This week's story is actually a real account, so I hope you like it!
I
can remember sitting down one Saturday, turning on the TV, and flipping to the
channel on which the Breeders Cup was being broadcast. This was odd for me as I
wasn't big on daytime television nor was I a fan of any sorts when it came to
horse racing. I was simply bored that day, and, while the Cup didn't cure my
boredom, I still watched for one race. I'm glad I did.
I'm
a kind of gambler; I bet my pride, and my pride is not something that I plan on
losing anytime soon. I was sitting there for this one race and watched as all
the horses made their way to the starting gate. I hadn't bet anything yet, but
I had distinct favorites before the race even started. Funny thing is, I don't
remember which horses I liked. What I do remember is a jet black colt who has
stuck with me for years. I don't think he had much white on him; he was just
black. He was tall, lean, pure racing Thoroughbred stock, bred and raised to
the nines.
What
gets me about racing and all equine related sports is that you never know what
you're going to get. You can bred the very best to the very best and still get
a dud, all that money down the drain due to a thing as simple and complex as
genetics. I thought this colt was a dud. Sure, he was pretty, but his
resistance at the gate and general dislike of his situation told me that he
wasn't up for the job. I don't remember the odds, but I don't think he was
anything special. He was the middle man.
As
the last one in, his disagreement held everyone else up. They finally got him
between the gate walls. They shut the doors. The track went silent. What was he
thinking then? Was he determined? Was he scared? When it comes to horses, there
are two things you can be sure of in a stressful situation: they are annoyed,
and they are hungry, but there was something more in this horse. I didn't know
it then, but by the end of the race I was sure, and slapped myself in the face
forever doubting him.
When
the gates opened, he stumbled. He managed to stay on his feet and with his
jockey, but a stumble out of the gate is a huge setback. The rest of the group
went off, and the opinionated colt spent most of the race playing catch up. I
paid him no mind; he was a dud.
Have
you ever had the universe put you in your place? I can say that I have, and it
was during that race. The colt, the black, the dud came charging to the front
of the pack like a cheetah on the hunt. He surged ruthlessly from dead last to
first place without a single flop. There was no stopping that horse; he was on
a mission. He won that race and the props of being a Breeders Cup winner.
Of
course, while everyone on the TV screen in front of me is cheering and clapping
and sending congratulations to the owners, I was sitting on my couch wondering
where in the hell that little speed demon came from. I still don't believe it;
it was a truly surreal moment, but the colt's win sends a message to me.
The
odds are important. The bloodlines are important. The conformation is
important, but, when it comes down to it, no horse can do well without
attitude. It's the attitude and the heart that are the secret ingredient in the
recipe for a successful athlete, animal or human. You can have everything
playing against you. You can have the worst cards in your hand, but sheer
determination can be enough to get the job done.
For
such a prestigious run, that black colt was pre-christened with the name Pluck.
I've always been of the impression that when someone doubts you, it's your job
to prove them wrong. I wish Pluck knew how well he proved me wrong.
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| Pluck, son of Vinery's leading Stallion, More Than Ready. (c) Breeders' Cup |
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