Perfectly Polished

California Chrome Poised For Kentucky Derby Run

In a time when the collective cheers of a nation are typically reserved for Super Bowl MVPs and World Series champions, horse racing is about to unleash its own version of unbridled pandemonium. The field for the 140^th running of the Kentucky Derby has now been set. This year’s bunch is perhaps the most meaningful to load into the gates at Churchill Downs in recent memory. Racing has endured its fair share of black eyes in 2014, and the sport presently sits at a crossroads that can only be traversed on the back of a newfound hero.

In 2012, J. Paul Reddam’s colt I’ll Have Another was blazing a triumphant path towards the ever-elusive Triple Crown. This achievement would never be realized, however, as injury forced him into retirement just one day prior to the Belmont Stakes. Not since the likes of the great Zenyatta has an equine athlete captivated audiences outside of racing’s inner circle. The sport has been waiting for its next guiding light, that transcendent figure capable of pumping excitement back through the veins of mainstream America. This wait may soon be coming to an end as a California-bred three-year-old is about to take center stage on racing’s most coveted day.

Perry and Denise Martin, Carolyn and Steve Coburn (Photo Courtesy of Benoit Photo)

The stories behind California Chrome and his connections have been well-chronicled. The horse nicknamed “Junior” is the first foal out of a little known mare named Love The Chase.  The mare was purchased by first-time owners Perry Martin and Steve Coburn for a meager $8,000. Love The Chase earned only one victory during her brief time on the track, yet that did not deter Martin and Coburn from their lifelong dream. A groom standing nearby as they made the purchase remarked that someone would have to be a “dumb ass” to buy the old girl. 

Naturally, the new owners next did what seemed most fitting as they aptly named their operation DAP Racing, short for Dumb Ass Partners. They chose green and purple for their racing silks in honor of their wives’ favorite colors. A bright green jackass was also emblazoned on the silks as their way of poking fun at the high society and riches so often associated with the sport. Yes, it’s safe to say that Martin and Coburn are as blue-collared and well-liked as they come in a world that centers squarely on the almighty dollar.

Love The Chase was bred in California to a sire named Lucky Pulpit. When the time came to name their new foal, Martin and Coburn remained unconventional, asking a waitress at a restaurant to pull a name out from a hat during dinner. The name that waitress pulled was none other than California Chrome.

Art Sherman (Photo Courtesy of Benoit Photo)

Trainer Art Sherman’s career in racing dates back to an era when female carhops were still delivering food on roller skates. As an eighteen-year-old in 1955, Sherman found his way to the Kentucky Derby as an exercise rider and traveling companion for the legendary Swaps. The trip out to Louisville took the pair four days in a dusty rail car. Swaps, also known as the California Comet, went on to win the Derby that year and would eventually go down as one of only three California-bred horses in history to pull off the herculean feat.

Sherman’s first professional mount as a jockey came in 1957 at Hollywood Park, and over the next twenty-one years, he enjoyed moderate acclaim at race tracks all across the land.  For many athletes, life after their career can be deflating, but Art Sherman was determined to make a name for himself as a trainer long after his days in the saddle had come to an end.

Back in March of 2013, Art Sherman received an email from Perry Martin that included a very specific outline for the two-year-old colt heading to his barn. The email was entitled “The Road to the Kentucky Derby.” Martin listed the races that California Chrome would need to successfully compete in so that his spot in the 2014 Kentucky Derby was secured.  Rather than dismiss the outlandish blueprint from this first-time owner, Sherman read it through with great sincerity, and opted instead to set Martin’s detailed plan into motion.

California Chrome (Photo Courtesy of Eric Dives)

California Chrome’s first race came in April of 2013. He was entered in a four and one half furlong maiden special weight affair held at Betfair Hollywood Park. Chrome did not win. He would run a solid second that day, but was entered back just three weeks later at the same level to record his first victory.  The next four races included a fifth in the Willard L. Proctor Memorial Stakes, a first in the Graduation Stakes at Del Mar, and consecutive sixth place finishes in the Del Mar Futurity and the Golden State Juvenile Stakes.

It was then that Art Sherman used his thirty-five years of training experience to make a difficult decision. Alberto Delgado had ridden California Chrome in all but one of his career starts. Delgado had done an admirable job, but Sherman also knew that racing at the elite level would require a more seasoned and savvy rider. Enter Victor Espinoza.

