RUFFIAN: A RACETRACK ROMANCE
“Even today, more than three decades later, I can still close my eyes and see her out there running on the lead, always on the lead, her black silhouette in full flight, free running as a child on a playground, five lengths in front, her clipped mane swept back and her tail rippling like a little flag, her swan's neck rising and dipping to the tom-tom beating of her hooves, nine in front and widening, her jockey sitting quiet as a piece of marble statuary on her long back, his little hands motionless, his body rocking wavelike to the hitchless rhythms of her stride, the filly pricking her ears forward and picking up the tempo once again, now fourteen in front and coasting, everything so effortless, the jockey's silks billowing along his shoulders and back, now fifteen in front, expanding toward us on the turn for home, sailing into our lives and our history as if upon an upward draft of wind.” William Nack 01/07/19 “A quarter-century later, Ruffian’s breakdown is no easier to watch than it was in 1975. No matter how many times the tape is replayed, the outcome always is the same, and the feeling of a profound, personal loss always returns.
This is not how Ruffian should be remembered. Better, instead, are memories of Ruffian’s brilliance and speed, her heart and her courage, a nearly black filly always crossing the finish line alone. Those images are her true legacy. As Mike Bell said, “when you saw her run, you knew all was right with the world.” Milton C Toby 09/19/18 "Bracciale had a snug hold on the reins. He could feel the filly's strength, but at the same time sensed her kindness—that is, her willingness to respond to his commands. That was crucial. ... Ruffian was awesome, Bracciale got the feeling she could go on burning up the track forever, start to finish, full speed ahead—but he sure as hell didn't want to find out. Not if he didn't have to.
Even under wraps, her speed was astonishing. She did the first quarter in :21 4/5. That was too much for Mike Hole's filly, who rapidly dropped back. Baez had moved easily into second place, and for a few strides Laughing Bridge actually managed to stay close to Ruffian. But Ruffian was only playing. As soon as Bracciale asked for a little more—a slight movement from his fingers on the reins—she drew away. by the flash of the red and white stripes that marked the quarter pole, Ruffian led by three lengths. Laughing Bridge had made a genuine effort, but she began slipping farther and farther back. After the race, even Baeza, complimented Ruffian. "I could have cut through the center field," he said, "and she still would have beaten me!" Ruffian won by nine lengths, in 1:02 4/5. That was a new stakes record and only one-fifth of a second off the track record set by Raise A Native in 1963. Immediately the crowd started to complain: If only the boy had let her run! She could have broken that record easily! She could have smashed it to bits!" Jane Schwartz 09/03/18 "Jacinto had Ruffian under tight control, but she poured out over the track like water, like a river overflowing its banks. Five lengths after the first half-mile, and Jacinto could feel her aching to run. Eight lengths at the top of the stretch, still under a big hold. Jacinto glanced over his shoulder. They were alone now, she was flying down the stretch, she owned the track, with her long flowing stride, and he hadn't even asked her for anything yet, he was holding her back, his hands low on her neck; she could just coast on in, she had destroyed the field.
... She accelerated instantaneously—Jacinto had his answer—effortlessly, not with anger or indignation or fear, but with the pure joy of someone who has been waiting to be asked, who has been waiting a lifetime for just this moment. She simply kicked into another gear and pulled even further ahead, and you blinked your eyes and she was in front by ten and then by twelve and you didn't understand how it was possible—she was going so easy, there was no sign of effort on her part—and then thirteen and you were shouting, and then fourteen and you felt a shiver up your spine, and then fifteen as she crossed the finish line! Fifteen lengths in front! Ruffian had broken her maiden first time out, and that was the correct time on the tote board: 1:03 flat! She had tied the track record! A two-year-old, a filly, in her first race, under restraint, had tied the track record for 5.5 furlongs! The crowd was on its feet, and even the losers were cheering for Ruffian." Jane Schwartz 09/02/18 "Ruffian broke alertly, got herself together in the first one hundred yards, sailed to the front before she'd gone two hundred yards, then poured it on and on and on, racing the fastest opening half-mile run by any horse at Belmont that day,: 44 and 1/5. She cavalierly turned away Copernica's feeble challenge on the turn, this after Vasquez had sensed he was being followed. He had glanced around but he saw nothing. "I heard a noise behind me," he said. Ever so subtly he moved his hands, a signal Ruffian felt through the reins, and at once she picked up the beat on the turn for home, running away from Copernican through the lane and winning all alone by nearly seven. All clocks stopped at 1:03 flat. It was the second time in three weeks that she had tied the track record for the distance, her first victory in a stakes, and I wrote at the time: "Ruffian galloped back to the winner's circle at Belmont Park here yesterday with her breath coming deep and fast and her eyes as round as the globes on the furlong pole, about as wide as the eyes of Jacinto Vasquez, who was riding her.'" William Nack
08/29/18 "Undefeated in ten starts, in front at every pole in every race in which she ever ran, Ruffian was more than just another transient champion passing through. She was of a certain singularity that hinted of origins almost divine. Even today, more than three decades later, I can still close my eyes and see her out there running on the lead, always on the lead, her black silhouette in full flight, free running as a child on a playground, five lengths in front, her clipped mane swept back and her tail rippling like a little flag, her swan's neck rising and dipping to the tom-tom beating of her hooves, nine in front and widening, her jockey sitting quiet as a piece of marble statuary on her long back, his little hands motionless, his body rocking wavelike to the hitchless rhythms of her stride, the filly pricking her ears forward and picking up the tempo once again, now fourteen in front and coasting, everything so effortless, the jockey's silks billowing along his shoulders and back, now fifteen in front, expanding toward us on the turn for home, sailing into our lives and our history as if upon an upward draft of wind." William Nack
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April 2019
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