigrated to Spokane, Washington when he was
19 years old and in the winter he
went to Santa Anita to gallop horses where he met arguably the best rider
of the 1990’s, Patrick Valenzuela. He learned a lot working and galloping with such California superstars and wanted to ride there but an unfortunate decision to ride in China caused him trouble with the US immigration and Pedro was disquali ed from green card status. He found himself stuck in Vancouver on his return.
With nothing to do, in the mornings he naturally drifted to the Hastings Racetrack where he met racing secretary Lorne Mitchell who helped him with the necessary
Canada’s Thoroughbred Racing Newspaper
A Look at Racing in British Columbia By Jim Reynolds
n racing days, before the fans
immigration forms to ride in Canada. “And that was it,” says Pedro.
Over the last six years Pedro has been four times leading rider and a fan favourite. During the dark days when few lights shone at Hastings and its very existence was in question his was a bright star shinning and we’ve had only a few of his calibre since
“It’s a beautiful game,” he says in a surprisingly poetic turn of phrase.
“If you love horses it’s beautiful but it’s very tough. Especially if you’re mentally weak, because you’ve got to take a lot of beatings.
“I ride a lot of favourite horses,”
he says. “I want to get the best out
of them. I want to win races and I think for the rst two races it helps to know the racetrack and know where the best part of the track is. After
that, of course, the track changes and everybody knows how it is, but for the rst couple of races it gives me an advantage.”
the 1970’s and 80’s when the jock’s room was full of quality riders. But something happened along the way and Pedro fell from grace and was suspended from riding. But like a true champion he has picked himself up and this year will attempt to climb back to the top of his profession. This spring his determination is evident and he is probably the hardest working hombre on the backstretch—working like he has something to prove.
Plus, if you’re heavy, it’s double tough. But if you love the horses and you think you can do it it’s a beautiful game. But you have to want it.
Pedro Alvarado was born in 1965
in Jalisco, Mexico, a state on the west coast, known as the centre of the tequila producing industry. His family wasn’t involved in racing but an uncle used to play the ponies and introduced
a lot of doors for you. But if you’re lazy, well that doesn’t go well in this business.”
Clear Sailing
seventy yards. Now, as a six year old, he had slowed down but I could feel his class. Another horse, an Argentinean colt named Merisier, was coming back from an injury. He was so well behaved that I loved galloping him.
We broke
sharply
from the
gate and I
settled in
the middle
of the pack, Merisier’s preferred position. We hit the rst turn and the horse on the inside and the one on the outside suddenly dropped back. I found myself in second place as I entered the backstretch. On Form, the leader showed early speed which never lasted and sure enough, he was fading even before the second turn. Suddenly, I was on the lead.
“Within six weeks I was riding here. And Vancouver has been good to me. I’ve been very happy at Hastings. I think I only have a few riding years left and I want to nish here.”
tell how fast each quarter was and how much horse I have. It [that sense of timing] is what allows me to rate a horse.”
For young people who want to become a jockey Pedro offers sound advice.
A champion has to know all aspects of his sport, all its facets. That’s why Pedro, ever methodical, jogs the track each day before the races.
“Also, it’s hard to get a young guy to keep quiet and listen and learn. Some of them are here for two years and think they know everything. The most important thing is to just listen. That’ll get you a long ways. Another thing is to offer to help people. That’ll open
Pedro talks easily about riding and the horses he loves but you won’t learn a lot about the human side of
the man in a short interview. He’s a private individual who is a bit shy about talking about himself or about his problems. But this much comes through. He is determined, driven to succeed. He knows the track, how tough it can be and this year he’ll be out to prove something—although he has nothing, really, to prove.
Watching him ride you see that Pedro’s strength as a rider is his great sense of timing and how well he rates a horse, especially on the lead.
