For 29 years, jockey Mario Pino has quietly and consistently fulfilled his childhood dream of winning horse races. Never flashy, never particularly interested in attention, Pino might be the least famous jockey in the 5,000-win club, and barring injury, he'll almost certainly be the least famous jockey in the 6,000-win club in the near future.
That almost changed, however, during this year's Kentucky Derby. Pino, who lives with his wife and three daughters in Ellicott City, had Hard Spun in the lead coming around the final turn before Street Sense passed him on the backstretch, forcing him to settle for second place, a strong effort in what was his first Derby.
Despite a hectic six-race schedule, Pino agreed to let a Sun reporter shadow him throughout Preakness Day, giving us a chance to experience the life of a veteran jockey.
9:21 a.m.: The sun has just begun to wiggle out from behind the clouds when a truck, a charcoal-gray Lincoln Navigator, glides into the parking lot. Two valets, both wearing large aviator sunglasses and even larger grins, hustle to open the doors. Billy Castle, Pino's fast-talking, sharply dressed agent, opens the driver's side door and immediately begins shaking hands.
"I'll tell you right now what this day is going to be about," Castle quips as the two men are escorted inside. "Suffering, baby! Suf-fer-ing!" As Pino makes his way through the grandstands in the direction of the jockeys' room, he can't walk more than 20 feet without someone rushing forward to shake his hand.
"This is a real treat, Mario! A real treat!" says a man as he pumps Pino's hand. "You're going to be great today!"
9:36 a.m.: In the jockeys' room, riders are chattering in Spanish and nibbling on bananas. Pino, 45, tilts his head back and squirts Visine into his eyes. He's running in six races today, so it's going to be a grind, a struggle to stay focused.
The Preakness is eight hours away. Pino's first race, though, is in less than an hour.
He hangs his suit on a thick brass hanger and rubs his hands together. Inside his locker, there are pictures of his wife, Christina, and his three daughters: Danielle (19), Victoria (14) and Evana (11). Danielle just finished her freshman year at the University of North Carolina, and Victoria is a point guard on the Centennial High girls basketball team. When he's not racing, Pino and Evana wage two-on-one basketball grudge matches against Victoria in the Pino family driveway.
"I used to be able to beat her, but she's grown up, and now she can put the moves on me," says Pino, who is 5 feet 5. "I had to get my youngest to help me just to make it fair. But it's fun."
"P-Man!" barks one of the valets, the workers who keep the clubhouse organized and help the jockeys dress. "Can I get you to sign some programs?"
Pino nods, smiles, and scribbles his name, an act he will repeat hundreds of times before the day is up.
He changes into his white racing pants, and stretches in silence. He slips into a blue pair of flip-flops, which have the word "Victory" stamped just above his toes.
Adam Campola, clerk of the scales and the man who makes certain everything runs on time inside the jockeys' room, throws a few fake punches at Pino.
"How did you sleep last night?" Campola says.
"OK," Pino says.
"I slept terrible. I was so worried about you!" Campola shouts, as the two exchange a hug.
10:30 a.m.: Riding a chestnut brown horse named Cherokee Spirit, Pino is favored in the first race, and at the halfway point, he's leading the field. But in the final turn, Cherokee Spirit runs out of gas, and Pino finishes fourth. His face is covered with mud as he makes his way back to the jockeys' room.
He has less than five minutes before he needs to head down to the paddock again and be ready for his second race. It's hardly enough time to sponge the grime off his face, grab a sip of water and change his boots and silks.
"Come on, Pino, time to go!" Campola shouts. "And bring [Ramon] Dominguez with you!"
Pino quickly nibbles on a banana. His breakfast this morning consisted of half a bagel. That's all he'll eat until dinner.
10:50 a.m.: On the back of Colonial Silver, a gray horse expected to make a late charge, Pino gets lodged in traffic. He finishes fourth.
"The track is good, but I've finished with two fourths," Pino says. "The horses were trying, but they just got outrun. They weren't quite good enough."
When he was younger, two mediocre races might have bothered Pino, but he says he's learned to let it go.
Soon, the loudspeaker in the jockeys' room crackles, bringing him to his feet. "Mario Pino, up front, please! Phone call!"
Campola hands him the receiver. It's Rick Wilson, a former jockey and good friend of Pino's. Wilson was badly injured during a race three years ago and hasn't run since. He wants to wish Pino luck.
"It's always on every jockey's mind," Pino says, when asked if he ever thinks about falling. "You know that every single race you run, you can get hurt. I've had a lot of falls, but thankfully God has been with me every time. You learn to shake it off."
12:06 p.m.: Castle, Pino's agent, is fidgeting in the stands next to Pino's wife, Christina. He can't sit still.
"We can't have any more doughnuts, man," Castle says as he waits for Pino's third race. "The name of the game is winning, and we need to get him some wins."
Castle and Pino have been friends for the past year, and have an atypical agent-rider relationship. Castle lives with the Pinos.
