A brief little musing on Black Caviar’s thoughts. Somewhat fan fiction-esque. Though I’m not a fan of horse racing at all.
Black Caviar looked on as Peter stepped up to the media. They had spoken about the decision for the past week.
The decision to stop doing what she loved.
She’d known the past few races that she was at her peak, at the top of the bell curve so they said. At some point she knew she’d fall off the bell curve. Call the bluff of the fates that had been watching over her for the past 25 races.
She knew that she was carrying the hopes and dreams of others on her back, but she also knew that her back, her legs, he whole body could only take racing for so long.
She remembered the names Uhu, Bostik, Elmers, names thrown around the stables of what could happen to horses that failed. She didn’t want to become what they had become. Jokes thrown around by the stable boys who mucked out stables.
She turned to look at the calendar on the wall; the celebrated racing horses calendar where Phar Lap stood proud looking out into the stable.
Someone was crying now to the media, looking over it looked like one of her so called “part owners”. She had told Peter repeatedly, she wasn’t owned by anyone.
The crying hadn’t been rehearsed. Peter had said he never cried.
He had said he’d remain calm, do her justice when speaking to the media.
But looking over at the media again she wondered if she should go over, help by speaking to the media.
But the gate had been double locked, just so to prevent her from doing what she was thinking about.
She could get the gate open eventually, but by then the media scrum would have left.
She had even suggested to Peter that she lead the media announcement. She could answer her own questions instead of Peter answering the media’s questions for her.
But that was the way with race horses, you don’t answer your own questions when you’re facing the media. It is the trainer who answers the questions, not the jockey and certainly not the horse.
She turned away from the gate, she didn’t want to let the media catch her watching them, catch her caring what they thought. She had lived her racing life in the media’s eyes, as any racing horse should.
Now she hoped that she would not fall into obscurity in the media’s eyes, she wanted to be remembered like the greats; like Poseidon, Grand Flaneur and of course Phar Lap.
Black Caviar looked on as Peter stepped up to the media. They had spoken about the decision for the past week.
The decision to stop doing what she loved.
She’d known the past few races that she was at her peak, at the top of the bell curve so they said. At some point she knew she’d fall off the bell curve. Call the bluff of the fates that had been watching over her for the past 25 races.
She knew that she was carrying the hopes and dreams of others on her back, but she also knew that her back, her legs, he whole body could only take racing for so long.
She remembered the names Uhu, Bostik, Elmers, names thrown around the stables of what could happen to horses that failed. She didn’t want to become what they had become. Jokes thrown around by the stable boys who mucked out stables.
She turned to look at the calendar on the wall; the celebrated racing horses calendar where Phar Lap stood proud looking out into the stable.
Someone was crying now to the media, looking over it looked like one of her so called “part owners”. She had told Peter repeatedly, she wasn’t owned by anyone.
The crying hadn’t been rehearsed. Peter had said he never cried.
He had said he’d remain calm, do her justice when speaking to the media.
But looking over at the media again she wondered if she should go over, help by speaking to the media.
But the gate had been double locked, just so to prevent her from doing what she was thinking about.
She could get the gate open eventually, but by then the media scrum would have left.
She had even suggested to Peter that she lead the media announcement. She could answer her own questions instead of Peter answering the media’s questions for her.
But that was the way with race horses, you don’t answer your own questions when you’re facing the media. It is the trainer who answers the questions, not the jockey and certainly not the horse.
She turned away from the gate, she didn’t want to let the media catch her watching them, catch her caring what they thought. She had lived her racing life in the media’s eyes, as any racing horse should.
Now she hoped that she would not fall into obscurity in the media’s eyes, she wanted to be remembered like the greats; like Poseidon, Grand Flaneur and of course Phar Lap.