The majestic chestnut and his new jockey were about to reel off the most divine string of victories that California horse racing had seen in quite some time. The final stakes race run on the hallowed ground at Hollywood Park was the King Glorious on December 22, 2013. California Chrome was dominant, pulling away late from his in-state rivals under a hand ride by Espinoza. He would do the same in the California Cup Derby at Santa Anita one month later. These victories were important, but the team knew that their horse would only be taken seriously if he were to face off and win versus non-state-bred competition.

California Chrome delivered again. He obliterated a talented field in the San Felipe Stakes, and it was around this time that stories behind the horse and his connections truly began to surface. Much to the surprise of many, California Chrome was training at Los Alamitos, a venue best known for its weekend quarter horse racing. His presence there brought great credibility to the track destined to fill the void left by Hollywood Park’s closing.

The racing community learned of Junior’s affinity for Mrs. Pasture’s Horse Cookies, and fans were subsequently shocked as they uncovered the lineage behind the sport’s newest icon. Reporters were lining up for interviews with Martin and Coburn, hoping to unearth as much information as they could about the enigmatic pair. Art Sherman referenced the mighty colt as his “Swaps” and stated repeatedly that Chrome was nothing short of a rock star. All that remained in the Golden State was to go out and win the Santa Anita Derby.     

California Chrome Romps in the Santa Anita Derby (Photo Courtesy of Eric Dives)

Bob Baffert, John Sadler, and a host of other trainers saddled their very best in hopes of ending the California-bred Prince’s streak at three. Fortunately for Art Sherman and his team, hope and reality can rarely stand together in the winner’s circle. California Chrome did not break smoothly, yet once Victor Espinoza helped him regain his composure down the backstretch, the outcome was all but sealed. Hoppertunity and Candy Boy turned in commendable performances, but the day would unequivocally belong to the horse from the humble beginnings. California Chrome was victorious, this time by more than five lengths.

Perhaps Denise Martin (Perry’s wife) said it best as she described California Chrome’s meteoric rise to a Sacramento based reporter. “He’s not just our horse anymore; he’s his own horse, the people’s horse.” Martin explained.

As the gates break open for the 140^th running of the Kentucky Derby, there will be factors and uncertainties that simply cannot be accounted for. The horse racing world will still be lying in wait for its next guiding light. Some people will scream for a longshot, while others will root on a jockey, but their voices will quickly be silenced as the cheers rain down for the horse that is perfectly polished. 

Capture The Turnstile Gang

Sunrise. This one eases ever so gently out of bed. She turns back the down comforter and stretches her naked arms in the air to praise the glory of morning. Her gratitude does not end there. Recently painted toenails are guided into a pair of sheepskin slippers, and as she stands, the smell of freshly ground coffee begins to overwhelm her senses. She fashions her auburn hair in a schoolgirl’s ponytail as she saunters off towards the kitchen. An avocado omelet and the Daily Racing Form are awaiting her arrival.

This one is fast at work, desperately gathering up loose change from the four corners of his apartment. He tears back the couch cushions, and then proceeds to ransack the pockets of his previously worn trousers. The coins are deposited in a small plastic bag, yet they do not slide easily from the clutches of his clammy palms. He amasses just enough for bus fare, the entrance fee, and three six-dollar plays that have been mapped out with cautious optimism. It is almost time to leave, but before he can do so, a decision must be reached as to whether or not a shower or shave will be worth the added effort.  

This one refuses to depart without his lucky pen, and that one places an old Irish florin at the bottom of her aging purse. This one will not go without her multi-colored paper clips, and that one never forgets to slip three rubber bands over his right hand and onto his wrist.

1957 Ford Thunderbird

Daylight. A 1957 Ford Thunderbird is rolling down the boulevard. This one is married to a man that specializes in classic car restoration. Her delicate fingers fumble through a gaudy Coach Handbag as she searches for her instrument of choice. A small cylindrical gadget is then pulled from the bag and the rubbing of red gloss along her puckered lips commences. The rear view mirror has been positioned to reflect a lone image. She pushes the Maui Jim sunglasses up past her hairline, while smiling pretentiously into the glass. The Thunderbird is virtually driving itself as the reflection she admires is set to turn heads in the clubhouse. 

