How would God respond to making a mistake? Would planets collide or mountains slide into the sea? Or would the ledger of all life simply remain out kilter until a series of small events forced that ledger back into balance again? It's probably the l...
Nearly a thousand years ago, twelfth century scribes diligently copied the verses of Genesis, Exodus, and Leviticus. They continued on to Malachi and finally all the way to Revelation. For them, it was the only truth that mattered. In a similar way, the truth of each race run that Monday at Pimlico would also be recorded. The historians of horse racing have done exactly same thing for over 100 years. They record who won. By how much. Who came in second, third, fourth, and all the way down the line. The names of some of the winners that day were more amusing than others, but not so amusing that they would be remembered for more than a day or two. Lambent won the first race. Ring of Light won the second. What A Wabbit took the third. Rockem Sockem the fourth. Dr. Blum was expected to win the eighth and feature race, but he ran out of the money. (Everyone was honestly shocked.)
The also-rans included Pickett's Charge, Barking Bartok, Coogamonga, Dream Date Diva, She's Salty Too, Nicky the Cat, Mr. Cat to U, Catmantoo, and Caveat Cat. In all, there were 67 losing horses that day and only nine winners. Well, the number is nine but only if you count Charon's Crossing among the total. And that hardly seems fair.
Billy Greene would ride Charon's Crossing that day and he had a plan. Step 1 of the plan was to have Reverend Wilson bless him and bless his horse. Billy did this every time he had a mount, so this race needed to be no different. "No unnecessary attention," he muttered to himself as he watched the Reverend head to the barns after blessing him.
Since this Monday was the day after the end of the meet, Reverend Wilson had already blessed many of these horses the day before. He might have skipped blessing them a second time, but he knew some of them would end their careers that day and he felt like they could use an extra helping of God's best wishes if they were to avoid the slaughterhouse. As he walked around stables, he would say a prayer outside each stall. He always ended with the same words, "You have served man well."
The track announcer, Tom Woodhouse, also had a plan that day. It was supposed to be his usual plan, but the weather intervened. For the first few races, Tom had been able to see the horses on the backstretch, but neither he nor anyone else could see the numbers or colors of the jockey's silks until the horses reached the top of the stretch. By the sixth race, even that wasn't possible. After the eighth, Tom looked out over the foggy track and barked into his microphone, "I can't see a fucking thing." A loud cheer came from the grandstand.
And why not?! People were happy. At that point, everyone assumed that Dr. Blum had just won the eighth race and that meant virtually all of them would be cashing a ticket. The result seemed guaranteed (or almost guaranteed) because Dr. Blum was clearly the best on paper. In the fog, the crowd could easily imagine every detail of a race that their eyes couldn't see. So, why not enjoy this moment? After all, there are so few times in life when everyone is happy at the same time. (Try not to miss them if you can.)
Billy Greene looked out over the track. He couldn't see a fucking thing either and he was more certain than ever that his name would soon be recorded in the history books of horse racing. Or anyway, that was the plan.
The owners of Pimlico had a plan, too. They planned to squeeze a few extra dollars from the most desperate residents of Baltimore City. In the end, they would barely break even, but a few dollars ahead is still a few dollars ahead. In their search for that tiny payday, they made every effort to bring a few more fans into the track that Monday. Grandstand tickets were free. Programs were free. Overcooked hot dogs were half price. They even tried to garner a little attention by giving the races funny names. They called a two-furlong race Baltimore's Fastest Quarter Mile because there had never been a race that short in the history of the track. There was also a steeplechase (The Wet Hoofs Winner), one race over hurdles called the Up and Down and Once Around, and a couple of races that were more than two miles. The longer of the two marathons was called the Won't This Ever End Derby. The other marathon was the ninth and last race. It was for non-winners. The length was listed at two and three-sixteenths miles. Since no one could find any race in America that had ever been run at this distance, it was simply called The Guaranteed World Record.
Charon's Crossing would get one last chance in that race. Billy Greene had no doubt about the outcome, because his plan was foolproof. He was almost sure of that.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
