In preparing to cover the Dubai World Cup, the world’s most expensive horserace, on March 26th I assessed my prior knowledge of the sport. What I needed was a complete list of how the sport is conducted and any and all of the fanfare that is associated with it. As I struggled to recall my experience at the San Jose track through the hazy memories of inebriated fans and the distraction of the lovely lady sitting next to me, I realized I needed to start smaller.
Which horse won? No clue.
What was the awards ceremony like? I didn’t know there was one.
How many races were there? There was more than one?
After running the mental hamster on his wheel for a good twenty minutes I realized my list consisted of 1) I saw a horse, 2) beer was prevalent, and 3) people placed bets.
It was time to consult someone more knowledgeable than I.
Erin Karahadian, formerly of USD’s Equestrian team, was helpful in this regard. “The races begin in a moveable gate where the horses are loaded into a kind of chute” she explained and “When the gates spring open there is a bell which the horses are trained to hear”. This sends the horses into “race mode.” From there, they are sent hurtling around the elliptical track, which is typically a mile or more in length. The jockey crouches in a death-defying tuck atop the horses back, controlling the beast’s maneuvers and speed. Erin added that “some jockeys will hold their horses speed and then let them loose at the end while others let them gain pace from the get go”. Whoever finishes first, wins.
The horses themselves are young and expensive, selling for millions of dollars before their abilities are yet proven. “The problem with racing these horses” Erin explained, “is that there is so much pounding on their tiny legs”. Thus, racehorses are typically “retired” at a very young age, usually at age seven or eight.
Armed with this new knowledge of the sport, I confidently set out for Meydan, the premiere destination for thoroughbred racing outside the United States.
Day One was orientation. As the taxi neared Meydan, I realized we were headed for that mysterious, looming structure I have seen lurking in Dubai’s desert haze. Even from a distance, the sheer enormity of Meydan is awe-inspiring. A low-slung building, Meydan is unremarkable in height but typifies Dubai’s taste for the best and the biggest. Built at a cost of approximately $2 billion (nearly twice the cost of the world’s tallest building, Burj Khalifa, but hey, who’s counting?), Meydan is a modern marvel. The building itself is a “landscraper”, stretching a mile from one end to the other.
Exiting the taxi, I made for the media room. After walking what felt like the entire length of the building, I found it tucked away on the fifth floor, business-types hustling in and out of its inconspicuous door. Inside, the attendant handed me my credentials. “You look different than the picture you submitted”, she observed. Scratching my new beard, I replied “Yeah, I dunno why”. Taking my race-day handbook and media pass, I moved for the door. Before I could exit, she called me back to the counter. “Sir, you almost forgot this”, she said, handing me a thin white-box. “Thanks” I offered, taking the packet of what felt like brochures. Noting the time, I hustled downstairs to the Interview Center.
There, Henry Cecil, trainer of Prince Khalid Abdullah’s horse, Twice Over, was preparing to have his brain picked by the standing-room only crowd of media. His horse, Twice Over, was the favorite to win the next day’s big race and Cecil touted the steed’s new shoes as the key to success. Cecil said he hoped for a more favorable result than Twice Over’s tenth-place finish in last year’s Dubai World Cup and when asked about his management style at the stable, he cheekily responded “we like to work in what we call a ‘team’”. Cecil seemed unperturbed by the rest of the field saying “the only horse I know is my own”.
Next in the hot-seat were Bob Baffert and Carl O’Callaghan, trainers of Euroears and Kinsale King, respectively. Baffert was the first to mention Dubai’s unique travel factor. Whereas most races feature local horses, Dubai’s immense purses (a total of $27.25 million from eight races) serve to attract talent from all over the globe. However, getting a horse to Dubai isn’t as easy as bringing a 1,200 pound horse on a Delta flight. “Yes, stewardess, this is my carry-on,” only works in certain instances. “We came here to win,” Baffert said, “It’s a long trip.”
By the end of the interviews, it was ten o’clock and time for the photographer’s meeting. I made for the lower-level media center and found my workstation. I was placed in the blue group and given a spot on the rail along the racetrack. This was where I’d be standing during the race. I was incredulous. To get any closer to the horses, I would have to be a jockey.