This one parks his powder blue Oldsmobile just inside the gates which separate the dead from the living. It is his last stop on the way to the track each and every Saturday morning. Typically, he brings sunflowers, but today a bouquet of white lilies is placed atop the grave he dreams of in his sleep. The headstone bears his last name and the year of birth inscribed is strikingly close to his own. A cardigan sweater clings to his arched back as he bends down to lovingly dust cobwebs off of the marble. He lets out a calculated sigh, wipes Saturday’s tear from his wistful eye and whispers, “Bring me a winner today, Pumpkin.”

In The New Colossus, Emma Lazarus once wrote, “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free.” Some believe the inspiration for these timeless words came from Lady Liberty herself, but to the horse player, these words imply something altogether different. Here they are, the huddled masses, converging in droves and making a mad dash for the entrance as first post draws near. They are spirited and filled with hope, a merry band of eccentrics fixated on success and yearning to breathe. This is the Turnstile Gang.

This one invests in Jimmy Jack's Jive Picks in the parking lot, and that one tucks a copy of the Daily Racing Form under his left arm. This one relies solely on her Nokia smart phone, and that one swears a program is all he needs to get the job done. Others require fewer visual aids. These are the souls who have already studied the card long into the wee hours of yesterday morning. Their plays have been painstakingly designed, and on occasion, a crumpled sheet of yellow paper is all that stands between them and a better way of life.

The Turnstile Gang Settles Into Place (Photo Courtesy of Eric Dives)

Families are here to enjoy a day in the sun together. Journalists are here to chronicle the efforts of the horses and trainers, owners and jockeys. The Fashionistas are here to make an impression, and the Grunts are here to grind out good fortune. The beauty of the track is that no individual is any more or less important than the next.

This one has budgeted ninety dollars for the day. Ten of these dollars went for parking, fifteen will be reserved for lunch, and twenty will be hidden in the secret compartment of his wallet, just in case of an emergency. That one carries no cash. She is here in admiration of the horses. This one flashes a Diners Club Gold Card near the automated teller machine, and that one pulls a chunky roll of bills from his sock each time he is in need of money.

Bets are made and wagers placed, some with deep thought, but others in haste. This one stashes the voucher back in her bra between races, and that one frequents the window of the teller who remembers more than simply faces. This one bets the jockeys, and that one bets the number nine. This one bets the trainer, and that one bets the horse that dropped their lunch not far behind.

The track offers uncensored exposure to a wide array of sights, sounds, and peculiar smells. This one is scraping Wrigley’s spearmint off the soles of his Nike Air Max sneakers, and that one is recounting her days in junior high band as she soaks in the majesty of the bugle call. This one is up to his elbows in an order of chili cheese fries, and that one has undoubtedly robbed local retailers of their annual supply of Chanel No. 5.

In Anticipation of the 77th Santa Anita Handicap (Photo Courtesy of Eric Dives)

The Turnstile Gang congregates in flocks. This one is part of the Baseball Cap Constituency. He is red in the face, laughing, and has been drinking the afternoon away sixteen splendid ounces at a time. The Preppies migrate to places inhabited by Silver Hairs and Hippies, while the Grunts do their best work alone or in small packs. This one sips pink lemonade through a straw and associates exclusively with fellow Lemonade Sippers and Fashionistas. That one speaks Mandarin and plenty speak Spanish. This one talks to a hearing impaired child with her hands, and God only knows what language that one is trying to speak.  

The races themselves bring out the best and worst humanity has to offer. This one prays to St. Christopher before each race, convinced that the patron saint of travelers will insure a safe trip for both the jockeys and the horses. That one paces incessantly during the post parade, while calling out to the track’s leading rider in hopes he might sit slightly off the speed. This one offers a high five to anyone within an arm’s length away, and that one seems to forget there are words in the English language containing more than four letters. This one screams until his cheeks have turned a shade of purplish-blue, and that one likes to toss her Stetson high in the air anytime her horse finishes in the top two. Let us also make mention of the Braggarts and Dancers, Program Slappers and Whippersnappers.

Celebrations break out among certain flocks, while tantrums are thrown and excuses become rampant in others. This is the way of things as the racing card lumbers along.

