RBI Snake

Penny offering Secretariat his favorite treat in his Belmont stall, Certs breath mints. Someone had a sweet tooth. Riva Ridge, Meadow Stable's 1972 Kentucky Derby and Belmont Stakes winner, had the stall to Secretariat's left, picture's right. I am sure he got a favorite treat too. Penny loved both of her babies. She considered Riva belonging to her, but Secretariat belonging to the world.

SECRETARIAT
Keep Your Eyes On The Stars And Your Feet On The Ground

At seven-thirty in the morning on Long Island, among the chilled breaths and overcoats at Belmont Park, Secretariat first took shape gliding through the churchlike dimness of Barn 5.

The metal lids of cameras’ eyes blinked once, then successively, as the shape expanded toward the center of the paddock, while reporters scribbled notes on pads.

The red horse hadn’t run since the Garden State Stakes in mid-November, and now he was just three days away from his first start as a three-year-old. He was to race five other c**ts in the $25,000-added Bay Shore Stakes at Aqueduct March 17, Saturday, a seven-furlong sprint. There was less than half an hour to his final major workout for the Bay Shore. Most of the serious roadwork had been done in Florida, where Lucien had been building a deep foundation, called “bottom,” on the horse’s physical condition. Since that last seven-furlong work, Secretariat had gone a mile in 1:40 3/5 on March 7. He walked for his exercise the next day, as he always did after he worked, and galloped the next. On March 10, he was flown from Miami to Queens, vanned to the stable area at Belmont Park, and bedded down in Stall 7, his permanent home in Barn 5 for the remainder of the year. Riva Ridge, and ten other horses, came with him on the two-and-a-half-hour flight north. At Belmont Park, he walked the next day, then galloped two days in a row. Now he was ready for the final drill.
The schedule called for speed, and Lucien decided to send him out under Turcotte for a three-eighths-of-a-mile sprint over the blazing fast main track at Belmont Park. A short, fast sprint on the eve of a race is known as a “blowout” or “sharpener” among horsemen; others refer to it as a “zinger,” backstretch slang connoting a work designed to hone a horse’s speed.

Secretariat thrived on such speed work three days before a race, as it turned out, and the faster the better.

In a moment Turcotte was astride him, tucking a whip under his arm, fitting his feet into the stirrup irons, and gathering up the leather of the reins. A security policeman stopped traffic as the red horse headed across an access road leading through the stable area.

“That him?” he asked.

“Yeah, that’s him,” someone said.”

Moving for the racetrack near the clocker’s shed, Secretariat came to within twenty yards of the gap and stopped, pricking his ears, raising his head, and staring, motionlessly, toward the racetrack. Horses galloped past, singly and in sets, and he watched the movement, listened to the hooves slapping and the sound of riders’ voices.

Turcotte let him look, then clucked to him. The big horse strode off without hesitation, through the gap in the fence, turned, and galloped away.

Excerpt From
Secretariat

William Nack

Secretariat's length of stride was considered large even after taking into account his large frame and strong build. While training for the Preakness Stakes, his stride was measured as 24 feet, 11 inches. His powerful hindquarters allowed him to unleash devastating speed and because he was so well-muscled and had significant cardiac capacity, he could simply out-gallop competitors at nearly any point in a race.

