When It’s Time to Pretend What’s Real

Seabiscuit

I’m stepping back,

unhitching the latch,

walking through the gate,

saunterng into the pasture

where you, Seabiscuit,

are spending your final years.

Here, my vicarious entry

to a realm

of claimed greatness.

The grass green and thick,

your body firm and stately

as I knew it would be.

Our eyes meet

as if you know me

with your nod

beckoning me to stroke

your magnificent forehead.

And yes, you’re small

holding that big heart.

You lived the underdog,

returned from hopeless injury

to name your victory,

became lead money-winner

of all-time.

My, you were eccentric--

sleeping all those

non-athletic hours,

your need for Pumpkin--

stall-mate to calm you;

perhaps, too, the inspiration,

despite your slight frame,

for your outsized appetite.

O, your felicity to behold

with your owner, trainer,

jockey and adoring crowds,

primping proudly as you

pranced before the race.

You, Biscuit, the original, gave.

We, the fortunate, received.

You got more ink

than Hitler or Roosevelt

and died when I was nine,

buried where no one knows.

To Ponder

1. There are times in all our lives when some strong desire

can be met only through fantasy.

2. As a child I heard adults speak of Seabiscuit in awe. I just

thought he had a catchy name.

3. Then in 2001 Laura Hillenbrand wrote her dazzling

monster seller with simply his name as its title.

4. I, a slow reader, swallowed it up in two days, wonderfully akin to its

central characters.

5. Always an energized sports enthusiast, I learned, too, that the jockey is

probably the greatest athlete in all sport.

6. I loved this horse of the pages---his championship heart,

his overcoming adversity, even his vain personality.

7. Only through fantasy—my imagination---did I meet him

and make him my friend and ongoing inspiration.

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