The Turnstile Gang springs into action for the last time as twilight closes in. This one cashes out at the window and makes a beeline for the ladies’ room. Once inside, she enters a stall and locks the door behind her. She tallies up the winnings in private, a firm believer that flaunting her luck in public will make for bad karma. That one begins the long, arduous walk over the hot asphalt and back to his car. A lump he has never felt before settles in like a potato at the back of his throat. He cannot breathe. He has barely come to terms with the fact that dinner this week will now consist of little more than Saltine Crackers in a watered-down chicken broth.  

Nightfall. This one puts her head upon the pillow and sleeps, dreaming of the day she will next venture off to visit the palace of infinite possibilities. That one curls his battered body into the fetal position on the kitchen floor. He vows never to return again to the scene of his financial undoing. This one is something like you. That one is something like me.

This one.

Calling Omaha

As the Denver Broncos settle in at the line of scrimmage for their first offensive play of   Super Bowl XLVIII, one word will assuredly be bellowed by quarterback Peyton Manning over and over and over again. “Omaha! Omaha! Omaha!” The word itself has quite literally become a battle cry for the entire Rocky Mountain Region, a stirring call to arms for one group of modern day gladiators, and a declaration of war as understood by yet another.

Manning Calls For An Audible (AP Photo)

Debate has ensued since the time Manning first barked out his team’s code word for an audible. Native Nebraskans will swear that he is paying homage to the place that gave birth to Father Flanagan’s Boys Town. After all, the Gateway to the West is a city that prides itself on both hard work and progress. Veterans will adamantly disagree, insisting instead that the word is a tribute to D-Day and to the Allied forces that stormed the coast of Normandy at Omaha Beach in 1944. The invasion was made in an effort to liberate mainland Europe from Nazi Occupation during World War II. On that day, men fought for country but bled for each other. It was the Greatest Generation in their most formidable hour, involved in an undertaking that would eventually help alter the course of history as we know it today.

Omaha Beach, June 6, 1944 (National Archives)

Associations are made so that people can identify more closely with matters of significant importance. Just as Nebraskans are entitled to their feelings of kinship with Manning’s play call, so too are the military veterans. The reasons behind these bonds may differ, but the word by which they are united is meaningful and special to each of them.

In the world of horse racing, this word can evoke but one image, and that image is of the 1935 Triple Crown Winner whose lifetime was colored by uncommon brilliance.

Omaha

Omaha was bred at Belair Stud in Maryland, a horse racing stable and breeding farm that dates back further than most people have cared to trace their own lineage. It was erected during Colonial times, but the farm did not gain great prominence until it was purchased by New York City banker James T. Woodward in 1898. Woodward and his family constructed glorious new stables just after the turn of the twentieth century, and upon his passing, the property and all of its enterprise was turned over to his nephew, William Woodward, Sr.

Under William Woodward, the farm produced some of the most magnificent thoroughbreds the United States had ever seen. Woodward built his broodmare line with French imports, but the results of this breeding operation became pure American masterpieces.

Omaha was foaled at Claiborne Farm in Paris, Kentucky on March 24, 1932. He was a chestnut horse with a white blaze, and as a yearling he was described by some as clumsy and awkward. Omaha was the son of 1930 Triple Crown winner Gallant Fox out of the mare Flambino. Woodward had grand hopes for this son of racing royalty. In fact, he was so inspired early on by the colt’s arrival that he gave serious consideration to shipping him over to England to train for the Epsom Derby. Fortunately, he delayed this move until 1936.

James Edward Fitzsimmons, better known as Sunny Jim, was hired on as the Belair Stud trainer by William Woodward in 1923. Sunny Jim had trained Gallant Fox throughout his Triple Crown campaign, so taking on the duties for Omaha seemed only fitting.

Omaha did not have an auspicious start to his two-year-old season. He lost his very first race in a photo finish, but managed to break his maiden five days later on June 23, 1934. Seven more times he would start that calendar year, and seven more times he would lose. He ran fourth in the Hotel Stakes, and fourth again in the Saratoga Special Stakes. He did piece together strong performances in the Sanford, Hopeful, and Champagne Stakes, but ran a disappointing fourth in the Futurity at Belmont Park. He would close out his year with a solid second in the Junior Champion Stakes over one mile, yet the promise his owner and trainer had seen from the beginning was not translating into victories on the race track.

