Here Come The Closers | Belmont Stakes

  1st place!!!!

Race: 2018 Belmont Stakes
Horse: BTs Mustard Blue
Post Position: #7
Stable: White-Glass-Reserve 
-- Jockey: Michael Miller
-- Owner: Hera Stevenson
-- Trainer: James Johnson
Extra image: The Third Jewel
Features: [from left to right]
-- FHF Agent of Hell
-- LHR Proletarian
-- AS Foxfire
Prep Races: 
-- Southwest Stakes [2nd]
-- Rebel Stakes [1st]

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Another Alternative title: "Here comes Dork Dirt Face, Dashing Dirt Face, and Demon Dirt Face down the middle of the track"

I'M DONE! I AM COMPLETELY DONE! I MADE IT THROUGH THE TJC TRIPLE CROWN! No matter what place my Blue gets, I'm just so proud of myself for sticking through this no matter how many times I wanted to quit halfway through this belmont stakes XD I did it! *pats myself on the back*

So as many of you may know Blue is a mudder because I love mud. But dirt is a whole different story. I hate it. I hate drawing it and I hate drawing it on horses. Like seriously who knew that would be the most difficult part of this entry? XD Oh and don't get me started on the lighting for this. Can't we have a sunny race day for once? Please?

Also, if anyone wants to see the progression of this, I saved a stash file with a few saves: sta.sh/21g0jeggayhe?edit=1

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Story: 1,188 words

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Michael Miller was not looking forward to the Belmont Stakes. Not with what he had to deal with. Not after all the trouble he had already dealt with.  

Because now, just minutes away, Michael was expected to watch out for not one, but two demon colts by the infamous El Diablo line, both of which were sure to bring hell within the starting gate, an aspect of the race his mount had not quite mastered, it seemed.

Michael stood beside the colt’s trainer, watching the two devils get saddled as Blue strolled around the paddock. They seemed to be glaring at each other through the wall of their stalls, ears pinned back, ready to attack at any moment.

“What do I do, sir?” Michael asked helplessly as he eyed the two flashy colts. “Beetle has the front of the race, Demon has the end. Everyone else will be scrambling for the middle.” Mr. Johnson was scowling, deep into his concentrated thoughts.

“Let the filly go and follow Proletarian and Grand Slamm. If Demon comes in front of them, pull back, if demon gets beside you, get in front of them. With any luck he’ll take those two out and leave us with a comfortable spot that you can win from.”

It sounded like a very weak plan at best, but Mr. Johnson was the boss, and there was at least one clear direction: stay clear of Demon. Not that it would be easy. Every closer in the race would want to stay clear of Demon, and every stalker was going to try to let Ella Lorena deal with Beetle. Michael glanced over at Ella’s jockey and gave him a look of pity. He did not envy that man.

It was not long before all the horses were rounding the paddock, and the call came for riders up. As Michael steadied himself on Mustard Blue, he felt his stomach tie into a million different knots. This race could end badly if either of the devil colts acted particularly hellish. Michael had seen such spills. He had been apart of one.

Michael Miller, after all, was not a fearful man. He had always done the most daring things, like jumping onto the back of a horse and galloping flat out for a mile because one of his high school friends dared him to. If he was honest only real scare was when he caught his daughter attempting to get on a thoroughbred when he took her to work once because she wanted to do what daddy did. But his biggest fear was leaving his little girl alone because he was killed in a racing accident.

Michael gripped the reins as they emerged from the tunnel and onto the track. Fear was what killed you in the horse racing game, not two demon horses. He would get through this, and he would win, because he believed in Mustard Blue. He believed the colt was good enough, brave enough, and strong enough to beat ever horse in the field, no matter how many times they defeated him.

Blue snorted as the pony took them, and his ears perked. He remained calm, paying no attention to the little tussle one of the demon horses was into behind them. Michael followed his mount's example. He stared straight forward at the gate through the Post Parade and the warm up, focusing on his colt and how he felt.

As if in response, Blue gave a little kick right as Michael asked him to slow down from their warm up. The three-year-old chestnut did not want to be slowed, after all. He wanted to run. Michael smiled. He liked the energy he felt from the colt. The spirit. Despite his last win being months ago, Blue still knew what his job was, and he still loved racing with all his mighty little heart.

The gate crew got to work. Peppercini and Cream got right in, Foxfire following her like a pro. Proletarian stood quietly, his dark coat glistening. As he was led in smoothly, Michael thought curiously if the colt was going to be as hard to beat as he was in the Preakness.

Grand Slamm went in next, Ella Lorena striding in with just a bit of hesitation. Blue perked his ears at her. Michael wondered of that was what had made the colt so eager to get to the front in the Preakness. He hoped not. Ella would be going straight to the lead, and Michael knew Blue would burn himself out if he tried to follow her.

Within the gate, Michael pet him, soothing himself as much as the horse. Blue kept his eyes on the track, flicking his ears back only once. He shifted his legs, but as Michael peered down, he saw that the colt was square enough to jump.

There was an awful banging to his right. Blue gave a half rear, obviously not expecting that at all. There go the demons, Michael thought bitterly as he soothed his mount.

“Easy, Blue, easy….”

Thankfully, Blue was very easily distracted. After a few pets and a tug to the reins, he had his eyes on the track again, ready for the start.

The gates opened

And, unsurprisingly, all hell broke loose.

Demon wanted to cross through horses, slamming everyone together. Michael saw a flash of white as Foxfire got the worst of the collision. He saw red as Ella Lorena surged forward for the lead, missing everything, including Blue having to shove his way through Beetle and Grand Slamm, both big strong colts that were not at all pleased at being crushed into each other.

“Go boy, go!” Michael shouted at his horse. Beetle took off with a kick of fury, allowing Michael to swing Blue to the rail. The colt’s uneven, jumping strides and high head told Michael all that he needed to know: Blue was scared as all hell and had no clue what to do.

Michael continuously urged the colt with his hands and voice, and bit by bit the colt evened his stride like he did in the Derby. Michael looked in front of him: Ella Lorena looked to have gotten the lead, Beetle not far behind. Peppercini and Cream was striding easily in front of Proletarian.

But there were no others.

Michael glanced under his arm. He saw Demon’s devil face and heard his furious snorting. Behind that Michael saw Grand Slamm taking it easy. Foxfire was even further back.

What the hell happened? Michael wondered, gripping his reins hard. Blue didn’t seem rattled anymore. He had settled nicely. But how long would that last? Was Demon going to get another whisper from the devil? The animal was so unpredictable, and that freight train of a monster was behind them.

Michael breathed, calming himself. It would do Blue no good to worry. If Demon attacked, he would attack, and Michael would deal with it. Blue was built heavier than that devil. Perhaps, if need be, Blue could use it.

Just a mile to go, he thought.

And off they went, waiting for their time to strike.

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References:
Horses: www.thetimes.co.uk/imageserver…
Colors, grandstand, lighting: 
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