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7 Burning Belmont Questions

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After American Pharoah ran away with both the Kentucky Derby and the Preakness, racing fans have been clamoring that this might finally be the year we get to see another Triple Crown winner. The Belmont Stakes, the venerable race and final jewel in the Triple Crown, has dashed the hopes of more than a few highly touted contenders, but what makes the race so special? Here are some answers to our favorite Belmont questions.

Why is it called the Belmont Stakes?

August Belmont, a wealthy businessman, provided the financial backing for the first running of the race in 1867. (The Belmont is the oldest of the three Triple Crown races. The Preakness wasn't run until 1873, and the Kentucky Derby didn't start until 1875.) The race was originally run at the Bronx's Jerome Park Racetrack, but it moved to Morris Park Racecourse in 1890 before finally settling at its current home of Belmont Park in 1905. (Interestingly, one of Belmont's partners was Leonard Jerome, grandfather of Winston Churchill.) These first races would have looked odd to modern racing fans; until 1921 the race was run in the English fashion of having the horses circle the track clockwise.

The filly Ruthless took the first running of the race, earning her owners $1,850 after winning by a head. Her win was exceedingly unusual, though; only 22 fillies have attempted the race in its history. Only three have claimed the victor's carnations: Ruthless, Tanya in 1905, and 2007 winner Rags to Riches.

So the race has been run continuously since 1867?

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Not quite. In the early 20th century, the New York state legislature passed anti-betting laws, a step that severely hampered a gambling-based industry. As a result, Belmont Park closed down, and the race wasn't run in 1911 or 1912. Luckily, gaming-minded heads eventually prevailed, and the race resumed its normal schedule with Prince Eugene's 1913 win.

What makes it so tough?

As you might have noticed, it's not uncommon for a horse to win the Kentucky Derby and the Preakness, only to wear out in the Belmont. The race is held at a grueling distance, a mile and a half (12 furlongs) compared to 10 furlongs for the Kentucky Derby and 9.5 furlongs for the Preakness. The extra distance may not sound like a lot, but it makes it tricky to win all three races. The race was originally even longer, though; from 1867-1873 it was run at 13 furlongs.

Only 11 horses have claimed the Triple Crown, and none has done it since Affirmed triumphed in 1978. Many have gotten close, though. Charismatic came achingly close in 1999 when he led in the final furlong, only to break his leg and fall back into third. Since 2000, War Emblem, Funny Cide, Smarty Jones, Big Brown, and California Chrome have all gotten two-thirds of the way to the Triple Crown, only to fall short in the Belmont, while in 2012 I'll Have Another won the Derby and the Preakness before having to be scratched from the Belmont because of tendonitis. 

Who was the race's biggest winner?

Secretariat's run in 1973 pretty much speaks for itself. It set the world record for a mile and a half dirt race at 2:24, and impressively blew the rest of the field out of the water. "Big Red," as he was nicknamed, sped across the finish line a full 31 lengths ahead of his closest pursuer. The run was so impressive that thousands of people who had bet on Secretariat to win never cashed their tickets, choosing instead to keep them as a memento of the dominant performance. Watch it for yourself above.

What's the official drink of the race?

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Although the Belmont is the oldest of the three Triple Crown races, its signature drink does not have a storied history. From the 1970s through the 1997 race, spectators drank the White Carnation, a concoction of vodka, peach schnapps, orange juice, soda water, and cream. 

Fans weren't crazy about drinking a creamy cocktail on hot June days, so organizers commissioned a new cocktail starting with the 1998 race. The Belmont Breeze, which was invented by celebrated mixologist and "the King of Cocktails" Dale DeGroff, became the official tipple of the Belmont Stakes. The drink eschewed the relative simplicity of the Derby's mint julep and the Preakness' Black-Eyed Susan in favor of a modern rendition of a whiskey punch. DeGroff's original recipe included a mixture of blended whiskey, Harveys Bristol Cream Sherry, fresh lemon juice, simple syrup, fresh orange juice, and cranberry juice shaken together and topped with 7 Up and soda, then garnished with strawberry, a lemon piece, and a sprig of mint. The result is a refreshing, if complicated, summer drink.