Omaha With Willie "Smokey" Saunders

1935 blew in like a windstorm of unfettered dreams, and Omaha continued to receive top billing from the Belair Stud and William Woodward. Sunny Jim was pleased to see that his prized colt had filled out with a good deal of muscle, and Jockey Willie “Smokey” Saunders received word that he would be given the mounts on Omaha for his three-year-old season. All the pieces of the puzzle appeared to be in place.

Omaha’s first race of the year was a smashing allowance victory at Aqueduct Race Track. He was next entered into the Wood Memorial Stakes, where he ran just third, but was said to be closing “like a runaway train” by an on-site reporter for the Milwaukee Journal. Despite having won only two races, Omaha would go to post as the second choice in the 1935 Kentucky Derby. The favorite was Calumet Farm’s Nellie Flag, the well-meant daughter to Man o’ War’s champion son American Flag, ridden by jockey Eddie Arcaro. 

The course at Churchill Downs was listed as good, but the weather was troubled at best.  The eighteen horses entered lined up for a standing start that day. When the gun sounded, Omaha broke in good order, and as the field moved along the backstretch, he systematically began to pick off horses as they made their way up to the quarter pole. By the time the group came off the turn, Omaha and Willie “Smokey” Saunders seized the lead and would never look back. A hard-charging Roman Soldier finished second, but Nellie Flag could do no better than fourth. Omaha had decisively earned his roses.

Omaha Following His Preakness Victory

Omaha went on to capture the Preakness at Pimlico by seven lengths over Firethorn, yet a loss in the Withers to Rosemont created doubt as the Belmont Stakes rapidly approached. The track at Belmont was sloppy and just five runners were entered. They moved in a tight pack for the first third of the race, but as they neared the midway point, Firethorn began to separate himself from the rest of the field. This led to one of the most celebrated stretch drives in the history of the Triple Crown. Firethorn continued to pull away, but incredibly, Omaha was now pulling on Firethorn. He drew alongside the front-runner with less than one furlong to go, and like a star in the dark of the night, he shot by Firethorn to take the Belmont and complete the Triple Crown.

Omaha’s brilliance did not end in the mud at Belmont. He dominated the Dwyer Stakes and outlasted his competition in the Arlington Classic. In 1936, William Woodward made good on his pledge and sent him over to England to compete in a series of renowned turf races. This included appearances in such races as the Queen’s Plate, the Ascot Gold Cup, and the Princess of Wales’s Stakes at Newmarket. Omaha performed admirably, but it will forever be his Triple Crown success for which he is best remembered.

Omaha’s career at stud was less than a stellar one. He sired very few noteworthy offspring during his time back at Claiborne Farm. Ultimately, he was shipped off to the Jockey Club’s Breeding Bureau in upstate New York. He remained there for the next seven years, until he was moved once again, this time to a farm forty-five miles south of Omaha in Nebraska. It was there that the 1935 Triple Crown champion would live out the rest of his life. He could occasionally be seen at the Ak-Sar-Ben Race Track, or posing for pictures on the farm with families and young children. Lives can be lost to tragedy, but some are merely claimed by time. Omaha died in 1959 at the age of twenty-seven. 

On Super Bowl Sunday, Peyton Manning will lead the Denver Broncos onto the field. His offense will stride to the line of scrimmage, and he will belt out an audible for the whole of a nation to hear. Some people might think of a city, while others may reflect on a war, but everyone should remember a champion as he calls out for Omaha.   

Something to Believe In

Legends are not simply conjured out of thin air and pasted on to the pages of our children’s history books. Rather, they are conceived from the most exquisite blend of pinpoint timing and awe-inspiring achievement. Willie Mays knew this as he chased down an uncatchable fly ball in the 1954 World Series. Years later, fans knew it as Gale Sayers fielded a punt and galloped eighty-five yards over the Wrigley Field mud for a touchdown, thus marking his sixth score of the day as a rookie with the Chicago Bears. And in horse racing, Hollywood Park’s track announcer, Vic Stauffer certainly knew it as his deafening cries for Zenyatta shook the grandstand and echoed on up into the heavens during the 2010 Vanity Handicap.

 

Zenyatta Triumphs in the 2010 Vanity Handicap (Photo Courtesy of Benoit Photos)

In sports, and in life, everyone needs someone or something to believe in. It is belief that nourishes the spectator’s soul as they cheer on competitors in all forms of competition. Belief unites people who would otherwise have no plausible reason to interact with each other. It is the hymn the crowd hums to in one voice, a rousing Ode to Joy in a world that requires sublime harmony. As we aspire to find the next horse racing icon or legend to embrace, let us not only believe, but let us share in this belief with one another.  

