Short and sweet, this one.
A trainer, bookie and racehorse owner sit enjoying a meal during racing season at Saratoga Springs. By all accounts, the area is full of wealthy folk there to have a good time.
Bitsy Barlow enters the restaurant dressed in his silks. He stands by the wall watching the three men and clearly has something on his mind.
Those at the table try to ignore his presence, after all they're way above Barlow in the financial pecking order.
Barlow eventually approaches the table, brimming over with anger. He takes a drink. Reminds the men of his best friend and an accident that took place in Miami and ended his career. For the rich men, he's just a casualty of the business; to Barlow, it's a life blow from which his friend is unlikely to recover.
Barlow takes another drink. Insults the men. 'Libertines,' he shouts, the best of put downs, creating a scene before leaving.
A simple piece, then, in which not much happens but tickles the heartstrings, nonetheless.
Barlow's taken his friend's accident hard. He's realised that the jockey's part in their world is merely as a pawn in the game. The incident and the new understanding has consumed him to the point where he's on a self-destructive path. One thing a jockey needs to do is keep their weight under control, but:
'The food don't satisfy him like it used to and he can't sweat it out. If he eats a lamb chop, you can watch it tooching out in his stomach and it don't go down.'
And food isn't the only thing he isn't able to swallow like he used to. The whole wretched business of the racing world has been revealed as a rancid cesspit of opulence.
It's ironic that while he's struggling with his diet, this new awareness is eating him up from the inside.
In the end, it's the man at the bottom of the food chain that is the only one to possess any dignity. And hats off to you sir for your integrity.
No comments:
Post a Comment