A few stone throws from the guinguettes of Joinville-le-Pont, the Hippodrome de Vincennes, in the 12th arrondissement of Paris, casts its imposing shadow on the Gravelle plateau. This liner with the huge sloping glass roof, built on 42 hectares of land – twice the Champ-de-Mars – hosts more than 1,200 races each year, including the French Grand Prix and the American Grand Prix.
For a few hours, this Friday, September 18, seven horse races will follow one another here until late in the evening, in front of punters and enthusiasts vibrating in unison from the stands of this temple of trotting. But to applaud the cracks, it will be necessary to iron. That evening, the champions are absent: they do not participate in the night races, considered less prestigious. The 2000 meters of clinker track, a residue from the combustion of coal, will be trodden by 80 mares and 16 geldings – castrated horses – nevertheless promising. You still have to know which one to bet on!
A champion with 6000 victories
Sitting on his scooter behind the fence that separates it from the sports arena, Claude, a 60-year-old racer, hopes to glean some tips. He gets up as soon as he sees a pro. “Chief, does she have a chance? He asks, pointing with his chin to a mare in a bay-colored dress. The stable boy who leads the horse by the lead nods, and for good reason: Flower Ball already won first place at Vincennes, last January. Carrot on the cake, this 5-year-old second hand will be driven (“driven”, in equestrian jargon) by Jean-Michel Bazire, 49-year-old champion with 6,000 victories.
In front of him, a very serious competitor, Eric Raffin, 38 years old. Two hours before his first race, this “Sulky d’or 2019”, an award for the best driver of the year, arrives in front of the control post. He calmly crosses the punters’ hall where counters and automatic terminals allow betting, runs along the track leveled by two large tractors and branches off towards the stables.
Here, there is no smell of dung, but powerful scents of disinfectant, proof that the 150 boxes have been scoured. For now, they are all empty and closed. Seals have even been placed on the shutter to prevent possible malicious acts, such as slipping an adulterated apple. Only the trainers, the lads – responsible for looking after the horses – or the traveling boys accompanying the trotters will have the right to lift them. “Hi Eric! »Says Guillaume Porée when he sees the jockey entering the locker room. This ex-trainer converted into a “dresser” manages the laundry service at the racetrack with the calm of a butler. Like the big stars, the jockeys have a private box. And while Eric Raffin puts on his white jumpsuit, the team slowly comes to life.
Bet in front of a glass of wine
The noise of hooves and the clacking of boots echoed on the asphalt. Sulkies, these two-wheeled cars used for harnessed trotting, cross in the aisles. The farrier adorns – he cuts and grates – horns with too long hoofs.
The technicians distribute the trackers, these sensors making it possible to identify and follow the horses during the race. All under the distracted gaze of their owners, who congregate in front of the boxes finally open. When everything is ready, the drivers return to their mounts to perform a ten-minute training session.
A moment very appreciated by the public, which begins to flow. Even if, Covid-19 requires, the gauge having been reduced from 35,000 to 1,000 places, the enclave seems hopelessly empty. Among the spectators, some curious. And, of course, the faithful, including Christine. “I bet 2 or 3 euros for the beauty of the game. What interests me is to unmask the winner, not to win the bet”, explains the sixty-year-old, six minutes from the start. The training sessions are over, the race will begin.
Near the track, the horses show white paws. Three technicians check that the fittings comply with the trainer’s declarations, and that the drivers wear the gown in the colors of the owner of the trotter. Then the cars are launched at a full trot! Everywhere, from the stands in the two halls, where the race is broadcast, to the panoramic restaurant, punters and spectators hold their breath.
Abraham bet with a terminal before sitting down to a glass of wine. PMU-branded agents, all dressed in green, circulate to take the bets of the guests who prefer to stay at the table. From here, the giant 250-square-meter screen bordering the course looks almost tiny. The countless spotlights give the ashy track a sparkling glow. Abraham would not trade this vantage point for any other. “Between my dinner and my bets, on Friday, my dancer costs me 150 euros! Jokes this 47-year-old civil servant, before leaping to shout the name of his favorite, who is approaching the finish post.
Big disappointment, on the other hand, for Eric Raffin and his horse, who finished second to last. Despite the disappointment, the driver, with his face studded with slag, did not have time to discuss the future of this mare he had met only an hour before the start. As soon as the race is over, he jumps out of his sulky to put on the next jacket. Tonight, six owners called on the new king of harnessed trotting. Like racing pilots, he drives or rides horses as he would drive Formula 1 cars.
The slack, the shower, the doping control in case of victory… It’s the lads who stick to it. A shadow job, which requires patience, gentleness and firmness, especially when leaving the track. After 2000 meters covered at an infernal pace, the trotters, foaming and snoring, frantically dilate their nostrils, even if it means heckling the stable boy a little. Quentin is used to it. He leads Flower Ball to the box with an iron fist in a velvet glove, with the pride of guiding a champion. Confirming her place in the big leagues, the winner of this Bruna Prize has above all won the right to rest.