Few names are as synonymous with California horse racing as that of Hall of Fame trainer, Jerry Hollendorfer. After working odd jobs under the guidance of trainers Jerry Dutton and Jerry Fanning, Hollendorfer took out his own training license in 1979. By the middle part of the 1980’s, he himself had emerged as a prominent figure on the Northern California racing scene. Over the span of the next three decades, Hollendorfer’s rise to racing immortality took shape by earning an unprecedented number of training titles at both Bay Meadows and Golden Gate Fields.

An equally amazing accomplishment has been the endless slew of graded stakes wins he has compiled. These victories, along with a sprinkling of good fortune in the Kentucky Oaks, have all helped to permanently cement his place in the record books. Hollendorfer has saddled such greats as Pike Place Dancer, Heatseeker, Hystericalady, Tuscan Evening, and Blind Luck. He has amassed well in excess of 6,500 wins to date, and is the third winningest trainer in the history of North American thoroughbred racing.

Jerry Hollendorfer (Photo Courtesy of Vassar Photography)

Jerry Hollendorfer has rejoiced in more jaw-dropping moments than most trainers could dare dream, yet past success has not tarnished his keen eye for talent in the present. His current stable includes the likes of stakes winners Halo Dolly, Sahara Sky, Sweet Lulu, and Tamarando. It could be said that there is little left for Hollendorfer to achieve, but the one coveted prize that has long eluded the Wizard of the West Coast has been securing victory in a Triple Crown race. This accolade now appears to be well within his grasp.

Shared Belief first appeared on the track for trainer, Jedd Josephson in a Maiden Special Weight affair held on October 19, 2013 at Golden Gate Fields. He was not the post time favorite. That designation was reserved for Time Jumper, another of Hollendorfer’s many equine prodigies. The start was an unassuming one, but as they moved past the quarter pole, it became crystal-clear that Shared Belief would have no trouble disposing of this considerably overmatched field. He won by seven lengths.

Soon after the dominant maiden score, the dark bay gelding was purchased from Pam and Marty Wygod by a partnership that included both Hollendorfer and Jim Rome’s Jungle Racing Stable. The two-year-old son of Candy Ride was headed for Southern California.

Shared Belief faced winners for the first time as he lined up alongside four rivals in the Hollywood Prevue Stakes. The race, contested in early November at Betfair Hollywood Park, was brimming with gifted runners. Among the entries, the most notable was odds-on favorite Kobe’s Back, a gray powerhouse of a colt trained by John Sadler.

Jockey Corey Nakatani was blessed with the mount on Jerry Hollendorfer’s two-year-old phenomenon that day. As the race unfolded, Shared Belief tracked the front-runner intently up the backstretch, and by the time they came off the turn, he began to leave all challengers in his wake as he made a mockery of an immensely talented field. Kobe’s Back crossed the finish line in second, nearly eight lengths behind the budding superstar.   

Shared Belief Speeds Away in the CashCall Futurity (Photo Courtesy of Benoit Photos)

Shared Belief’s final Call to the Post in 2013 came for the Grade I CashCall Futurity at Betfair Hollywood Park. Twelve of the country’s most promising two-year-olds took center stage with the eyes of the racing world fixed upon them. This time, the role of favorite would be played by Shared Belief. He stalked the early pace under the cool confidence of Corey Nakatani and sat a close second, but as the leaders left the backstretch, Candy Boy made an aggressive move outside of horses and worked his way up to the front. Nakatani had seen just about enough. At the top of the stretch, he asked Shared Belief to respond, and oh, what a response it was! The grandstand quickly erupted into a thunderous roar as Shared Belief snatched the lead and widened on the field all the way to the wire.

Hollendorfer’s crown jewel has not taken a faulty stride in three starts, yet the naysayers are already questioning his level of competition, the pedigree, and his unknown efficiency on dirt as opposed to the synthetic. Doubt remains one of life’s greatest certainties, but when the winds of destiny begin to blow, it is time for even the non-believers to take notice.

Legends are not conjured out of thin air. They are bestowed upon us by the gods for all humanity to celebrate. As the first Saturday in May draws ever closer, let us celebrate in Shared Belief together.