From the author of Barbaro comes the triumphant story of the 2015 Triple Crown and Breeders Cup winner, American Pharoah. When American Pharoah won the American Triple Crown and the Breeders’ Cup Classic in 2015 he became the first horse to win the “Grand Slam” of American horse racing, by winning all four races. His story captured American’s imagination, and this inspired account will also feature the handlers who saw his promise: owner, Ahmed Zayat of Zayat Stables, trainer Bob Baffert, and jockey Victor Espinoza. With American Pharoah , Shelley Mickle tells the story of this beloved horse’s life from birth to his historic achievement of becoming the twelfth Triple Crown winner. Shelley Fraser Mickle is an award-winning author who has published over a dozen books, which, along with her commitment to literacy and the power of story, led to her being nominated to the Florida Women’s Hall of Fame in 2014. Her books have been New York Times Notables, Library Journal ’s Best Adult Books and her nonfiction book, Barbaro: America’s Horse (2007) won a Bank Street Award. She lives on her ranch in Gainesville, Florida. American Pharoah JUNE 6, 2015 THEY SAID HE couldn’t do it. They said he wouldn’t win. They seemed to be everywhere: pessimists and naysayers in newspapers, in sports magazines and on the Internet. Sure, he was an impressive three-year-old horse, this American Pharoah who first became famous for having a misspelled name and a chewed-off tail. But no way would he be a Triple Crown winner, winning three races in five weeks—the Kentucky Derby, the Preakness, the Belmont Stakes. The reasons were longer than a chore list. • So what if he does have the great Secretariat in his bloodline? His mother was a sprinter. He doesn’t have what it takes to go a mile and a half in the Belmont. • Look at his times! His final quarter mile in his Kentucky Derby win was a crawling 26.57 seconds. That’s like a kiddie car on a freeway. • Other greats—Seattle Slew, Citation, Count Fleet—those Triple Crown winners were old-timey Thoroughbreds, bred to be heartier, stronger, tougher. This kid, Pharoah, will be toast. • Today, no horse can handle that schedule—win the Kentucky Derby, then two weeks later, the Preakness, and after only a three-week rest, win the longest race of them all, the Belmont, with its grueling one and a half miles. The first two take too much out of them; they need recovery time. • If a truly great horse, Spectacular Bid, couldn’t get it done in 1979, don’t expect any horse to secure American horse racing’s most coveted sweep. After all, in his career, Spectacular Bid ran thirty races and won twenty-six, and one of his only losses was the Belmont. The Triple Crown is the hardest prize to win in all American sports. It hasn’t been done in thirty-seven years. Sorry, Pharoah, nice try, but you’re running against history. • If he doesn’t draw a good post position for tactical advantage, it’s, So long, Pharoah, it was nice to know ya. • The best recipe for a Triple Crown is a truly great horse in a weak year. American Pharoah might be a great horse, but this is not a weak year. Even a scientific study before the Belmont showed why American Pharoah would not win. It cited glycogen levels used up during intense exercise. It pointed out that the muscle power used in his wins in the Kentucky Derby and Preakness would not have had time to repair. And then there was the point about the wear and tear on a Thoroughbred’s skeleton. Poor Pharoah. He was called a loser before he even began. Only eleven horses had won the Triple Crown. Yet in the midst of this time when It can’t be done was a cool thing to say, a dark brown horse walked into the starting gate to change America’s mind. Some would never want to admit that they needed this: to behold a breathing half-wild creature with a heart born of willingness to burst through history. In this time when meanness, bullying, shooting down dreams, and worrying about the world rose from frustration and confusion to look smart in agreeing to nothing, something was about to happen. It was the sort of thing that appears only once in a great while—as when Mozart sat down at a piano or Michelangelo put his brush to the ceiling at the Sistine Chapel and his sculpting tool to a hunk of stone. A miracle was about to happen. That is, for those who took the time to look. •  •  • Victor Espinoza, five foot two, worn from his forty-three years of outrunning poverty, hunkered in the saddle on the back of American Pharoah in the starting gate and heard his stomach growl. Today he had already ridden a handful of races, and now he was about to take off in the big one. The Big one, the Belmont for the Triple Crown. “Don’t think of it; you might jinx yourself,” he silently coached himself. But boy, was he hungry! Usually he had two rituals on race day: to take a nap and to pray. He prayed for safety and health. He napped to conserve energy. But