The Belmont Breeze never really caught on, either, so in 2011 the Belmont once again refreshed its liquor cabinet. The result was the Belmont Jewel, a cocktail of bourbon, lemonade, and pomegranate juice served on ice. It might not challenge the mint julep's popularity, but it sounds refreshing enough. 

Are there any other relatively recent traditions?

Indeed there are. Since 1997, the crowd has belted out "New York, New York" during the race's post parade. Prior to that, the race's song was "Sidewalks of New York." The tradition of a post parade isn't new at all, though. In fact, the common sight of seeing horses trot in front of the grandstand on their way to the post was first seen in the United States at the 14th running of the Belmont Stakes in 1880.

What does the winner get?

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If American Pharoah takes the Triple Crown, he will get all sorts of great loot, including a place in racing's pantheon of greats and a rumored $4 million bonus on stallion rights that have supposedly already sold for $9.8 million. Every winner gets to wear the race's trademark blanket of white carnations and receives the race's impressive trophy. The trophy, which was designed by Tiffany, is an 18-inch tall silver bowl topped with a sculpture of Fenian, the winner of the third Belmont. Sculptures of three other horses support the trophy's base. This trio of Eclipse, Matchem, and Herod were all champion 18th-century thoroughbreds who are considered to be "foundation" horses since they appear in the pedigree of so many modern thoroughbreds. The Belmont family donated the trophy, which has been given to every winner since 1926. This year's winner also gets a $800,000 cut of the event's $1.5 million purse.

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On Top of the World: Remembering the Lost Trend of Flagpole Sitting
Alvin "Shipwreck" Kelly sitting on a flagpole atop the Hotel St. Francis in Newark, New Jersey
Alvin "Shipwreck" Kelly sitting on a flagpole atop the Hotel St. Francis in Newark, New Jersey
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Flappers and bootleggers might be the most memorable aspects of the 1920s, but there's a lesser-known, yet no less colorful, trend from that decade: flagpole sitting. From the glamorous hills of Hollywood to the blue-collar dwellings of Union City, New Jersey, this unusual pastime turned eccentric showmen and ordinary people into overnight celebrities, before the crushing reality of the Great Depression grounded their climb to stardom.

Flagpole sitting is exactly what it sounds like: a person climbing on top of a towering pole, usually in the middle of a city, and testing their endurance by sitting atop it for as long as their body holds up. It began in Hollywood in January 1924, when a former sailor, boxer, steelworker, and stuntman named Alvin “Shipwreck” Kelly was hired by a local theater to sit on a pole outside of the building for as long as possible to drum up publicity for a new movie. Kelly, a New York City native—whose nickname was supposedly inspired by his dubious claims as a Titanic survivor—wowed crowds by perching himself on the pole for an astonishing 13 hours and 13 minutes. The stunt worked, and once it got picked up by the papers, offers started pouring in from more businesses to perform pole-sittings. Kelly was eager to oblige.

News of Kelly's exploits spread, and before long, men, women, and children were climbing poles of their own. There was the three-week feat of Bobbie Mack, a young woman from Los Angeles; Joe “Hold ‘em” Powers, who sat for 16 days in Chicago in 1927 and climbed back down with six fewer teeth than he started with after a storm smacked him face-first into his pole; and Bill Penfield, who braved a pole for 51 days in Strawberry Point, Iowa before a storm forced him down. In 1928, a 15-year-old named Avon Foreman of Baltimore even established a juvenile sitting record of 10 days, 10 hours, 10 minutes, and 10 seconds (he practiced on an 18-foot hickory tree in his backyard). Foreman’s accomplishment was so inspiring to Baltimore mayor William F. Broening that he publicly declared that the youngster exhibited “the pioneer spirit of early America.”

Still, Kelly was the one making a big business out of pole sitting. Even when he wasn’t holding the record, he was the ambassador of the bizarre sport. He toured 28 cities, attracting massive crowds that jammed streets and lined rooftops just to get a glimpse of the daredevil poking out among the apartment buildings and businesses of Downtown, USA.

