Fate and Destiny

Part 1
The groom led the sweaty, tired horse from the backstretch to the front yard of the barn, where he walked him in circles to cool him off.
“Great workout, was’n it?” a man said to the groom, giving the horse a slap on the neck.
“Sure was” the groom agreed, “I’d say he’s definitely ready.”
It was the year 1969, in Elmont, New York. The name of the stable was Pine Hills Thoroughbreds. The horse was Fated to Win, or Fate, as they called him. In addition to the fact that this was the horse’s name, it clearly represented who the colt was. A descendant of Man O’ War, his blue blood had earned high expectations for him before he was even born. Right now, in fact, he was one of the most promising 3-year-old in the entire barn, and was pointed at a very big upcoming race in a few days.
“Walk him until he’s completely cool, then take him in and groom him,” the man said to the groom. With that, the man hurried into the barn office.
The man was Buddy Jones, the colt’s trainer. Since the colt’s winnings, his reputation had skyrocketed, and now, days away from the biggest race of the horse’s 3-year-old career, he was beginning to feel a bit anxious.
Buddy sat down in a chair and began to go over Fate’s record. With nine races under his belt, the colt had won six of those, including two legs of the Triple Crown; the world-famous Kentucky Derby, and the Preakness. It had been a great disappointment when Fate had come out of the Belmont Stakes, the last leg of the Triple Crown, in 6th place with a torn ligament in his leg, and had to be scratched from a couple of his upcoming races. Now, with his ligament healed, he was back in action and, after his latest win in his prep race a few weeks ago, he was ready for his race.
It was the night before race day. Buddy lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, too nervous to sleep. He tossed and turned for hours, unable to sleep. The thought of the race the next day was not the only thing keeping him from sleep; in the back of his mind, almost subconsciously, he had an uneasy feeling of disturbance nagging at him. When he finally fell asleep, the sleep was heavy and dreamless.
The next morning, the morning of October 27, 1969, Buddy awoke with a start, and remembering it was the day of Fate’s race, scrambled out of bed and was at the track half an hour later. As the day went on, through Fate’s light morning workout and through the intensive grooming they gave him, the nagging feeling in the back of Buddy’s mind persisted. By post time for the race, Fate was immaculately groomed, energized, and ready to go, but Buddy’s stomach was churning and his head was spinning. He watched numbly as the groom saddled him, and the jockey was given a leg up. He followed the groom leading Fate to the track, and as the groom gave him slap on the rump and said “go get ‘em” to the jockey. He and the groom then parted ways with the colt, and took their seats in the box. Buddy stared out at the field as the colt trotted excitedly down the backstretch, pulling the pony-horse along. He stood, clutching the rail, as Fate was being loaded into the gate. He stayed gripping the rail, anxiosly waiting as the crowd tensed, sending a hushed silence over the track. He watched, riveted, almost in a transe, as the starting bell clanged, and the horses broke out of the gate. He watched as Fate stumbled coming out of the gate, and as Fate ran on, slowly catching up with the pack. He watched as Fate became boxed in by three horses rounding the far turn, and as Fate’s jockey smacked him with the crop. He watched as Fate’s foreleg slipped from underneath him, and he watched as the horse behind Fate slammed into him, and he stared, paralyzed, as Fate crashed forward into the dirt and lay there, motionless. He continued to watch as track officials, Fate’s groom, and the track vet came rushing out into the turf and put up a screen between the fallen horse and the grandstand. Slowly, as though in shock, Buddy made his way out onto the field, and the groom rushed out to greet him.
“Buddy, I’m sorry” he said gravely “it doesn’t look good.”
Buddy rushed over to the vet. “How bad is it?” he asked worriedly.
“I’m sorry, but I have to put him down” the vet said somberly “he’s fractured both his forelegs and you can’t have him live in this much agony” he said quietly.
As if in a dream, Buddy nodded, went over and held the horse’s head in his lap.
“Fated to Win” Buddy murmured, stroking the horse’s face. “Bye, old buddy.” Then the vet injected two shots into his neck. The horse shuddered once, then lay still.
Part 2
A young horse galloped down the backstretch. A man with a stopwatch hit the button as the colt thundered past them.
