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Musical Inspiration: [link]

Continuation of:

"We all die. The goal isn't to live forever, the goal is to create something that will."
~Chuck Palahniuk

The crowd roared as Reebok crossed the finish line in classy style and thundered through his gallop out. He was a beautiful colt, all shiny with sweat and swelling with triumph as he pranced into the winner’s circle. His blood-red hide, a paler, brighter version of his sire’s, claimed the cover of that week’s Blood-Horse issue. He represented everything Bernardini’s people wanted in their stud’s offspring: elegance, class, power, stamina… Reebok flashed when he walked—that was the best way Ethan could describe it.

And yet, he couldn’t care less about the blood bay.

Obligation fulfilled, Ethan retreated to his car faster than a Keebler elf fled a smoking tree house. When he was safe inside its metal confines, he rested his forehead against the steering wheel and concentrated on breathing.

The power behind it all… The sheer majesty. The pace and the madness and the thrill of the run. He had missed it more than he thought possible. The words started in his head, mixing, swirling, joining together one by one to form sentences, then paragraphs and punch lines. He couldn’t avoid it. One race and his poet’s mind returned to days long passed and spun a web of words so bold and vivid that he had to write them down or suffer the consequences.

It took twenty minutes to get to his modest ranch home on the outskirts of Elmont and five more minutes to boot up his laptop. It seemed like hours. Finally, his program booted up. He began to type.

--

"Today was an A.P. Indy day. The field for the GIII Westchester Handicap held twelve horses, six of which possessed those glorious lines passed down from Seattle Slew and the majestic daughter of Secretariat, Weekend Surprise, immortalized by her sons and daughters who continue to dominate the track nearly two decades after her death. The leader of this empowering field was none other than the blood-colored Reebok, a four-year-old son of Bernardini (A.P. Indy) who possesses not only his sire’s beauty and charisma, but his grandsire’s power and potential as well. I doubt anyone was surprised when he won with three lengths and change between his tail and his nearest competitor’s nose. And yet, my eyes could not help but be drawn to another in the field, a different A.P. Indy grandson, this one by Pulpit.

The past year and a half of Hemali’s life is a great void in written record. A juvenile champion, unbeaten in seven glorious starts his freshman season, he went on to win the Kentucky Derby in record-breaking time. His three-fold rivalry with Azrael and Fighterjet will go down in match-race history for its energy and unpredictability. However, in November of his sophomore season, in the midst of his final race against the gray and chestnut colts, he broke down in the Breeder’s Cup Classic and was never heard from again. Some rumors claimed he was sold after coming out of surgery, shipped off to an obscure stud farm in Australia or Mexico or the Netherlands. Others bemoaned his death and secret burial beneath the white oaks he was born under in the fields of rural Virginia’s White Oak Farms.

Whatever may have happened during the year and a half of missing history, Hemali has returned with a different trainer, sporting new silks under the renowned name of Black Creek Crossing Stables. When word got out of the former champion’s imminent return, the people did not know how to handle it. They still don’t. Could Hemali possibly return to the champion he once was before his breakdown and disappearance? Without Azrael and Fighterjet, will the magic still be there?

After watching him place a dismal fifth in today’s Westchester H., many will claim no, the old Hemali is gone. His famous stretch drive never happened, his hidden gears never activated despite Thorsson’s urgings. They will say Hemali is a relic of the past in a short-attention-span world. And yet, I now know otherwise.

When the great black warhorse emerged from the murky depths of the Belmont tunnel, his neck was arched and his muscles enlarged with confidence. He was lighter than before the breakdown, leaner in the throat and the haunch, but his majesty was evident. His crest, fully formed now, arched and bulged beneath his mane as he tucked his head into one of the deepest chests I have ever seen. Muscles rippled beneath a healthy coat two sizes too small. When the fans began to cheer, it was all Sven Thorsson could do to hold onto him.

Slow out of the gate in all his starts before, Hemali all but crawled today, his massive 17.2 hands preventing him from doing anything but. By the time he settled into that giant rolling stride, Reebok was already eighteen lengths ahead and gaining. Hemali had no time to activate the burners before Reebok sailed under the wire.

Reebok’s empowering win held everyone’s attention. Thus, no one else saw Hemali’s gallop out. No cameras caught the footage. Yet, not three seconds after the finish photo flashed, Hemali’s rusty engine spluttered to life. Thorsson’s head whipped backwards painfully and he was suddenly struggling to hang on to the rocket ship beneath him. Massive strides became immeasurable and he ate up the ground in possessed excitement.

Think back with me now nearly two decades past, to the time of White Oak Farm’s hay-day when the biggest, baddest runner in the nation was a giant black warhorse by the name of Marsh. He was White Oak’s prized possession, more human than animal in his mannerisms and person. On the eve of the Jockey Club Gold Cup, the son of Seattle Slew and Weekend Surprise was entered in a mile-long allowance race only to fall short, his backburners failing to kick in until he was almost under the wire. Yet, not only did Marsh gallop out at forty miles per hour, he then went on to destroy the field in the Gold Cup a mere week later, securing his place in racing history.

I promise you this, if nothing else: the old Hemali is indeed gone, lost beneath the crashing waves of time in this unforgiving, forgetful sport. That colt--juvenile Eclipse champion and Kentucky Derby winner--has nothing on the great warhorse who stepped onto Belmont’s dirt this afternoon. This horse has not only the capability of immortality, but the promise of it."

---

Shown: Hemali
Racing Season: 5yo
Background: Marsh

Art and Characters (including Marsh) © me

Y'all have to wait to find out who the heck Marsh is and why he's so very important.

