I always wanted to be a photojournalist, or: how I scored a press pass at the Belmont Stakes

One day before watching the U.S. win a moral victory over my Argentina soccer team, Blue and I headed out to the Belmont Stakes for what was supposed to be a historic race.

Big Brown was supposed to win the first Triple Crown in 30 years. It was all but guaranteed.

You know what else was supposed to be guaranteed? My Little League team winning the championship in 1991. An Al Gore presidency in 2000. Finally learning whether Tony Danza or Angela Bower was the boss by 1992.

When your hopes of a baseball trophy or democratically run election are dashed, you learn to suck it up and move on. Even when Alyssa Milano won’t return your phone calls.

So, to me, it was no big deal watching Big Brown finish last in the Belmont Stakes. Because I learned two things that day:

(1) Picking seven of the winning horses in 11 races is, apparently, a great achievement, even when your wagering result is a net loss of $16.

(2) Befriending the sound guy of a major media organization just might result in him lending you his press pass.

Blue, his friend the Tao of Lou, his girlfriend, and I headed to Belmont Park bright and early, catching the 9:55 a.m. LIRR train out of New York City. This was my first horse race, a bonus to a weekend where we were going to the Meadowlands to watch Argentina play the U.S. national soccer team.

We found an ideal spot on the lawn directly in front of the track. We lay down our blankets, put on sunblock, and did what we came to do: gamble on some fast motherfucking horses.

Blue gave me a crash course on how to place wagers at the track, illuminating me on what the hell an Exacta Box was and showing me how to read the racing program.

I quickly became the Greatest Student Ever because I won seven of the first eight races, an astounding success rate that many gamblers, I’m sure, will want to replicate.

For those of you interested in winning at the track, here is my now-patented wagering system if you ever want to try it:

“I like the name of that horse Ventura because it reminds me of Ventura Blvd. in LA. I think I’ll bet on it. What? It’s 8-1? Who cares. Hey, look, I won!”

By the end of the eighth race, I was up $24.50, mostly due to the fact that I wasn’t wagering much money and the one loss cost me quite a bit.

But I lost the last three races (a combined $40) and I ended the day in the red. This included placing $12 on Big Brown to win (at 1-4 odds, it would have only paid out $3).

Didn’t win any money on that race, naturally.

But I did get to cover the race from the vantage point of a photojournalist. And that made it all worthwhile.

As the big race grew nearer, people started to cram into our little patch of lawn, hugging the fence and taking over the spot I had planned on taking to photograph the race.

Armed with my 75-300 mm lens, I had practiced photographing the earlier races and was excited to take “The Great Shot” of Big Brown making history.

Police and track officials manned the pit where only media were allowed, giving menacing looks to anyone who dared cross the gate. I started talking to a sound guy near the gate and asked him if it was OK to stand there during the race. He said sure and we started talking.

Though he let me stand near the fence, my shot was still blocked by dozens of credentialed photographers.

Still, the second that Big Brown et al shot from the gate, he took off the press pass hanging around his neck, handed it to me, and said, simply, “GO!”

I walked through the gate and found a spot next to the other photojournalists covering the race. I crouched down, checked my camera settings, and as the horses came around the turn, I started snapping.

No one could see Big Brown, of course, who by that time had been pulled back by the jockey. I tried concentrating on the horses still left in the field and gained a newfound respect for photogs who do this for a living. The horses stormed by and getting a good shot proved harder than I expected. The crowd, which had been cheering for Big Brown, realized they were not going to see a Triple Crown winner and started to boo.

I kept snapping shots and then watched as the other photographers ditched their area and ran toward the finish line. Hanging on to “my” press pass, I ran behind them, making my way to the Winner’s Circle.

There, I saw the winner Da’Tara, who ran at 38-1, stroll by as his jockey Alan Garcia beamed. His owner, trainer, and their family cheered, hugging and kissing each other, celebrating in front of an obviously dejected crowd.

Eventually, I walked in to the track along with the rest of the media. I remembered the adage that I should act like I belong, show confidence, and no one would realize I was just some spectator poser hoping no one would notice my crappy camera and 18-55mm lens.

Everyone kept taking photos as I acted the. Many of my shots weren’t good but I was too excited to be “part” of the media to care. Of course, THIS was the shot I would have liked to have gotten.

I asked a professional to take a photo of me on the track with my camera for my “employee file”. He said sure and took my camera. I asked if I could use his camera and HUGE zoom lens as a prop. he hesitated until I said, “I left my other camera back there,” pointing to where I had been standing.

He let me hold his camera as he snapped my “employee file” photo.

I took more pictures of Da’Tara’s entourage before finding myself next to Garcia. He looked so happy as reporters asked him, “How do you feel?” I just kept taking photos and pretending like I knew what I was doing.

I had been trying to get ahold of Blue on my cell to no avail. Reporters and photographers started to walk inside to attend the press conference. I considered going but had no idea if my group was still waiting or eager to go.

Reluctantly, I walked back.

I gave my media friend back his press pass and told him about the experience. He gave me a thumbs up. I excitedly told Blue, the Tao of Lou, and his girlfriend about what had happened. Blue told me I should have gone to the press conference.

As it turned out, Blue’s girlfriend’s brother Paul had sent him a text message asking him to put money on Da’Tara and Denis of Cork to finish first and second, which they did. Blue, for whatever reason, I think because of long lines at the betting windows, didn’t make the bet, which cost Paul $1,600.

Paul told him it was ok, adding, “Easy come, easy go.”

I told Blue we should make it a tradition and go to the Belmont Stakes every year.

I just hope my press pass is waiting.