This is a racetrack story not a Mom and Pop do the Derby story or the kind of ruffles and flourishes that always follow the coronation of a Triple Crown winner. Youve probably heard most of those. Happy endings are what keeps the media writing about horses, trainers and jockeys.

This story is about a trainer of thoroughbred horses named Anthony Margotta Jr., who reached for the stars and almost touched them until he tripped under the weight of recreational pain killers, heroin, hundreds of lines of cocaine and was sucked under by a treacherous river of alcohol.

It pushed so hard, Margotta checked every box on the Devils dance card. He lost his everything his marriage, a home overlooking the Inland Waterway in Florida with part ownership in a popular South Florida restaurant and a horse farm near Saratoga, N.Y. All that stood between him and homelessness was a condo with an ocean view in Long Branch, N.J., which was already in foreclosure.

From the bright kid with a schoolteacher father and a high-ranking underworld uncle, Margotta morphed into a lonely traveler along the loneliest of highway one where he marched along, staggered along and eventually crawled along.

It was a journey through 17 rehabs. A journey that took him through a botched suicide attempt. A journey during which his older brother overdosed and died. A journey during which the Devil whispered in his ear: Jump, Anthony, jump.

And Anthony shouted back: How high?

On Friday and Saturday, horse racings royalty will gather in Lexington, Ky., for the two-day Breeders Cup. But this isnt a story about racing royalty. Its a story about one of New Jersey racings fallen princes.

The Kid

He was 18 years old and about to graduate Bloomfield High School, just across the Newark Border where hangouts like an ersatz Chinese restaurant on Bloomfield Avenue called the Y-Ki or deeper into the citys heavily Italo-American dominated ward at The Finish Line attracted Mafiosos and would-be Mafiosos.

Uncle Bobby was the New Jersey capo captain of a crew for John Gotti, the boss of the Gambino crime family. This is how the kid grew up: I got to go into the locker room at Schools Stadium, where the local high school football teams played. When Uncle Bobby took us to dinner, we always had the best table. When he took us anywhere, we always had the best of what there was, the best everything, and there was never a check. I was known as Uncle Bobbys nephew.

They would take me to Monmouth Park, and I would run their bets to the window. I got 10 percent of their winnings. I was 18 and that money paid for my first car a green Buick LeSabre. I was the best dressed 18-year-old in Bloomfield.

They owned a piece of the Holiday Inns restaurant, near the track, and were there after a day at Monmouth Park. My uncle is at the head of the table and my dad is next to him. Everybody else was on the other side. It was just like a scene from a movie.

Uncle Bobby looks at me and says, Well, kid., youre 18, youre going to graduate in a few months. What are you going to do with your life?

I want to be with you Uncle Bobby. I want to do what you do.

And then I look at my dad and he has his index finger raised. And its going from side to side while he stares at me. Back and forth. Then he says one word no. Uncle Bobby sees it all and he says, I agree with your dad. You always liked the horses. Become a trainer, they make piles of money.

Uncle Bobby, I never even stood next to a horse.

He raises his hand to cut me off, and then he says, Call me at noon tomorrow.

The next day, he told me: Drive down to Monmouth Park, go to barn No. 5 and ask for a man named Jim Crupi. He knows youre coming.

So, I get there and the first thing I see is his car a brown Mercedes, and now Im thinking Uncle Bob was right. So Crupi looks at me and he asks where I come from and he says: Bloomfield? For crissakes. Bloomfield. They aint even got trees there and you want to be with horses? OK. And he shouts over to a guy who it hot walking a horse around the shed: `Give the kid the horse.

I never been close to a horse. I was always on the other side of the fence, and he is so big, Im scared to death. He wants to walk where he wants to walk and it is a battle all the way around. I am terrified. I think I am going to get fired but Crape laughs and says, Go out and sweep the path then wash my car.

So began the equine education of Anthony Margotta Jr. Crape took him from hot walker to groom and from a novice who could read the Racing Form forward and backward but could not walk a horse around the inside of a barn.

He was, at many times for Margotta, a mentor, a father and, after a mindless fall from grace into the darkest corners of his private Hell where everyone including himself had given up on him, Crape, ultimately steered him away from the quicksand into the light.

But not then. Not yet

N.J. horse racing trainer Anthony Margotta remembers the feeling when he was given his first Percoset: "Where has this been and how can I get some?"

Out on his own

First came a time when Margotta apprenticed himself to the track veterinarians and finally learned what he needed to know about a horses anatomy. Then he went out on his own. But he honestly wasnt ready. He doesnt recall the names of his first two entries. The way they ran who could blame him?

