At the start of horse racing’s Triple Crown, even before the first Saturday in May, the Sun predicted that Mo Donegal was the steed to watch. We also warned everyone to pronounce his name correctly, as the Irish do. 

Today, the fast closer won the Belmont Stakes, the last and most grueling leg of racing’s crowning season. Jockey Irad Ortiz utilized Mo Donegal’s closing talents, leading the 3-year old to a daylight victory of at least three lengths. It was a run for the ages. 

Yet, right before the race started, track denizens were still talking about the prospects of the favorite, Mo DON-egal. My horse guru, Michael Minogue, and I wouldn’t have it: We were going around correcting them. “No, it is done-GAUL.”

 “I’m probably the only one in this whole crowd who actually went in the 1990s to Ireland for the Donegal Derby, total purse 100 Irish pounds,” Mr. Minogue said as he chided a legendary jockey who is now a television announcer,  Gary Stevens, to pronounce the Irish name correctly. 

A Hall of Fame New York trainer, Todd Pletcher, relished the victory of the only New York-based steed in the mile and a half run around the Belmont track. Mo Donegal skipped the Preakness after a disappointing Derby run. It was a good call. In New York, under Governor Hochul’s watching eyes, a New York horse should win, even as — at five to two — he was the favorite. 

Regrettably, I told Mr. Minogue afterwards, we could no longer visit the now-defunct Esposito’s bar. Placed right outside the stables area, the old Belmont watering hole was the place to go after a race. The owners would paint the fence in the winning horse’s colors.

Today it would have been Mo Donegal’s royal blue and orange. Jockeys, trainers, TV announcers, and those merely in the know would come for a beer. At Espo’s you could hear inside tidbits, track gossip, and the best stories about the day at the races. 

For me it would have been the story of the 10th race, just before the Stakes. It featured 10 horses, several of them foreign-trained. We were watching the muscular animals walk in just before getting in the paddock. Joe Campbell, whose job is to look at the horses’ shoes to make sure all is in order, came over for a chat. One horse was walking funny, he said, but they adjusted the shoe and all was okay for the race. 

All the while my wife, Marcia, was watching the magnificent steeds as they made their way from the stable to the paddock. She never studies the Racing Form or other tools handicappers use for predicting wins. She just loves to watch the horses, and somehow often manages to pick a winner out of the hat. 

Sure enough, Marcia said Trihuvan, a French horse who was listed at eight to one in the morning line, looked “really nice.” I looked at the current odds, and he was listed at 20-1. That meant the heavy bettors gave up on him. Trusting the wife more than the best horse mavens, however, always pays off, so it was worth a $5 bet to win.  And yes, under jockey Manuel Franco, Trihuvan won convincingly. Collecting $100 made my day. 

The day, of course, was all about a horse that even the group of his owners cannot pronounce correctly. In 1973 Mr. Minogue managed to climb the fence and sneak into the track, which is near where his parents’ house used to be. That year he watched Secretariat win the Triple Crown’s last leg. 

Now Mr. Minogue and I, after betting Mo Donegal to win, were assisting Belmont tourists in pronouncing the name of a New York-based horse correctly, just as the Irish do.