17/06/2026
The King Of Racing
For a moment, the world was still.
The nation’s greatest racehorses anxiously bumped against their stall, ears swiveling around anxiously as they waited for the bell to sound. Although well trained, they could not contain themselves. The horses knew what was coming.
And there he was, Secretariat, America’s Racehorse, his rear end leaning against the gate like a Hawaiian tourist in a hammock. He stared dolefully out towards the crowds, his ears lazily pricked forward. There was a low murmur as Chic Anderson’s voice crackled to life on the system. Secretariat spared a glance to the last horse being loaded in. It was Sham. The two stared at each other, just for a moment, before Sham was loaded in and the gate swung shut behind him.
“Everybody’s in line...”
The bell rang.
The gates sprung open.
“And they’re off!”
The crowd practically screamed as the horses surged out of the gate. The muscles of every racehorse rippled and bunch as they dug into the ground, lunging forward time and time again with massive strides. Around the jockeys arose the musical thunder of the Belmont Stakes.
It came as a shock to the crowd as Secretariat easily barged his way to the front, his body moving perfectly in sync to the great Sham. Ronnie had Big Red firmly in his grip, muttering to him, “C’mon, boy.” The stallion snorted in response, battling with Sham for the lead, even if only by a head. The bay horse responded with a snort, reaching his neck forward in determination. The other horses were left in the dust from the start.
It was Sham and Secretariat, Secretariat and Sham. The big bay warhorse and the even bigger red prince. They tore down the track in blazing speeds, snorting and huffing as their jockeys carefully edged them forward.
Both of them knew it was a long race. Ronnie wasn’t sure if Secretariat had it in him, and yet...
Secretariat pulled ahead by a nose.
Something was burning inside. A spark had ignited the moment the gates had opened.
Secretariat pulled ahead by a neck.
Every stride suddenly seemed larger. Ronnie Turcotte wasn’t riding Secretariat. He had simply hopped on a ride on the big red locomotive.
Secretariat pulled ahead by a length.
And, suddenly, the proud Sham was a dark blot behind them.
The wind whipped past the two, leaving bright red marks on Ronnie’s face. Almost foolishly, Ronnie thought to himself, *We’re leaving the wind behind!*
Just as quickly as Sham had challenged them, he was gone, furiously pounding behind them but to no avail. Ronnie and Secretariat, Secretariat and Ronnie. He barely had to urge Big Red forward as they sprinted across the track. *Thump. Thump. Thump.* The sound of the c**t’s hooves hitting the ground was music to Ronnie’s ears. Each stride seemed to grow larger and larger, covering more and more ground as they pulled ahead…
“They’re on the turn, and Secretariat is blazing along!”
The exhilaration from the crowd, the announcer, from Ronnie himself…
It was as if the gates of heaven had opened up, and Secretariat had come thundering through. This wasn’t the awkwardly huge c**t that guzzled up Meadow Stable’s feed and money. Not the c**t that placed a measly fourth on his maiden and fumbled in the shadow of the great Sham. No, this was the nation’s horse. This was the great Secretariat, barreling his way to victory as if it were another training day. He was moving like a bullet train, he was moving like Hell was raining down, he was...
*“He is moving like a tremendous machine!”*
The stands were shaking as the crowd screamed and stamped down on the wooden bleachers. Ronnie could feel the tremors even from atop his noble steed. He felt like laughing and crying at the same time.
“Secretariat by 12! Secretariat by 14 lengths on the turn!”
Ronnie risked glancing back to see Sham dropping back by My Gallant. It seemed even he could not bear to challenge his Big Red. He couldn’t help but grin as he looked back towards the front. “C’mon, Big Red,” he murmured.
At the sound of his voice Secretariat only became faster, surging forward again and again with such ease that Ronnie was in awe. It was effortless, almost, the way he dominated the track within seconds.
And he only kept pulling ahead.
“Secretariat is all alone!”
“He’s into the stretch!”
Suddenly, he was ablaze. It was all Ronnie could do to hang on as Secretariat thundered down the stretch. It was just the two of them. Ronnie didn’t dare pull him back, he just let the great red beast go all out. Secretariat was a fiery streak against the sky. The Red Prince was determined to claim the crown.
Ronnie felt absolutely giddy. The crowd had reached an octave he supposed no one had ever heard before. The jockey looked behind his back once more, except this time he wasn’t looking for any opponents. He knew there wouldn’t be any. No, he was looking at the clock.
“Secretariat has opened a 22 length lead!”
2:20.
Ronnie ducked his head and pumped his arms. Under his breath he exclaimed, “C’mon, Secretariat!”
The c**t gave one final burst, practically flying across the last few meters.
“Here comes Secretariat to the wire!”
*Thump.*
*Thump.*
*Thump.*
Ronnie saw the wire flash behind them.
He wondered if the crowd would break the stands with the way they were going.
“An amazing, unbelievable performance by this miracle horse!”
As Secretariat slowed to a canter, Ronnie’s accomplishment hit him full force. He had done it. He had guided the horse of the year, no, the horse of the *century,* to the finish line. The Red Prince had claimed his throne. There he was, Ronnie Turcotte, who miraculously had the pleasure of hopping aboard the King of Racing.
It was a glorious two and a half minutes no one would ever forget.