The following day, race day, started at 3:40 in the afternoon, but I arrived early to familiarize myself with the venue. Making my way through the atrium to the media center, I caught a glimpse of the spectator’s side of horse racing. Women in ornate hats and lavish dresses flitted about while men in designer threads stood coolly, scanning the room. Costumed men on stilts beckoned to the masses below like freakish giraffes while clowns bounced to and fro keeping the chilluns attention either through genuine entertainment or sheer fright. Half of racing is the appearances. Meydan features the Jaguar Style Stakes, with prizes for the best dressed woman, man, and couple. The woman with the best hat gets a free weekend rental on any Jaguar model and a new smart phone. Half the photographers I had seen the previous day were scurrying about, documenting the fashionistas. I wouldn’t see them the rest of the day, as I was there to shoot horse racing, and they, to cover the spectators.
Downstairs in the media center, I lurked in the lounge waiting for the excitement to begin. Like any self-respecting college student, I took full advantage of the all-day, all-you-can-eat buffet available to media personnel. I pondered whether this was unique to Dubai or a staple of all professional-level events. If so, I thought, I could get used to this.
Outside, I chose to get some shots of the trophies. Nonchalantly, I strolled to the winner’s circle, where the champion horses were led for photos before the jockey and winning team headed for the awards stage. As I moved from one trophy to another, I felt a tap on my shoulder and then, “Sir, blue vest. No”. The guard was dressed to the nines, like everyone else in attendance. If I hadn’t known otherwise, I would have thought he was a private body guard. He was immense, his bald head glistening in the midday sun. The last time I saw someone squeezed into a suit in such a way, it was Bruce Banner shortly before he switched into beast-mode as the Hulk. I wasn’t supposed to be there and we both knew it. Winner’s circle access required a red vest, reserved for the more eminent publications: AP, Reuters, Gulf News. I sulked off like a scolded child.
The typical opening ceremonies soon began. There was much flag-waving and celebration of Dubai’s diversity and prestige while marches blared from every speaker. Off in the distance, a team of stunt-riders added to the revelry, racing back and forth in front of the immense jumbotron. The pace of the horses and length of the stage/screen put it in perspective: the distance must have been at least 300 feet. Thoughts of “how much did that cost?” seemed to be crossing my mind more and more.
The first race, the Dubai Kahayla Classic, began at 4:35 and was won by Seraphin du Paon. In the span of two minutes and eighteen seconds, the owners made off with the quarter-million dollar purse. For the sake of comparison, that’s $1,811.5942 per second or 767,264 times my wage at Coldstone Creamery.
More fascinating than the stakes of the event was the race itself. As I leaned against the rail, ready to snap as many photos as possible when the pack of racers approached, I realized the sheer power of these animals and the bravery of the jockeys. Off in the distance, the competitors appeared as a small congregation of forms bobbing up and down. At that distance, it looked like I would be waiting a long time before they were within the range of my lens. Not five seconds later, they had come within just a few hundred meters and were closing fast. Cameras all around me began clicking, rising in a crescendo until the sound approximated a swarm of cicadas. However, this was drowned out by the rumble of hooves on topeta (fake dirt) as the cavalry roared past. Below me, the earth shook. I felt the incredulity one senses upon realizing such a cliché is actually based in reality. The jockeys, perched atop the horses, clung to the reigns, peering straight ahead through spaceman goggles. In a moment, they were gone, disappeared to the far end of the track.
The remainder of my day was a test of endurance as I shuttled from racetrack to paddock to awards stage, snapping photo after photo in endless succession. Periodically, I would find a minute or two to hustle back to my workstation and transfer my shots from camera to computer but a glance at the clock would incite a panic: It’s almost race time! Five minutes! Get out there! For six hours, this was the routine. Around the time of the sixth race, the Dubai Duty Free ($5,000,000 purse) I took a risk and ducked into the media lounge for dinner. I couldn’t scarf the food fast enough and avoided eye contact with anyone because to do so would surely elicit looks of horror at this crazed man. I slung my photo-pack over my shoulder and bolted for the door as quickly as I’d bolted my meal.