The brown horse broke down. The gray horse fractured his knee.

Im walking back to the barn, and I rip off my tie. I cant do this. The hell with it. Im gonna go back and tell my uncle. My whole family was there for both races and Im embarrassed, he recalled. My third horse is named Snicker Fritz. The whole family is there again. Its a foggy day. Its hard to see, so Im following by the numbers on the board. Finally, I see my number 10 is fourth as they turn for home.

So now Im looking to the outside to see his move. But he aint there. Hes coming on the inside and he wins. My family except for my uncle and my dad rush the winners circle. My dad is out on the edge taking pictures. My uncle, well, you know damned well he doesnt want nobody taking his picture.

After the presentation, his dad leans over and says, This is where you belong.

Life is good. He is a success. The family is celebrating. In the excitement, he doesnt see the Devil that is about to stalk him. The Devils strength is that nobody realizes hes even there until he the move that never fails to recruit another disciple.

I come from the neighborhood, Margotta tells me. Nobody is there to advise you about money.

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He tells me this not for exoneration but more for explanation.

Im a success, he said. Now I start racing in New York, where the big money is. I jump right in with the girls, the alcohol. Im winning. I have lots of money. I have the second home in Florida, the farm in New York anything I want. Im 31. I am the king of the world. I am going to get married.

One day, my dad sits down with me and says, You know you are driving in the fast lane and you are speeding. You better be careful. I tell someone Ive moved to the Garden City hotel. I live in a suite.

Why does he need a suite?

Hey, Al Capone lived in a suite.

Its 1998. Hes still winning, still paying attention to business, Life is good. He flies regularly to the Bahamas. Hes a party guy and one day at a party at the Royalton Hotel, a guy says, Try this, and hands him a pill.

Its like where has this been and how can I get some? Margotta said.

The guy becomes his supplier. The pill is Percocet, a powerful painkiller.

Im leaving for Saratoga. I buy what he calls two buckets 1,000 pills. I run out and drive back to the city to get another bucket, Margotta said.

He is spending money like a drunken sailor. The pills own him. He is suspended by Monmouth. Against all advice he was incapable of clear thinking, he said he appeals and goes out to California. While the suspension is pending, he wins the Malibu Stakes with a former claimer amed Run Man Run

But he loses the appeal. He is out of racing and hes drinking morning, noon and night. Using whatever he can get. His life became a yoyo. Detox, clean, 12 steps, clean, back on drugs again.

When he returns, he makes money but one day a single bottle of beer in Florida blows the deal all over again. He has yet to learn you cant dance with the Devil and simply walk off his dance floor. He wont let you go.

The dark before dawn

His brother introduced heroin into the burden Margotta voluntarily bears. Driving under the influence gets him six months in jail. Drugs blacked him out and the ensuing crash was inevitable. After his release, his sister calls and tells him he is not to visit the home where she, her children and Anthonys mother live.

I knew I was going to die, he said. Looking back, I think there were two incidents that moved me. The first was when my brother and I tried methadone and we got clean for months. Then one day, he wanted me to drive him to meet a contact. He said he only wanted a small bag of heroin, and I told him I wouldnt do it.

I remember he had on a blue hat and a blue jacket, and he looked me in the eyes and said, Screw you. I am your older brother and all your life I tried to take care of you. If you do not do this for me, I never want to see your face again as long Im alive.

He was out the door. After he said what he felt he had to say, he never looked back, walked to the entrance to the Parkway and hitched a ride. We did not find the body for three days after he overdosed.

So now there was that and coming out of jail and the loneliness in the condominium he no longer owned. He had botched one suicide try but he would not botch this one. He fell to his knees, and he remembered quite clearly what followed.

I said, God if you cant help me now, I am going to walk across the street, jump in the ocean and swim until I drown myself.

He kneeled there a long time and then he slowly got to his feet, took the open vodka bottle, walked to the bathroom, and poured it down the toilet.

He found Crape on his farm, and his old mentor hired him on the spot. He returned to the recovering addicts 12-step ritual. He is back and in business where he belongs and now, he has a newfound bonus.

Ramon Mora is a recovering addict from the part of Newark that Margotta knew so well. He is standing near the barn and says: Im clean now. I havent ridden for two years. I read about you. Can I blow out some horses for you in the morning?

Margotta listens, nods and thinks, This is why I have been spared.

He tells Mora, Stay clean, we can try, puts him in a race and he wins. Now he rides him regularly.

You cant make this stuff up. Its a mutual gift they both share.

Jerry Izenberg is Columnist Emeritus for The Star-Ledger. He can be reached at jizenberg@starledger.com.