Kilbeggan Races pt. 5

Continued

In May of 1991, several horses had to be pulled just before race time. Two favorites, Dominic's Cross, and Caddy, were both pulled on veterinary advice because they appeared listless in the viewing ring. The horses had been "nobbled", or drugged, with either an aerosol spray or an injection. No one could figure out why. Bookmakers records were scoured to discover some pattern in the betting, but nothing unusual appeared, and the guilty parties were never discovered. That the job was bungled suggested amateurs were responsible, while others thought the episode might have been practice for a later scam.

A similar occurrence at this meeting is unlikely. The stables have been moved away from the public and will be watched by a security team.

This meeting, however, seems fated from the first to offer more in the was of casualties than criminality. In the fifth race, Got No Choice leads Merry people by a head at the final turn. At the last hurl, directly in front of the grandstands, she goes down. Hard. The strange jump seems dragged out, slow lotion, isolated from the tense pace. The horse goes up a far as out, comes down well, but then topples right over. On its neck. It does not stir as the others gallop by to the finish. A truck arrives on the scene and a curtain is spread around the poor beast.

No need for speculation in this instance. A whisper in the stands, "I'd say she's finished." And a reply, "I'd say so." The jockey was thrown clear, without injury. Had he fallen with his mount, he'd have been crushed under her weight. In all, three horses have gone down by the end of the day, one fatally. Even for Nation Hunt, this is a tragic meeting,

A successful one as well, in attendance figures, if not for the local punters. This was a day for the favorites. In almost every race, the favorite placed in the top three or won outright. Not a day to finance the farm, but enjoyable nonetheless.

As we make our way out a certain melancholy grips me. Beyond the usual gambler's tickle for more, I already miss the relaxed society, the gentle pace, gentle excitement, gentle evening.

I am not so gripped as to indulge in a game of Find the Queen. A hustler has set up a quick table near the exit, one eye on the three bent and bruised cards he furiously shuffles, and one eye alert for local Guarda.

You wouldn't find worse odds.


finis