It was 8:00 and well into the evening. Following Presvis’ win at the sixth race (the Dubai Duty Free) the lights of the grandstands went down, plunging Meydan into darkness. From the far end of the track, a low rumble arose, different from the sound of hooves I had grown accustomed to. A dozen semi-trucks, robed in black fabric – a poor attempt to hide the fact that they were ugly big-rigs – crept along until the whole caravan halted in front of the grandstand. At either end of the procession were giant cranes, holding immense mannequins aloft. On the backs of the trucks, a perplexing medley of jumbotrons, circus performers, and movie sets loomed against the night sky.
Out of the dark rose a voice, the same one that had proclaimed Dubai’s preeminence in diversity and heritage. The booming voice repeated his earlier message, emphasizing Dubai’s unique culture. I laughed to myself. In Dubai, foreigners outnumber natives six to one. This intense foreign involvement has allowed the city to grow from essentially nothing, springing up out of the sand like a desert flower. In 1965, America had 75,257,588 passenger cars on the road. Three years later, Dubai had… drumroll, please… 13. Since most of us were born, the city has gone from having one skyscraper to over 400. In the span of just a few decades, Dubai has metamorphosed from backwater to hub and while this is a commendable achievement, it does not mean Dubai has any great history to speak of. Like most things in Dubai, thoroughbred horseracing is a foreign import, no matter how the announcer chooses to spin it.
The bewildering performance of acrobats, dancers, and high-wire daredevils, backed by the biggest fireworks display I’ve ever seen, played itself out, much to the delight of the thrill-seeking spectators. Nearly an hour later, the grandstand lights came up and the trucks rolled away, the spectral marionettes leading them in an odd, jerking dance. It was time for the big races.
The Dubai Sheema Classic was first, run on the immaculate green turf track. Rewilding took the $5,000,000 purse in two minutes and twenty-nine seconds, setting a new record for the 2,400 meter track. At 9:35, it was time for the big one: the Dubai World Cup. Out on the topeta track, the competitors were ushered into the gate, eager to take home the world’s largest sum for a single horserace: $10,000,000, five times the Kentucky Derby’s purse. Throughout the complex, the tension could be felt. Everyone in the place stopped what they were doing for two minutes and five seconds to see Victoire Pisa beat out thirteen others, including poor Twice Over who finished ninth, a one-place improvement over his 2010 result. At this pace, expect Twice Over to win sometime after his fourteenth birthday in 2019. Victoire Pisa, ridden by jockey, Mirco Demuro and owned by Yoshimi Ichikawa, was regally welcomed into the winner’s circle as the flashbulbs of the red-vested photographers burst all around. The real emotion came forth on the awards stage a few moments later. Japanese fans, pressed against the railing, wept as they waved Japanese flags. On stage, the team of trainer, owner, and jockey, along with all relevant families crowded with the award presenter’s, Sheikh Mohammad bin Rashid al Maktoum, ruler of Dubai, and his brother, Sheikh Hamdan bin Rashid al Maktoum. A teary Demuro accepted the jockey’s trophy as his Japanese patrons applauded and fought back emotion, betrayed by their misty eyes and quivering lips. Down below, I joined the platoon of photographers snapping dozens, then scores, then hundreds of photos of the historic event.
The race had ended. Spectators disappeared from the grandstands and laborers emerged to clean up the mess. From the media center, exhausted photographers plopped down at workstations to begin submitting photos. I followed suit, periodically glancing at the big-screen TV above my workstation. It was broadcasting the closing fireworks show, which was bigger than the one from a couple hours ago. I’d heard rumor that Jessie J, of pop fame, would be performing as part of the post-race entertainment but this was only confirmed when she pranced across the screen above my workstation, causing me to grab my equipment and make for the door like a man possessed.
Moments later, I was at the stage, bellied up against the speakers, happily snapping away again. A sucker for a concert, I couldn’t resist taking in everything the Dubai World Cup race day had to offer and stayed until the last song of her 45-minute set. As I walked away, she announced she’d saved the best for last, the song everyone had come to hear: “Price Tag”, the current UK chart-topper. As I strolled back to the media center to collect my things, the chorus echoed from one end of Meydan to the other: “it’s not about the money, money, money”.
Not at Meydan. Here, it is all about the money.
Click here for my review of Jessie J's performance at USDRadio.org
No comments:
Post a Comment