Death on the Track

Just minutes before she fell and died in the stretch of the second race at Saratoga yesterday, Forest Whip was looking beautiful and seemingly relaxed in the paddock. The elegant bay daughter of Forestry walked calmly, gently swishing her tail. There wasn't a clue that anything was wrong. She didn't seem to have a care in the world, and I was impressed with her easy demeanor. She was making only her second start.

I happened to be watching Forest Whip because when I'd handicapped the race, I thought she could win it: a $60,000 maiden claimer against other two-year-old fillies going six furlongs. She was stepping down in class, and switching from turf to dirt: she looked interesting, both on paper, and as a pretty presence in the paddock. The last time I checked the tote board, as I stepped up to the window to place a modest bet on her, I realized that lots of other people liked Forest Whip's chances, too. She went off the favorite, at 9-5.

I could see through my binoculars that Forest Whip balked slightly as she was led up to the gate. With a little bit of coaxing, she went in without much fuss. In hindsight, it would have been better if she hadn't.

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