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The Sport of Knaves

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The Sport of Knaves

Auteur(s): Fred Shira
Narrateur(s): John Walker
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A horse racing mystery a la Dick Francis

From the Bluegrass pastures of Kentucky to the big time racetracks the Sport of Kings reigned . Then when greed and avarice raised its ugly head, it ushered in the Sport of Knaves. Some are knaves by nature--Some are knaves by choice--Some are driven to knavery by circumstance.

Their belles prettier, their bourbon smoother, their tobacco sharper, and of course their horses faster, so said the planters of western Kentucky who considered themselves the patricians of the South. Long before the glorious antebellum years, the farmers who walked behind the horse-drawn plow discovered that the horses grazed on the rolling green hills grew stronger and fared better. They learned later it was due to the high level of calcium in the ground making stronger bones. Hard work and good stewardship brought affluence, and slaves took over the plow handles and the fertile soil produced. Prosperity grew so grew opulence. time expanded and utility gave way to sport. Thus, the draft horses and mules moved over to make room for the sleek thoroughbreds. As the sport grew, avarice reared its ugly head tainting the Sport of Kings ushering in the Sport of Knaves.

TURF CLASSIC STAKES

Horses and Geldings 4 year old and up $100,000 1 mile and 16th

The bell rang closing down the betting windows. Electricity filled the air animating the crowd as all attention turned to the last horses entering the starting gate at the head of the stretch--a sixteenth mile up from the mile track finish line. “They’re Off” came blasting from the speakers. And, the thunder from thirty-two hooves blended with the roar of the crowd as the horses passed the grandstand for the first time. “After a quarter mile it’s Indian Dancer setting the pace with Topango in second, Sycamore Row third and Brookfield Ruler following in fourth” Both men looked through their binoculars as the horses settled in along the raid rounding the turn. Then at the half mile pole, “It’s Indian Dancer maintaining the lead with Topango challenging and Brookfield Ruler starting to move.

At the three-eighths pole is Brookfield Ruler moving through horses challenging Indian Dancer for the lead.” The announcer’s voice rose with excitement, “Brookfield Ruler is moving to the lead opening up two lengths.” The men lowered their binoculars to be able to see the stretch run. Brookfield Ruler lined out at the head of the stretch two lengths in front but then his stride began to become labored. With each stride he began to lose his lead over Indian Dancer who was moving up. At wire he was barely able to hold off the challenging horse by the length of a head. The men moved from the box without talking. Moving towards the winner’s circle they watched the outrider catch Brookfield Ruler turning him towards the grandstand. As he led the horse the men could see Brookfield Ruler’s head moving up each time his right leg came forward trying to take some of the weight off his leg. It became more pronounced with each stride.

By the time he reached the winner’s circle he was limping so badly even the amateur horse players could notice.“We knew we were racing him too hard, but what were we to do,” the one man said, almost apologetically. “But, that’s the name of the game; we need him to be horse of the year.” "After the picture was taken they both watched the horse limp down the horse path toward the barn.“With Sharkey running second in the big race in California, we got a better shot. But we still have to win the Island Handicap to clinch the title.” The other countered.“Sharkey would have kept his horse on the West Coast just to stay away from us, but as soon as he hears about how our horse came back sore, he’ll jump on the next plane. We’ve beat each other but we won the last outing.

©2022 Fred J Shira (P)2024 Fred J Shira
Fiction policière Littérature Suspense Fiction Kentucky
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