The King Of Racing

For a moment, the world was still.
The nation’s greatest racehorses anxiously bumped against their stall, ears swiveling around anxiously as they waited for the bell to sound. Although well trained, they could not contain themselves. The horses knew what was coming.
And there he was, Secretariat, America’s Racehorse, his rear end leaning against the gate like a Hawaiian tourist in a hammock. He stared dolefully out towards the crowds, his ears lazily pricked forward. There was a low murmur as Chic Anderson’s voice crackled to life on the system. Secretariat spared a glance to the last horse being loaded in. It was Sham. The two stared at each other, just for a moment, before Sham was loaded in and the gate swung shut behind him.
“Everybody’s in line...”
The bell rang.
The gates sprung open.
“And they’re off!”
The crowd practically screamed as the horses surged out of the gate. The muscles of every racehorse rippled and bunch as they dug into the ground, lunging forward time and time again with massive strides. Around the jockeys arose the musical thunder of the Belmont Stakes.
It came as a shock to the crowd as Secretariat easily barged his way to the front, his body moving perfectly in sync to the great Sham. Ronnie had Big Red firmly in his grip, muttering to him, “C’mon, boy.” The stallion snorted in response, battling with Sham for the lead, even if only by a head. The bay horse responded with a snort, reaching his neck forward in determination. The other horses were left in the dust from the start.
It was Sham and Secretariat, Secretariat and Sham. The big bay warhorse and the even bigger red prince. They tore down the track in blazing speeds, snorting and huffing as their jockeys carefully edged them forward.
Both of them knew it was a long race. Ronnie wasn’t sure if Secretariat had it in him, and yet...
Secretariat pulled ahead by a nose.
Something was burning inside. A spark had ignited the moment the gates had opened.
Secretariat pulled ahead by a neck.
Every stride suddenly seemed larger. Ronnie Turcotte wasn’t riding Secretariat. He had simply hopped on a ride on the big red locomotive.
Secretariat pulled ahead by a length.
And, suddenly, the proud Sham was a dark blot behind them.
The wind whipped past the two, leaving bright red marks on Ronnie’s face. Almost foolishly, Ronnie thought to himself, *We’re leaving the wind behind!*
Just as quickly as Sham had challenged them, he was gone, furiously pounding behind them but to no avail. Ronnie and Secretariat, Secretariat and Ronnie. He barely had to urge Big Red forward as they sprinted across the track. *Thump. Thump. Thump.* The sound of the c**t’s hooves hitting the ground was music to Ronnie’s ears. Each stride seemed to grow larger and larger, covering more and more ground as they pulled ahead…
“They’re on the turn, and Secretariat is blazing along!”
The exhilaration from the crowd, the announcer, from Ronnie himself…
It was as if the gates of heaven had opened up, and Secretariat had come thundering through. This wasn’t the awkwardly huge c**t that guzzled up Meadow Stable’s feed and money. Not the c**t that placed a measly fourth on his maiden and fumbled in the shadow of the great Sham. No, this was the nation’s horse. This was the great Secretariat, barreling his way to victory as if it were another training day. He was moving like a bullet train, he was moving like Hell was raining down, he was...
*“He is moving like a tremendous machine!”*
The stands were shaking as the crowd screamed and stamped down on the wooden bleachers. Ronnie could feel the tremors even from atop his noble steed. He felt like laughing and crying at the same time.
“Secretariat by 12! Secretariat by 14 lengths on the turn!”
Ronnie risked glancing back to see Sham dropping back by My Gallant. It seemed even he could not bear to challenge his Big Red. He couldn’t help but grin as he looked back towards the front. “C’mon, Big Red,” he murmured.
At the sound of his voice Secretariat only became faster, surging forward again and again with such ease that Ronnie was in awe. It was effortless, almost, the way he dominated the track within seconds.
And he only kept pulling ahead.
“Secretariat is all alone!”
“He’s into the stretch!”
Suddenly, he was ablaze. It was all Ronnie could do to hang on as Secretariat thundered down the stretch. It was just the two of them. Ronnie didn’t dare pull him back, he just let the great red beast go all out. Secretariat was a fiery streak against the sky. The Red Prince was determined to claim the crown.
Ronnie felt absolutely giddy. The crowd had reached an octave he supposed no one had ever heard before. The jockey looked behind his back once more, except this time he wasn’t looking for any opponents. He knew there wouldn’t be any. No, he was looking at the clock.
“Secretariat has opened a 22 length lead!”
2:20.
Ronnie ducked his head and pumped his arms. Under his breath he exclaimed, “C’mon, Secretariat!”
The c**t gave one final burst, practically flying across the last few meters.
“Here comes Secretariat to the wire!”
*Thump.*
*Thump.*
*Thump.*
Ronnie saw the wire flash behind them.
He wondered if the crowd would break the stands with the way they were going.
“An amazing, unbelievable performance by this miracle horse!”
As Secretariat slowed to a canter, Ronnie’s accomplishment hit him full force. He had done it. He had guided the horse of the year, no, the horse of the *century,* to the finish line. The Red Prince had claimed his throne. There he was, Ronnie Turcotte, who miraculously had the pleasure of hopping aboard the King of Racing.

It was a glorious two and a half minutes no one would ever forget.

write something yourself..❤️

Secretariat’s life is more than just the story of a racehorse. He inspired millions, shattered the dark clouds hovering over the U.S. during the Watergate scandal and the Vietnam War, with his almost godlike presence casting an extraordinary copper light of hope with every thundering step he took. The gift Secretariat shared with the world for all nineteen years of his life could not be ignored. A horse whose story began with the flip of a coin and a woman trying to preserve her ailing father’s legacy, galvanized an entire country into devoted patriotic fans of horse racing.

Secretariat was foaled on March 30th, 1970 at The Meadow Farm in Virginia. Penny Chenery left her life in Denver, Colorado in an attempt to save her ill father’s farm, despite her family’s suggestion of selling off the farm and moving on. Unsure if the foal she now owned would ever be a winner, Penny acquired Secretariat in a coin toss, dividing up the potential offspring with mares bred to his sire, Bold Ruler. Secretariat was a massive c**t, quick to stand and nurse with a presence about him that captivated everyone at the farm from the very beginning. It has been said that Penny kept notes on their horses and foals. The note next to Secretariat’s name was simply, “Wow!’