“Great time!” the man yelled out triumphantly “he’s lookin good” he said, smiling.”
Now the year was 1996. At a stable called Red Oaks Farm, in California, a 3-year-old named Destiny Rebels was being worked for the Breeders Cup, his biggest race yet. Destiny did not have the greatest of bloodlines, but with the help of his trainer, a well-known stakes trainer named Farley Crawford, he was beginning to make a name for himself on the track. He was now at the track, being worked in preparation for his race.
“Okay, that’s great for today, walk him out, then have Joe give him a total body massage” Farley called to the jockey as he made his way, along with a couple of owners, to the far side of the track to monitor a 2-year-old filly’s workout.
“So you think he’s ready?” Destiny’s owner questioned Farley.
“Sure, with nine races, six wins, he just as well off as any of the rest of them. Just a darn shame about that ligament torn in the Belmont. He would have been at more of an advantage had he not had that temporary setback, but he looks good now” Farley responded optimistically.
“Great, then I can stop worrying” the owner replied anxiously.
“I wouldn’t worry about it” Farley assured him.
Two nights later, the night before the race day, as Farley lay in bed thinking of the day to come, unable to sleep, he was slightly aware of an disturbing, nagging doubt at the back of his mind. Doing his best to block it out he tried to think positively about what kind of strategy they’d use in the race tomorrow, but as the hours of the night wore on, he lay awake, tossing and turning......
All of a sudden, it was race day. The track was packed with people, and as Farley rushed around, tending to all his horses running that day, his thoughts kept returning to Destiny. Before he knew it, it was post time for Destiny’s race, and there was no denying that he was feeling a little faint. The groom led Destiny out into the saddling ring, and Farley watched as the jockey was given a leg up, and Destiny was led onto the track. As Destiny jogged and pranced nervously by his pony-horse down to the starting gates, Farley’s unexplained fear was mounting. He wrung his hands and watched helplessly as Destiny was loaded into the gates, the crowd tensing, and, as the starting bell clanged, Farley fought a sudden urge to run out and stop his horse before anything happened......
And I think you know what happened to Destiny Rebels on October 27, 1996.Lizzy Scholom
Fate and Destiny
Part 1
The groom led the sweaty, tired horse from the backstretch to the front yard of the barn, where he walked him in circles to cool him off.
“Great workout, was’n it?” a man said to the groom, giving the horse a slap on the neck.
“Sure was” the groom agreed, “I’d say he’s definitely ready.”
It was the year 1969, in Elmont, New York. The name of the stable was Pine Hills Thoroughbreds. The horse was Fated to Win, or Fate, as they called him. In addition to the fact that this was the horse’s name, it clearly represented who the colt was. A descendant of Man O’ War, his blue blood had earned high expectations for him before he was even born. Right now, in fact, he was one of the most promising 3-year-old in the entire barn, and was pointed at a very big upcoming race in a few days.
“Walk him until he’s completely cool, then take him in and groom him,” the man said to the groom. With that, the man hurried into the barn office.
The man was Buddy Jones, the colt’s trainer. Since the colt’s winnings, his reputation had skyrocketed, and now, days away from the biggest race of the horse’s 3-year-old career, he was beginning to feel a bit anxious.
Buddy sat down in a chair and began to go over Fate’s record. With nine races under his belt, the colt had won six of those, including two legs of the Triple Crown; the world-famous Kentucky Derby, and the Preakness. It had been a great disappointment when Fate had come out of the Belmont Stakes, the last leg of the Triple Crown, in 6th place with a torn ligament in his leg, and had to be scratched from a couple of his upcoming races. Now, with his ligament healed, he was back in action and, after his latest win in his prep race a few weeks ago, he was ready for his race.
It was the night before race day. Buddy lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, too nervous to sleep. He tossed and turned for hours, unable to sleep. The thought of the race the next day was not the only thing keeping him from sleep; in the back of his mind, almost subconsciously, he had an uneasy feeling of disturbance nagging at him. When he finally fell asleep, the sleep was heavy and dreamless.