Next on:

Description
Musical Inspiration: [link]

Continuation of:

"We all die. The goal isn't to live forever, the goal is to create something that will."
~Chuck Palahniuk

The crowd roared as Reebok crossed the finish line in classy style and thundered through his gallop out. He was a beautiful colt, all shiny with sweat and swelling with triumph as he pranced into the winner’s circle. His blood-red hide, a paler, brighter version of his sire’s, claimed the cover of that week’s Blood-Horse issue. He represented everything Bernardini’s people wanted in their stud’s offspring: elegance, class, power, stamina… Reebok flashed when he walked—that was the best way Ethan could describe it.

And yet, he couldn’t care less about the blood bay.

Obligation fulfilled, Ethan retreated to his car faster than a Keebler elf fled a smoking tree house. When he was safe inside its metal confines, he rested his forehead against the steering wheel and concentrated on breathing.

The power behind it all… The sheer majesty. The pace and the madness and the thrill of the run. He had missed it more than he thought possible. The words started in his head, mixing, swirling, joining together one by one to form sentences, then paragraphs and punch lines. He couldn’t avoid it. One race and his poet’s mind returned to days long passed and spun a web of words so bold and vivid that he had to write them down or suffer the consequences.

It took twenty minutes to get to his modest ranch home on the outskirts of Elmont and five more minutes to boot up his laptop. It seemed like hours. Finally, his program booted up. He began to type.

--

"Today was an A.P. Indy day. The field for the GIII Westchester Handicap held twelve horses, six of which possessed those glorious lines passed down from Seattle Slew and the majestic daughter of Secretariat, Weekend Surprise, immortalized by her sons and daughters who continue to dominate the track nearly two decades after her death. The leader of this empowering field was none other than the blood-colored Reebok, a four-year-old son of Bernardini (A.P. Indy) who possesses not only his sire’s beauty and charisma, but his grandsire’s power and potential as well. I doubt anyone was surprised when he won with three lengths and change between his tail and his nearest competitor’s nose. And yet, my eyes could not help but be drawn to another in the field, a different A.P. Indy grandson, this one by Pulpit.

The past year and a half of Hemali’s life is a great void in written record. A juvenile champion, unbeaten in seven glorious starts his freshman season, he went on to win the Kentucky Derby in record-breaking time. His three-fold rivalry with Azrael and Fighterjet will go down in match-race history for its energy and unpredictability. However, in November of his sophomore season, in the midst of his final race against the gray and chestnut colts, he broke down in the Breeder’s Cup Classic and was never heard from again. Some rumors claimed he was sold after coming out of surgery, shipped off to an obscure stud farm in Australia or Mexico or the Netherlands. Others bemoaned his death and secret burial beneath the white oaks he was born under in the fields of rural Virginia’s White Oak Farms.

Whatever may have happened during the year and a half of missing history, Hemali has returned with a different trainer, sporting new silks under the renowned name of Black Creek Crossing Stables. When word got out of the former champion’s imminent return, the people did not know how to handle it. They still don’t. Could Hemali possibly return to the champion he once was before his breakdown and disappearance? Without Azrael and Fighterjet, will the magic still be there?

After watching him place a dismal fifth in today’s Westchester H., many will claim no, the old Hemali is gone. His famous stretch drive never happened, his hidden gears never activated despite Thorsson’s urgings. They will say Hemali is a relic of the past in a short-attention-span world. And yet, I now know otherwise.

When the great black warhorse emerged from the murky depths of the Belmont tunnel, his neck was arched and his muscles enlarged with confidence. He was lighter than before the breakdown, leaner in the throat and the haunch, but his majesty was evident. His crest, fully formed now, arched and bulged beneath his mane as he tucked his head into one of the deepest chests I have ever seen. Muscles rippled beneath a healthy coat two sizes too small. When the fans began to cheer, it was all Sven Thorsson could do to hold onto him.

Slow out of the gate in all his starts before, Hemali all but crawled today, his massive 17.2 hands preventing him from doing anything but. By the time he settled into that giant rolling stride, Reebok was already eighteen lengths ahead and gaining. Hemali had no time to activate the burners before Reebok sailed under the wire.

Reebok’s empowering win held everyone’s attention. Thus, no one else saw Hemali’s gallop out. No cameras caught the footage. Yet, not three seconds after the finish photo flashed, Hemali’s rusty engine spluttered to life. Thorsson’s head whipped backwards painfully and he was suddenly struggling to hang on to the rocket ship beneath him. Massive strides became immeasurable and he ate up the ground in possessed excitement.

Think back with me now nearly two decades past, to the time of White Oak Farm’s hay-day when the biggest, baddest runner in the nation was a giant black warhorse by the name of Marsh. He was White Oak’s prized possession, more human than animal in his mannerisms and person. On the eve of the Jockey Club Gold Cup, the son of Seattle Slew and Weekend Surprise was entered in a mile-long allowance race only to fall short, his backburners failing to kick in until he was almost under the wire. Yet, not only did Marsh gallop out at forty miles per hour, he then went on to destroy the field in the Gold Cup a mere week later, securing his place in racing history.

I promise you this, if nothing else: the old Hemali is indeed gone, lost beneath the crashing waves of time in this unforgiving, forgetful sport. That colt--juvenile Eclipse champion and Kentucky Derby winner--has nothing on the great warhorse who stepped onto Belmont’s dirt this afternoon. This horse has not only the capability of immortality, but the promise of it."

---

Shown: Hemali
Racing Season: 5yo
Background: Marsh

Art and Characters (including Marsh) © me

Y'all have to wait to find out who the heck Marsh is and why he's so very important.

Next on: