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The little man slouched in the saddle, round-shouldered and solemn, like a cowboy after a long day. He seemed oblivious of the crowd, but it was just a mannerism: he knew full well that all eyes were on him. And he knew too that the mere sight of Jockey Eddie Arcaro is enough to make hundreds of red-blooded New York horse-players boo.
But this time it was different. As Jockey Arcaro (rhymes with sparrow) paraded to the post last week in the first race at Jamaica,'applause pattered down from the stands. Eddie sat up straight, took off his cap and waved it high. He rated the cheer, even if it was a pleasant surprise. Three days before, he had won the Kentucky Derby—and become the first jock in history to win the Derby four times. He was now after another honor: to be the first to win horse racing's Big Three (Derby, Preakness, Belmont Stakes) twice.
Baking Powder Magic. This week at Pimlico, on the fringe of Baltimore, he will be boosted up on Citation, the same long-barreled bay colt he won with at Louisville, and shoot for the Preakness. The race will be half a furlong shorter than the Derby, a difference that favors Citation's chief rival, a stablemate named Coaltown.
From Green Spring and Worthington Valleys the horsy set will prance in. Up from Prince Georges and Anne Arundel Counties will come farmers whose interest in hot-blooded horses runs back a hundred years. All of them will think twice before betting against Citation. He belongs to Calumet Farm, the "baking powder" barn, which has found a magic recipe for raising breadwinners. Calumet owns more than its share of the best horses (Armed, Citation, Coaltown, Bewitch, Fervent) and has the best trainers, the Jones boys—shrewd old Ben ("B.A.") Jones and his son Jimmy. In Jockey Eddie Arcaro they have the best known, most respected and most hated jockey in the land.
Banana Nose. Why do horseplayers jeer the jockey they freely acknowledge to be the best? The fan who shouts, "Hey you, Banana Nose, drop dead!" would have a hard time explaining it. If pinned down, he. would probably admit that he thinks Arcaro is so good he can win whenever he wants to. And thus, when Arcaro loses, the fan suspects something fishy is going on.
Horseplayers are as suspicious as they are superstitious. The $2 bettor, his nose buried in a Racing Form, usually has a queasy feeling that there are things going on that he wots not of, but that the wise boys wot right well. He is peculiarly sensitive to the great American dread of being played for a sucker. But he still thinks he has a chance—if he can dope some angles.
The Inside Dope. Up in the third row of the grandstand, he studies the horse's weight, his past performances, the track conditions, the jockey's record. Then he tries to weigh a few imponderables: e.g., how badly do the owner and the jockey want to win this race? The wise-guy fan isn't particularly horrified by the dark shenanigans he suspects. He only wishes he were in on them.