A NHC Nailbiter–The ‘Wolfpack’ Becomes an Entourage

[Wandering Eyes]

Last week, I wrote about the joy of having a “wolfpack” at the National Horseplayers Championship. A group of friends you see once a year, swap stories with, and share the roller coaster of trying to beat 700 of the best horseplayers in the world.

This year, our wolfpack became an “Entourage” when Dylan Donnelly achieved fame and fortune by winning the whole thing in what everyone agrees was the most dramatic finish in NHC history.

I wasn't part of the final table. Not even close. Instead of taking you through my own sob story, I thought I'd do something more interesting: tell you what it was like to sit next to the champ during the final table. Because for a few unforgettable hours inside that ballroom, the rest of us stopped worrying about our own picks and became something else entirely: friends, advisors, snack runners, amateur mathematicians and a very loud cheering section.

Dylan's path to NHC glory didn't exactly start with fireworks. But, as they often do, things started to click for Dylan on day two. He began finding horses–longshots and short prices–and steadily climbing the standings. Both he and our tablemate Rich Nilsen made the cut, and by the end of day three, Dylan was sitting in fourth place.

For those unfamiliar with the format, the final table contestants carry their bankroll totals with them and then play the exact same seven mandatory races. Thanks to the innovative “Silver Sunday” contest the NHC launched a few years ago, the ballroom remains packed because eliminated players–including myself–are playing the same races in a separate contest for $100,000, with $25,000 to the winner.

A Roller Coaster of Emotions

As we waited for the first final-table race, Dylan sat quietly at Table 147–our home away from home since the First Chance/Last Chance qualifier on Thursday. In front of him were printed past performances, meticulously marked up the night before with speed figures by his wife Meghan, who also provided both emotional and physical sustenance. At one point she pulled an energy bar out of her purse, which Dylan promptly devoured. AirPods in. Hat turned backwards. Perrier in hand. Seven races from history.

I marveled at his calm and personable demeanor. Dozens of people stopped by to wish him luck. He's simultaneously one of the most-feared and most-liked competitors on the tour. As tablemates, the rest of us simply tried not to disturb the delicate equilibrium he had created between races. If Dylan was relaxed, we joked and verbally sparred like always. If he went silent and stared at the screen, everyone around him instinctively did the same. At one point I desperately wanted to ask what he was listening to in those AirPods, but I couldn't quite find the right moment.

Success came early with a winner in the first race and a move into third on a historically tight leaderboard. A few more races passed without success, but no one was pulling away. With three races to go, Dylan was in fourth, only $20 behind the leader.

That's when the mood at the table got tense.

Dylan selected Carentan in Gulfstream's 10th. The horse worked out what looked like a dream trip along the rail and seemed ready to burst through at the top of the lane. Instead–like so many horses that get that trip over the Tapeta–the punch never came and Carentan finished out of the money. For just a moment, I thought I saw Dylan crack. A couple of expletives. An irritated look as he shuffled through his printed PPs while tournament emcee Brian Skirka announced leaderboard changes that were definitely not in Dylan's financial interest.

For a fleeting second, I considered sharing the philosophical outlook from my preview column–that we should all just be happy to be here together. But it didn't seem like the right time. So before the penultimate race, I resorted to the traditional horseplayer conversation starter.

“Who do you like in Oaklawn's 10th?”

He shared his pick–the #9–and I mentioned I had landed on the same horse in the Silver Sunday tournament. He stared at me for a moment. “Good God… I should change my pick!”

Then came the signature Dylan Donnelly smile. The irritation was gone. He was back–and despite playing for $825,000, he wasn't about to pass up the chance to jab me about my weekend of bad selections. That's what friends are for.

The nine finished out of the money–carrying Dylan's hopes, and apparently the curse of my handicapping, with him. That left Dylan in fourth heading into the final race, the fifth at Santa Anita, with a gap of $29.91 between him and the leader.

Dylan knew exactly what he needed: a horse whose win and place payoff would exceed that. Roughly 10-1. But the pari-mutuel gods weren't making things easy. Late odds fluctuations meant that even if he picked the right horse, the price might not hold.

The NHC Goes Right Down To The Wire

Frank Mustari, serving as Dylan's unofficial consigliere for the final minutes, explained the situation. “The favorite is probably going to the lead and win,” Frank said. “But that does him no good in the standings. So it's the two or the four. The question is which one–and whether the price holds.”

Dylan ultimately landed on his preferred horse, #4 Crazy Cavalier. But there were still two problems. First, if one of the players ahead of him picked the same horse, Dylan would be blocked. Second… well, that part would become clear shortly.

The gates opened. Soon after, the players' selections were posted. None of the competitors ahead of Dylan had selected Crazy Cavalier. He was live.

As the race unfolded, Crazy Cavalier settled well off the pace down the backstretch. We kept glancing at the odds board. Still 10-1. No late CAW-driven odds changes.

Around the far turn the horse began to move, and by the top of the stretch he swung wide–and suddenly our entire group was losing our minds. Crazy Cavalier ground down the leaders and just held off None Above the Law (video).

We exploded. For about two seconds.I sprinted over to Dylan, searching for something remarkable to say. “Incredible (expletive) pick,” was as poetic as I could get.

He looked me directly in the eyes. “I don't know if it's enough.”

And that's when the room realized something. Frank Polk, sitting in second place, had selected the runner-up–and it was also a price. Suddenly the celebration stopped.

Brent Schraff did some quick math in his head. “Oh my God,” he said. “He's going to lose.”

Across the ballroom, announcer Brian Skirka summed it up perfectly: “It's a math equation from here.”

We all stared at the television screen waiting for the payouts. I texted Sue Finley and Alan Carasso: “You're about to get one hell of a story. But it might be heartbreaking.”

Finally, the payouts flashed onto the screen. For a moment nobody moved as everyone tried to do the math in their heads. Then the leaderboard updated. Dylan Donnelly. First place.

The margin of victory was a mere 84 cents.

He raised his arms and the ballroom erupted. People swarmed around him, but parted a moment later as Meghan stepped in and kissed him. “I'm so proud of him,” she told me later. “He works so hard and deserves this.”

Most years we show up in Las Vegas chasing the same dream: Trying to be the one who solves the puzzle, finds the right horses, and survives the chaos of three long days of handicapping. Most years, it doesn't happen.

But every once in a while, one of your own gets there. And when that happens, for a few unforgettable hours inside that ballroom, the wolfpack becomes an entourage. I'm still the coldest handicapper in America, but I'm leaving Las Vegas feeling like a champion.

If that's how I'm feeling, I can only imagine how Dylan Donnelly is feeling.

 

“Hell yeah!”

Dylan Donnelly talked to @Icecoldexacta right after winning the 2026 #NHC! It was only a $.84 margin between first and second! pic.twitter.com/S5xXH6DdQg

— FanDuel Racing (@FanDuel_Racing) March 15, 2026

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