Many would agree, Penny was the perfect owner for Secretariat. Her almost “First Lady” persona in the racing world quickly seduced thousands of new fans to the sport, becoming infatuated with Secretariat and his story. Lucien Laurin, Secretariat’s trainer, was on the brink of retirement when he joined Penny, soon clinching five of six consecutive Triple Crown wins between Secretariat and stablemate, Riva Ridge. Ron Turcotte, the jockey that basked in victory atop Secretariat’s Triple Crown wins, grew up in Canada working as a lumberjack with his father. While many have said Secretariat may have won no matter who was aboard, it seems inconceivable to imagine anyone other than Turcotte, wearing the iconic blue and white checkered silks, in the irons. Turcotte trusted Secretariat and respected the greatness beneath him, letting him ascend across the finish line as if being carried by a mythological being. The story of Secretariat and his unique team hypnotized the country over the horse’s career as a two and three-year-old.

I saw Secretariat at Saratoga Springs Racetrack after his Triple Crown win. He was supposed to run in the Travers Stakes and we went to see him. Unfortunately, he was recovering from a respiratory infection and was scratched from the race. However, the track was packed with people who came to see him, so he was saddled and brought out on the track and cantered in front of the grandstand. I’ve had horses my whole life and I have to say I was blown away when I saw him. His chest was bigger than any thoroughbred I’ve ever seen & I think my jaw hit my chest when I saw his amazing stride! Its almost 50 years ago and I still remember it vividly. There will never be another horse like Secretariat!!
By a fan

👑Secretariat👑
The King of The Sport of Kings
In the beginning Penny resented Secretariat—resented his outrageous good looks and his physique, his first victory by six, and his promise as a two-year-old, fearing for the eminence of Riva, her golden boy.
This ambivalent feeling was essentially a contradiction of her wish to make and keep The Meadow solvent and profitable. She easily overcame it. The superstition about opening day at Saratoga was more entrenched, and she followed it north from her rented house on Long Island. A year before, Riva Ridge was running in the Flash Stakes on opening day, and she flew all night to see him run in it. She missed her connection at La Guardia, the airlines lost her bags, she was miserable, tired, and almost missed the race. She sensed then that The Meadow was coming back and that it was important for her to be there. And she didn’t want to miss Secretariat’s race on opening day, July 31.
“I said to myself, ‘Maybe lightning is going to strike twice. You better be there.’ ”

Sometime in late June and July of 1972, Secretariat woke up as a racehorse, ceased being an overgrown pumpkin of a c**t, and began to like the business of racing: to get with it when the gates opened, pumping the legs and the neck and tracking the leaders for a while and then—once the legs began to mesh and the rhythm took over—picking up speed, grabbing the bit, and racing hell-bent past them for the wire. Some horses loaf; others refuse to run at all; others spit out the bit and back off when they are in a fight. Others fear close contact, shying away when bumped, hemmed in, or impeded. Not Secretariat.

He began to come alive, and after his first win he started training faster, running faster and harder against the bit. Then he was off to Saratoga, traveling north by van up along the Hudson River to the historic old spa, the mile-and-an-eighth sandbox where the rich play in August, where the beams are still made of wood and the awnings at the racetrack are peppermint striped and the people eat corn on the cob and chicken in a basket.

Excerpt From
Secretariat
William Nack

RIVA RIDGE ❤️
Named after owner Penny Chenery's son-in-law John Tweedy, who fought in World War II at Riva Ridge in the North Apennine mountains of Italy.
As a four-year-old, Riva Ridge set four track records and equaled a fifth. In fact, every time he won a race that year, he did so in record time.
Riva Ridge set a world record for 1 3/16 miles on dirt in winning the 1973 Brooklyn Handicap. That time was equaled by Farma Way in 1991, but has never been bested.
Once beloved by the public, Riva Ridge fell under the shadow of stablemate Secretariat during 1973. When fans came to their barn, Riva was mostly ignored in favor of the younger c**t. He was visibly seen to hang his head in disappointment when he was passed up yet again. The barn staff, in particular groom Eddie Sweat, made sure to pay extra attention to Riva on those days.
Nicknamed Golden Boy by adoring owner Penny Chenery.
Breeder Chris Chenery, father of Penny, was in the hospital and just months from death on the day Riva won the Derby. His nurse later reported that he cried while watching his horse win on the tv.
In the newly formed Marlboro Cup, originally designed as a match race between Riva and Secretariat, the two stablemates finished one-two and both broke the world record for 1 1/8 miles. Riva, however, carried the high weight of 127 pounds.
Once again outdone by his stablemate, Riva Ridge was syndicated for a staggering $5,120,000, which was quickly eclipsed by Secretariat's $6,000,000.
Riva sired over 20 stakes winners, including Roamer Handicap winner Rivalero; Futurity, Hopeful, and Flamingo Stakes winner Tap Shoes; Bold Ruler Stakes winner Rocky Marriage; Carry Back Handicap winner You're No Bargain; Comely and Bewitch Stakes winner Expressive Dance; and Shuvee and Imperatrice Handicap winner Alada.
Died at age 16 and is buried at Claiborne Farm.