The next morning, the morning of October 27, 1969, Buddy awoke with a start, and remembering it was the day of Fate’s race, scrambled out of bed and was at the track half an hour later. As the day went on, through Fate’s light morning workout and through the intensive grooming they gave him, the nagging feeling in the back of Buddy’s mind persisted. By post time for the race, Fate was immaculately groomed, energized, and ready to go, but Buddy’s stomach was churning and his head was spinning. He watched numbly as the groom saddled him, and the jockey was given a leg up. He followed the groom leading Fate to the track, and as the groom gave him slap on the rump and said “go get ‘em” to the jockey. He and the groom then parted ways with the colt, and took their seats in the box. Buddy stared out at the field as the colt trotted excitedly down the backstretch, pulling the pony-horse along. He stood, clutching the rail, as Fate was being loaded into the gate. He stayed gripping the rail, anxiosly waiting as the crowd tensed, sending a hushed silence over the track. He watched, riveted, almost in a transe, as the starting bell clanged, and the horses broke out of the gate. He watched as Fate stumbled coming out of the gate, and as Fate ran on, slowly catching up with the pack. He watched as Fate became boxed in by three horses rounding the far turn, and as Fate’s jockey smacked him with the crop. He watched as Fate’s foreleg slipped from underneath him, and he watched as the horse behind Fate slammed into him, and he stared, paralyzed, as Fate crashed forward into the dirt and lay there, motionless. He continued to watch as track officials, Fate’s groom, and the track vet came rushing out into the turf and put up a screen between the fallen horse and the grandstand. Slowly, as though in shock, Buddy made his way out onto the field, and the groom rushed out to greet him.
“Buddy, I’m sorry” he said gravely “it doesn’t look good.”
Buddy rushed over to the vet. “How bad is it?” he asked worriedly.
“I’m sorry, but I have to put him down” the vet said somberly “he’s fractured both his forelegs and you can’t have him live in this much agony” he said quietly.
As if in a dream, Buddy nodded, went over and held the horse’s head in his lap.
“Fated to Win” Buddy murmured, stroking the horse’s face. “Bye, old buddy.” Then the vet injected two shots into his neck. The horse shuddered once, then lay still.
Part 2
A young horse galloped down the backstretch. A man with a stopwatch hit the button as the colt thundered past them.
“Great time!” the man yelled out triumphantly “he’s lookin good” he said, smiling.”
Now the year was 1996. At a stable called Red Oaks Farm, in California, a 3-year-old named Destiny Rebels was being worked for the Breeders Cup, his biggest race yet. Destiny did not have the greatest of bloodlines, but with the help of his trainer, a well-known stakes trainer named Farley Crawford, he was beginning to make a name for himself on the track. He was now at the track, being worked in preparation for his race.
“Okay, that’s great for today, walk him out, then have Joe give him a total body massage” Farley called to the jockey as he made his way, along with a couple of owners, to the far side of the track to monitor a 2-year-old filly’s workout.
“So you think he’s ready?” Destiny’s owner questioned Farley.
“Sure, with nine races, six wins, he just as well off as any of the rest of them. Just a darn shame about that ligament torn in the Belmont. He would have been at more of an advantage had he not had that temporary setback, but he looks good now” Farley responded optimistically.
“Great, then I can stop worrying” the owner replied anxiously.
“I wouldn’t worry about it” Farley assured him.
Two nights later, the night before the race day, as Farley lay in bed thinking of the day to come, unable to sleep, he was slightly aware of an disturbing, nagging doubt at the back of his mind. Doing his best to block it out he tried to think positively about what kind of strategy they’d use in the race tomorrow, but as the hours of the night wore on, he lay awake, tossing and turning......
All of a sudden, it was race day. The track was packed with people, and as Farley rushed around, tending to all his horses running that day, his thoughts kept returning to Destiny. Before he knew it, it was post time for Destiny’s race, and there was no denying that he was feeling a little faint. The groom led Destiny out into the saddling ring, and Farley watched as the jockey was given a leg up, and Destiny was led onto the track. As Destiny jogged and pranced nervously by his pony-horse down to the starting gates, Farley’s unexplained fear was mounting. He wrung his hands and watched helplessly as Destiny was loaded into the gates, the crowd tensing, and, as the starting bell clanged, Farley fought a sudden urge to run out and stop his horse before anything happened......
And I think you know what happened to Destiny Rebels on October 27, 1996.