Be a friend.
You can’t throw a whole life away because it got banged up a little
The Classic, the back stretch, the late charge
He lied to us, he can’t see, he lied to us.
You can’t throw a whole life away because it got banged up
more than a little, the life of the race, the life of a horse racer
a jockey, larger than average, more well thought out than the average
a lover of the chase, the perpetual underdog, playing black, moving second
asking for more, not from a thing, but a living feeling being
A horse, a race horse
A second chance, or maybe a third and fourth in the this case
a fighter, not to fight but to numb the pain
a racer, not to win but to feel the glory…
ok so to win
To win, is that not the point?
In this world, the western world of competition
the likelihood of the win is gauged by certain measurable factors
Is injury measureable? Does a horse become a thing to be discarded?
Does a human being?
There is also the immeasurable, the intangible, the quality of unknown quantity
It can be witnessed. Some say it cannot be predicted
and yet, that not scalable can be felt
Who feels it?
Oh it can be seen by millions, and celebrated
those unlikely wins
They give hope to the others, to those multitudes of others
yes, they too whom life has handed a raw deal
that they might somehow, against the odds, win.
Sometimes just a gesture, a short statement
these little and brief interactions lead to something fantastic and wondrous
those moments, those scant resonances give birth
They are felt by the players in this grand game
a substitute jockey, on a horse that no one ever thought would win
a match race, these don’t happen anymore
because giants, the generally accepted betters that are measurable,
fall to those with great heart
Horses are amazing creatures, they love, they shirk, they laugh
they are loyal
they know friendship
George Woolf rode that horse that day
for that famous race. George Woolf rode that horse
for his friend.
That horse, maybe the greatest race horse ever to be timed
ever to be considered worthy to match up against a giant
ever to win
Some say that this story is about heart, about indomitable spirit
about second chances, and that is not not true.
But people tend to forget that this story would be untellable
would not be part of the history of this country
would not be what many say saved us from ourselves in a dark period of time
This story would not have taken place, could never have been real if
Red Pollard had not counted George Woolf as a friend
and that is why Seabiscuit was able to win that crazy day
That is why the War Admiral fell
It was Friendship.
You can’t throw a whole life away because it got banged up a little
The Classic, the back stretch, the late charge
He lied to us, he can’t see, he lied to us.
You can’t throw a whole life away because it got banged up
more than a little, the life of the race, the life of a horse racer
a jockey, larger than average, more well thought out than the average
a lover of the chase, the perpetual underdog, playing black, moving second
asking for more, not from a thing, but a living feeling being
A horse, a race horse
A second chance, or maybe a third and fourth in the this case
a fighter, not to fight but to numb the pain
a racer, not to win but to feel the glory…
ok so to win
To win, is that not the point?
In this world, the western world of competition
the likelihood of the win is gauged by certain measurable factors
Is injury measureable? Does a horse become a thing to be discarded?
Does a human being?
There is also the immeasurable, the intangible, the quality of unknown quantity
It can be witnessed. Some say it cannot be predicted
and yet, that not scalable can be felt
Who feels it?
Oh it can be seen by millions, and celebrated
those unlikely wins
They give hope to the others, to those multitudes of others
yes, they too whom life has handed a raw deal
that they might somehow, against the odds, win.
Sometimes just a gesture, a short statement
these little and brief interactions lead to something fantastic and wondrous
those moments, those scant resonances give birth
They are felt by the players in this grand game
a substitute jockey, on a horse that no one ever thought would win
a match race, these don’t happen anymore
because giants, the generally accepted betters that are measurable,
fall to those with great heart
Horses are amazing creatures, they love, they shirk, they laugh
they are loyal
they know friendship
George Woolf rode that horse that day
for that famous race. George Woolf rode that horse
for his friend.
That horse, maybe the greatest race horse ever to be timed
ever to be considered worthy to match up against a giant
ever to win
Some say that this story is about heart, about indomitable spirit
about second chances, and that is not not true.
But people tend to forget that this story would be untellable
would not be part of the history of this country
would not be what many say saved us from ourselves in a dark period of time
This story would not have taken place, could never have been real if
Red Pollard had not counted George Woolf as a friend
and that is why Seabiscuit was able to win that crazy day
That is why the War Admiral fell
It was Friendship.
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