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| Thunkin Theodore - photo finish |
We decided to name him for our
oldest son, Ted, and honor Ted’s namesake, my baseball-playing uncle. Hence the
name “Thumping Theodore,” also Ted Williams’ nickname. My uncle wasn’t the
caliber of Ted Williams, only rising to A ball in the minors. But the Jockey
Club couldn’t read my writing on the application so Theo’s official name was
Thunkin Theodore.
When he was born, we didn’t know
what kind of horse we had. Was he hard-working or lazy? Smart or dumb? Our
hearts soared with hope when he raced other foals and yearlings in the pasture,
always running through to the end even when he wasn’t first. The road from a race
around the fence line to the winner’s circle at the track, though, is long and
arduous.
We still weren’t sure about him
after his first two races. We first tried him on turf—his sister won twice on
the grass. But our big strapping bay tiptoed all the way around the track.
That’s not how you win. So this time, we were trying him on the dirt. And this
time, the competition was steeper than any he’d faced.
Still, despite the fluttering in my
stomach, I’d only promised the workshop’s participants a night’s entertainment,
not a victory. The odds-makers agreed, with Theo not among the favorites.
About eight of the participants
took me up on my offer, clustering around me, the trainer, and the jockey in
the paddock before the race. Tommy Morgan, my trainer, was a laconic West
Texan, not prone to talking. The jockey, however, enjoyed chatting up the young
blonde in our group.
When the horses broke from the
gate, Theo was right there, in fourth a little off the pace, just as Tommy
instructed. That way, there’d be juice in the tank at the end.
The horses turned for home with
Theo in second. At the 8th pole, a furlong before the end of the
race, he was in first, with a horse coming up on his left and another to his
right. Each of the other horses surged forward, both on the inside--between Theo and the rail. Theo responded, running even harder.
He was determined.
You can’t train that into a horse.
It’s part of who they are. That’s what separates the winners from trail ponies
and yard art.
Theo was so determined that he sprained
a ligament just after he crossed the finish line, though we didn’t know it at
the time. Our little group posed in the winner’s circle with a triumphant Theo and
his smiling jockey. Even Tommy had a small grin, apparently entertained as he
watched the jockey talk more with the blonde.
As Tommy said, “It helps when the
jockey has a little extra motivation.”
Later, I took the group back to the
stables. Theo was enjoying an after-race snack of fresh grass alongside the fence.
Another horse was being led by.
Theo saw him, raised up, and
trumpeted loudly. “I won! I am the King!”
The other horse lowered his head
and slunk past.
Theo’s ligament healed up nicely
and he came back to race--and win--again. Over his career, Theo ran in twelve races, posting two wins and two second places. When his racing days were over, he became a
jumper, continuing to compete, continuing to give it his all. But that first
win – that was special.
Miracle of miracles.
