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Sport: The Year of Canonero

5 minute read
TIME

When he came from nowhere to win the Kentucky Derby, the experts sneered over their mint juleps and dismissed him as a fluke. At the Preakness, the horse they called a “ragamuffin” had the same experts choking on their clam cakes as he sped home the winner. Then the wisecracks turned to wonderment. Could he do it? Could this rank unknown, this invader from Venezuela—Venezuela?—make off with the most coveted honor in U.S. horse racing, the Triple Crown? Last week a record crowd of 81,036 came to find out, as the big (16.1 hands) copper colt went to the post in the $125,000 Belmont Stakes, the final jewel in the Triple Crown. A fleet, frantic 2 min. 30.2 sec. later, the fans at Belmont and millions more watching on TV in the U.S. and Venezuela had the answer: no.

Though he went off as the 3-to-5 favorite, Cañonero II was bucking the far more formidable odds of history. In more than a century of competition, only eight horses have won the Triple Crown; the last was Citation, who turned the trick in 1948. One reason for the scarcity of Triple Crown winners is that the grueling length of the Belmont —1½ miles, against 1¼ for the Derby and l 3/16 for the Preakness—has a way of producing upsets. Another is that the competition among three-year-olds has become increasingly stiff. Citation, for example, was one of 5,819 thoroughbreds foaled in 1945; Cañonero was one of 22,911 born in 1968—and a most unimpressive one at that. Indeed it is not so much the rarity of a Triple Crown contender but the ragamuffin-to-riches rise that has made Cañonero, as his trainer Juan Arias says, the “champion of the people.”

Unclassy Beginning. Bred in Kentucky, the colt looked like an also-ran at the 1969 Keeneland Fall Sales. Not that his breeding was bad, but he was small and had a split hoof and a bad case of worms. A Venezuelan agent bought him for a paltry $1,200 and shipped him off to Caracas, where he was sold to Millionaire Horseman Pedro Baptista for $6,000. Nursed through his early infirmities, Cañonero grew into a strapping three-year-old with an exceptionally long (30 ft.) stride. When Venezuela’s top rider, Gustavo Avila, was put in the saddle last March, Cañonero reeled off three straight wins. Convinced that he had a winning combination, Baptista packed his horse off to the Kentucky Derby. Cañonero, warned one Caracas newspaper, would be “hopelessly outclassed.”

The beginning, at least, was decidedly unclassy. When the horse finally arrived in Louisville, he was haggard, bruised, feverish and 51 lbs. underweight —just five days before the Derby. Arias, who believed that the speed trials favored by American trainers rob a horse of his stamina, worked Cañonero at a leisurely trot. A 100-to-l shot on some tip sheets, Cañonero moved from deep in the pack to win by 3¾ lengths. “What do they have to say now!” cried the jubilant Arias.

From the Horse’s Mouth. They said that the Derby field of 20 was so unwieldy that any nag could win. Arias was not listening. A kind of Latin Dr. Dolittle, he was talking to his animal. “Cañonero,” he said solemnly, “told me six days before the Derby that he would win. On Wednesday he told me that he would win the Preakness.” Win he did. Rounding the final turn, Avila let Cañonero have his head, and the horse swept by Eastern Fleet and won going away. Cañonero’s winning time of 1 min. 54 sec. clipped three-fifths of a second off the old Preakness record set by Nashua in 1955.

Going into the Belmont, the tune had changed. Reggie Cornell, the trainer of Eastern Fleet, would not even enter his horse. “Not me,” he said. “I’ll let somebody else chase that cannon-ball.” Nevertheless, a lot of somebodies decided to try—especially after a skin rash and an infected hoof caused Cañonero to miss two days of training. By post time, the field had grown to 13; nine of the horses Cañonero had never met before, including a speedy bay colt named Pass Catcher who had registered two firsts and a second in his last three starts.

People’s Champ. Breaking from the No. 7 post position, Cañonero surprised the chalk players by taking the lead at the clubhouse turn and holding it for more than a mile. Avila, who rode high in the irons trying to conserve his mount, said later: “I just couldn’t hold him back.” Then rounding the final turn, the challengers came on. Pass Catcher, a 30-to-l shot, broke through and battled Jim French to the wire to win by three-fourths of a length. A tired Cañonero faded to fourth behind Bold Reason. Afterward, a disconsolate Arias said that Cañonero was “only 75%” of his old self. “I will bet my head that he is the best horse.” To the many fans who had adopted the “champion of the people,” he still was—win or lose. Indeed, brilliant though Pass Catcher’s performance was, the 1971 season would undoubtedly go down as the Year of Cañonero.

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