Kelly's notable feats included an 80-hour sit in New Orleans and the 146 hours he spent high above Kansas City's Old Westgate Hotel. But even those were overshadowed by his largest-scale stunts: 312 hours on top of Newark’s St. Francis Hotel in 1927, 22 days on a pole above a dance marathon (another endurance fad of the time) in Madison Square Garden, and 23 days in 1929 in Baltimore’s Carlin’s Park on a pole that was 60 feet high. By Kelly’s own calculation, he’d spend around 20,613 hours pole-sitting during a career that lasted over a decade.

His peak came in 1930 when he lasted 49 days and one hour on a 225-foot pole on Atlantic City’s steel pier. The feat was witnessed by as many as 20,000 onlookers during the weeks he spent up top, becoming one of the first of many spectacles that would grace the pier in the 1930s. (He’d eventually be followed by acts like Rex, the water-skiing “wonder dog”; JoJo, the boxing kangaroo; and the city’s infamous diving horse routine.)

Estimates of Kelly’s fees range from $100-$500 a day throughout his career, paid by whatever outlet needed the publicity and sometimes by crowds who spent a quarter to get a view of his act from nearby hotel rooftops. And what did those onlookers see, exactly? A man on a circular padded seat high above the rabble, sometimes reading the paper, other times enjoying a shave. For food, he’d stick mainly to a liquid diet of broth and water, along with cigarettes, all of which were lifted up to him in a bucket. When he needed to sleep, he’d stay seated by wrapping his ankles around the pole and securing his thumbs into holes in his seat before nodding off. That's if he rested at all—he was also known to deprive himself of sleep on the pole for as long as four days.

The big money would dry up soon after his Atlantic City stunt, and the realities of the Great Depression put an end to flagpole sitting as a career. With up to a quarter of the population unemployed, people were apparently less interested in opening their papers to stories of men and women testing endurance at the top of a pole for more money than the readers would likely see all year.

"As Shipwreck Kelly analyzed it, it was the Stock Market crash that killed pole-sitting as the golden egg that paid the goose," a writer for The Evening Sun in Baltimore put it in 1944. "People couldn't stand to see anything higher than their busted securities."

Kelly’s personal story ends on a similarly somber note. Penniless and stripped of his daredevil veneer, he died of a heart attack in 1952 at the age of 59, his body found not far from the room he rented on West 51st Street in New York City. Underneath his arm at the time of his death was a scrapbook of newspaper clippings detailing his accomplishments as a once-champion flagpole sitter.

Though flagpole sitting has fallen out of the public eye since the Depression, it has occasionally shown faint signs of life. In 1963, 17-year-old Alabama native Peggy Townsend cruised past all of Kelly's highest marks by spending 217 days on a pole for a radio contest. That time was later beaten by Kenneth Gidge, who topped her at 248 days in 1971 before becoming an artist, inventor, and New Hampshire state representative later in life.

Today, the occasional pole-sitter still pops up in the news, though they're now most likely perched for protests or as living art installations. Regardless of the purpose behind it, it's unlikely that a person atop a flagpole will ever attract a sea of thousands of onlookers again—and the days when a man like Kelly could become a household name and dub himself the "Luckiest Fool on Earth" seem long gone.

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This Water Bottle Doubles as a Foam Roller
Mobot
Mobot

It hydrates and it massages. The MOBOT bottle, as spotted by Outside magazine, is being billed as “the world’s first and only foam roller water bottle,” and many outdoor and adventure enthusiasts swear by it.

The stainless steel bottle is wrapped in non-toxic EVA (ethylene-vinyl acetate) foam, which can be rolled along your calves, hamstrings, glutes, or arms to soothe sore muscles and relieve joint paint. It was designed with athletes in mind, but we could see it being used by stressed-out office workers with stiff muscles who could benefit from a little self-care. Plus, the lightweight bottle is great for keeping your beverage cold all day, whether you’re at work, at an amusement park, or at the beach. A top loop allows it to be hooked onto a backpack or beach bag.

The bottle is available in three sizes: the 40-ounce “Big Bertha,” the 18-ounce “Firecracker,” and the 27-ounce “Grace.” There’s a range of colors and patterns to choose from, including neon-colored camouflage for those moments when you can’t decide whether you want to stand out or blend in.

You can order it on Amazon, but some styles have already sold out. Check out MOBOT's video below to see different ways of using the bottle.

[h/t Outside]

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