Flightline Lands a Special Place in History

At 3:45 on the morning of Sept. 3, Arene Quintana unlatched the metal grate to stall 31 in Barn J on the Del Mar backstretch and led Flightline  from the shed row into the darkness. There they stood as they did every morning, allowing Flightline, in Quintana's words, "to look up at the stars."

The stars looked down, cold and unblinking, then moved along to another nighttime sky. Flightline's day had begun.

A different day, however, from any of the 83 since he had last competed in a pari-mutuel event. It would be a morning without a trip to the track for one of Flightline's robust gallops and an afternoon without the usual room service, while in between the hours would drag by on a hot, humid day relieved only by the thrum of a fan mounted high above his stall door. Come the hour, when trainer John Sadler finally cinched the girth on Flightline for the first time since June 11, the big colt was ready to eat meat.

Instead, he took a bite out of history.

It is the job of racing writers to take a stab at placing Flightline's performance in the 32nd running of the TVG Pacific Classic (G1) Sept. 3 at Del Mar in some sort of perspective. But it is not enough simply to say he humiliated a small collection of serious stakes winners and that he did it quickly. The margin at the end of 10 furlongs was 19 1/4 lengths, the time was a near-track record 1:59.28, and the widely recognized Beyer Speed Figure of 126 was higher than all but one among the millions computed over the past three decades.

Such measures are fine, and no doubt they'll stand the test of time. Yet they do not address the unadorned joy of the moment, the silly thrill of beholding the impossible, as Flightline and Flavien Prat rendered announcer Trevor Denman, his voice choking with emotion, to a series of hyperbolic proclamations that climaxed with "You're not going to see this too often—maybe never!"

Maybe never? That would be too bad. Then again, such sights are so few and far between that each generation may be blessed with only a single rare glimpse into the deepest recesses of what a truly great Thoroughbred racehorse can summon when asked. Their names are second nature: Man o' War, Count Fleet, Citation, Kelso, Damascus, Dr. Fager, Secretariat, Spectacular Bid, Rachel Alexandra. Each had that day of days, a separation from not only their contemporaries but from time and space as well.

Now that Flightline has done what he's done, his place in history is secure. It does not matter that he never will carry weight like Forego, or run as often as John Henry, or attract adoring fan clubs like California Chrome or Zenyatta. He will not compete again for another two months, which is fine, since it may take that long to digest what happened at Del Mar. No one can eat chocolate cake every day and survive.

Even better, the unfolding of the race begs for repeated viewing and happy dissection. It's almost a shame it was over so quickly. Juan Leyva, whose work aboard Flightline each morning has been a master class of horsemanship, watched from the grandstand tunnel as Prat negotiated the opening straightaway.

"I was thinking, 'C'mon. Let him go and drop to the rail!' " Leyva said. "The rail was golden. I wanted him to get there as soon as possible and do what he does best."

Prat had his own agenda, however, which put Flightline well out from the rail around the first turn and onto the backstretch. The aim, he said, was to relax his colt, an admirable goal, but not one to which Flightline necessarily ascribed. His head was high and he was yanking at Prat's long hold, and then, in exquisite transition somewhere around the half-mile mark, the rider lightened the pressure and Flightline's head lowered. The race, in essence, was over.

But not the show. There came next the optical illusion of the far turn, where the disheartened Extra Hope gave up pressing the pace and backed up just as Flightline lunged into his final quarter-mile and banked into the stretch. By now Prat was hugging the rail, Leyva's heart was pounding in sync, and Sadler was gape-mouthed in the stands, eyes flashing between the scenes unfolding on both the track and the huge infield video screen. Prat gave a peek arrears to provide a photo for the ages, then crossed the line standing in the saddle.

At such moments, bordering indescribable, this writer resorts to the movie "Tombstone" (everyone's favorite Western whether they admit it or not) and the scene in which Wyatt Earp wades into waist-deep water and a hail of gunfire to wipe out the remains of the outlaw band without suffering so much as a scratch. Once the smoke had cleared, Earp's sidekicks—Texas Jack Johnson and Turkey Jack Vermillion—were heard muttering in amazement:

"You ever see anything like that before?"

"Hell, I ain't never even heard of anything like that."

No one had ever heard of an older horse running in a grade 1 race at a mile and a quarter having never before gone beyond a mile and one turn. Now they have, but it was not an accident. With the latitude provided by Flightline's ownership, Sadler decided some time ago that less would turn out to be more than enough for a horse of such transcendent ability.

And so, Sadler did not pass the San Diego Handicap (G2) earlier in the Del Mar meet because he was nursing a problem, or he didn't like the weight, or he wasn't sure of the track. Sadler passed the San Diego because if he had run, and Flightline had done his number, then the Pacific Classic would have been no big deal, impressive, yes, but essentially just more of the same. In passing a traditional choice like the San Diego, Sadler was being trainer-as-impresario, setting the stage, raising both questions and expectations that would tantalize the intended audience and drive analysts to distraction. Mission accomplished.

When it was over, and Flightline was back at Barn J an hour after the race with his entourage of Leyva, groom Adolfo Correa, and second assistant Enrique Miranda, Sadler shed his good-luck blue tie, now 2-for-2 this year, and laid a hand on the colt's broad bay chest.

"Still warm," Sadler said. "I'm not surprised, as hot as it's been today." 

Earlier, after he'd wrapped things up at the barn, Sadler allowed himself some quiet moments and a little TV.

"I'd been watching the U.S. Open, mostly because of Serena," Sadler said, referring to the tennis icon, no surname required.

"She was amazing, winning those two rounds in what was her last Open, when no one thought she could. To arrive at that point in such a great career was inspiring. During the telecast, one of the players walked by a plaque on the wall of the stadium. There was a quote on the plaque—'Pressure is a privilege'—from Billie Jean King. I took that to heart and decided it would be my mantra for the day."

And for all days, as long as Flightline is part of the picture. Before long he was back in his stall, the fan was on, and supper was served. Soon it was dark.

Then, at 3:45 on the morning of Sept. 4, Quintana unlatched the metal grate to stall 31 in Barn J on the Del Mar backstretch and led Flightline from the shed row into the darkness. There they stood as they did every morning, allowing Flightline, in Quintana's words, "to look up at the stars."

This time, the stars were impressed.