“I’m pretty good with timing. I can
For a girl who had grown up in the rigid con nes
of a Catholic school, the racetrack was giving me
a whole new education. A tough game, racing was even tougher back in the ‘70’s, especially in New England. I packed my tack for Narragansett Park when the meet closed at Suffolk Downs. My rst ride at the Rhode Island track was a scene straight out of a ‘50’s suspense movie. Thick fog shrouded the track. Nothing could be seen from the grand- stand. The race caller announced the break over
the PA system and then was silent until the horses appeared in the last seventy yards. That interven-
ing period was anything but silent for the jockeys.
(I wouldn’t wish for a return to the old, lawless ways but it forged a courage and determination that has served me well.)
The day arrived for Juan to start his rst runners. He was a nervous wreck, pacing the shedrow and bark- ing orders to the grooms. I noticed Leo’s con dent smile. Three horses were entered on the evening card. Tim B Quiet was second favourite in the third race and one of Giordano’s allowance llies was the hot favourite in the feature race. Merisier was in the nal race, a $5000 claiming. Though he was drop- ping down from allowance, it had been six months since his last start. He was going a mile and seventy yards and unknown apprentice, Patricia Head (me) was in the saddle. Morning odds were 30-1.
Could it be happening? Merisier was running well
as we entered the nal turn but half way around, I felt him weaken. My glimmer of hope faded with his shortened stride.
I had the outside post position and it was the rst time I was grateful to break from the 12 hole. When the horses surged onto the track, the free-for-all began. A young apprentice, eager to win his rst race, tried to slip through on the inside. An old veteran bounced him off the rail with such force he lost his stirrups. Another jockey ew by screaming, “I can’t hold him!” The old veteran ordered him to take the horse to the outside rail and horse and rider disappeared into the fog. I kept my mouth shut and my horse on a straight course. I managed to pick up a cheque for fth in the middle of the track.
A friend, Wayne Lewis, introduced me to Leo Giordano, owner of Green Pastures Stables. Leo
was a self-made millionaire and horseracing was his passionate hobby. His trainer of twenty years was retiring and handing the reins over to a younger man, Juan Lescay.
I started galloping horses for Giordano and was impressed with their quality. One gelding, Tim B Quiet, held the Gansett track record for the mile and
Wayne walked me to the jock’s room that night. “Leo wants his new trainer to break his maiden tonight,” he told me. “If the rst two horses can’t do it, don’t be surprised to nd yourself on the lead.”
The colt would normally be making his run from behind at this point rather than fading on the front end. I didn’t know the etiquette of a ‘boat race’ as
it was called. Should I warn them my horse was tiring? Will the jockeys beat me up in the parking lot for losing their payoff? Will Giordano re me before I even get established?
The Game May 2008.indd 12
4/29/08 8:23:46 PM
I laughed. These guys would rather put me over the rail than in the winner’s circle!
I watched all the races with keen interest. Tim B Quiet could only manage a fourth. The allowance lly didn’t run to Form and nished well back. And then it was time for the nal race. I walked out to the paddock and saw Wayne in the grandstand, waving his mutual ticket.
I urged the colt to change leads at the head of the lane. The moment he switched, there was a surge in his stride. I went to a vigorous ride, my con dence carrying us to the sixteenth pole where we slowed to a crawl. I held the colt’s tired head up, hit him
Juan looked disappointed and I sensed that he had less faith in his horse than I did. Leo, however, was all smiles, joking with friends and slapping me on the back before I mounted. Something was de nitely up.
a couple of times on the ank and then fanned the whip beside his head. He gave what little he had left and carried us under the wire in front.
The winner’s circle, like the race, was a surreal experience. Giordano and his friends looked like the cast from The Godfather. I didn’t feel any safer here than I did in the race. They all smiled and told me I’d ridden like Willie Shoemaker. Great compliment for me but I don’t think The Shoe would have agreed.
I tried to read the expressions of the jockeys as we left the paddock but their thoughts were tightly contained. In the warm-up their faces were hidden in shadow under the lights. I resolved that I would ride as hard and as fast as the colt could go.
A Head at the Wire
A Series of Real Life Stories by Paddy Head www.paddyhead.ca