"He's the most humble professional athlete I've ever come across," Castle says. "I'm not saying that because I'm his agent. I'm saying it because it's the truth. ... Plus Christina does my laundry, so it's a pretty great setup for me."
Christina Pino smiles. She's wearing a white silk sundress with spaghetti straps and gold trim, and looks younger than her 38 years. Her hands, and her perfectly manicured nails, never stop moving when she talks.
"I was 16 years old when I met Mario," Christina Pino says. "My sister and I went to a Christmas party, and Mario and I were kind of eyeing one another from across the room. About halfway through the party, he came over and asked me to dance. We got married two years later. It will be 21 years in August. ... I'll never forget that he puts his life on the line every day to provide for his family. If he wakes me up at 4 a.m. because he wants to talk, I'm up."
12:15 p.m.: Riding Suave Jazz, a heavy favorite, Pino takes the lead late in his third race of the day.
"Come on, Mar!" Christina Pino screams, as the horses make the final turn. Before the day is up, she'll lose her voice from yelling.
Pino is fighting his horse, trying to prevent it from pushing too hard, too early and running out of gas. Pino gets him under control, just barely, and wins by half a length. It's the 5,900th victory of his career.
"When I started back in 1979, I thought that I'd race four years and be done," Pino says. "To still be here after 29 years is amazing. ... I'll never forget my first win. It was down in Bowie, on a horse named Ed's Design. I wore No. 7. That's the kind of stuff you never forget."
2:51 p.m.: Pino gets his second victory of the day riding Diabolical, a beautiful horse as dark as charcoal, to a close victory over another horse named Talent Search in the $200,000 Maryland Sprint Handicap. This time, Pino's three daughters get to join him in the winner's circle. Each has long, dark hair, just like her mother. Christina Pino hugs friends, poses for pictures while Castle works the crowd. Evana, the youngest Pino daughter, is wearing a black sun dress with white polka dots. On her left arm, she has a temporary tattoo of an eagle, its colors red, white and blue.
"Great job, Dad!" she says, flashing a wide grin. Earlier this year, Evana brought home an essay she had to write for one of her classes. Its title: "Why My Father Is My Hero."
"Just hearing that really gets you right here," Pino says, touching his heart.
3:27 p.m.: It's time to relax now. Pino lies down on the bench in front of his locker. Hoping he can take a quick nap, he cues up some music on his silver iPod Mini. He closes his eyes as Neil Diamond gives way to the Dixie Chicks, Elvis and eventually James Blunt.
4:44 p.m.: All the jockeys running in the Preakness gather for a photo in the lounge, just outside the locker room. Pino, second from the left, suggests the jockeys cross their arms, and everyone follows his lead. He stares into the camera without smiling.
5:27 p.m.: NBC's Bob Costas makes his way through the crowded jockeys' room, an army of producers and cameramen in his wake. He and Pino make small talk while NBC prepares to go on the air with the last of its pre-race interviews. "Were you ever into any other sports?" Costas asks. "I actually was pretty good at basketball," Pino says. "Me, too," Costas says. "But I was so small, people would just laugh at me. I'll tell you what, I definitely enjoy interviewing jockeys more than I do someone like Shaquille O'Neal."
5:48 p.m.: With a light rain falling, Pino tears off a piece of plastic wrap to put over his racing goggles to keep them dry during the Preakness pre-race ceremonies. He slips into his red and white silks, donning No. 7, and stretches his legs one last time. When Campola calls for the riders to head downstairs, Pino takes his whip off the wall, grabs his harness and readies himself for what he hopes will be his biggest win.
6:17 p.m.: Pino and Hard Spun come out of the gate strong and clean. In the stands, sitting just a few rows behind Gov. Martin O'Malley and his family, Christina Pino, her daughters, and Castle nervously follow the action on the giant video screen. Pino is hanging back, sitting in third, waiting to make his move. Finally, heading into the far turn, he decides now is time, and as Hard Spun charges into the lead, the crown roars for the hometown favorite.
6:18 p.m.: Hard Spun is trying to hang on, but Street Sense, the Kentucky Derby winner, and Curlin are charging fast. Pino goes hard to the whip, but the horse is slowly fading. Christina Pino and Castle, both of their voices spent, can only watch in disappointment. Hard Spun hangs on for third.
6:28 p.m.: Pino does a few quick and gracious interviews, then makes his way into the stands to find his family. "Good job, Dad," Evana Pino says. Her father nods and smiles in her direction. "He fought hard, he was just getting a little tired," Pino says of Hard Spun.
6:36 p.m.: Pino wipes the mud off his face and watches a replay of the race as he munches on a handful of animal crackers. Asked to reflect on his day, Pino shrugs his shoulders. "It was an awesome day," he says. "I got everything I wanted out of it."
For the first time, though, he can finally look forward to dinner. "I'm starving," he says. "It's been a long, long day."
kevin.vanvalkenburg @baltsun.com