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Yeats: The People's Champion.

Discussion in 'General Betting Board' started by Cyclonic, Apr 1, 2011.

  1. Cyclonic

    Cyclonic Well Hung Member

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    Standing in the stalls, the old warrior cast an appraising eye about him and snorted to himself. Maybe he didn't comprehend racing as we know it, but he knew what he was there for. All his life he'd stood boldly among his peers, he knew his place, and they knew theirs. They were there to take him down, he was there to belt the bejesus out of anyone who dared to raise his ugly head above the parapet. Royal Ascot was his turf, it was his field of dreams and he wasn't about to let anybody dump upon it.

    Without much ado, the gentleman on the stand hit the button, and the athletes hit the turf for the 207th running of the Ascot Gold Cup. First to jump was the outsider Hindu Kush, who's connections thought that if he was to have any chance at all, he would have to dictate play. But it was never to be. He did an admirable job though, leading them through the first half of the race, but the heavy hitters were camped close by, waiting for their moment to let rip.

    It wasn't until about a mile out that the first shot was fired in anger. With the pressure now slowly being applied to Hindu Kush by Frankie on the Suroor trained Veracity, the first to crack was Washington Irving, who was unceremoniously spat out the back, never to seen again. But Frankie didn't have much to smile about. He might not have known too much about what was happening at the rear end of the field, but he damn well knew what was happening up front. His worst possible nightmare was hovering above him like the sword of Democles. The bull of a horse, Yeats was cruising on his shoulder, just waiting to inflict a bloody great gash in those who had the misfortune to stand in his way.

    At the 6 furlong pole, the race exploded into life. Veracity quickly headed off Hindu Kush. The mighty Yeats peeled three deep, to be only a neck away, behind them came Centennial who tracked Veracity and on his outside was Segara, who took the opportunity to lob onto Yeats' back. A length and a half off came Patkai who was about to angled toward the inside by Moore, and the grey Geordieland was a further length away. The only other runner left in the race, Eastern Anthem, who had thrown his head up at the start, was three afield, and although being hard ridden, he was beginning to run on.

    So easily was the great horse going, that on the point of the home bend, Johnny Murtagh said "Chewy on ya' boot boys, I'm out of here." and he unleashed the cyclone. The destructive force that was Yeats, let down, and in a few blazing strides, he put four lengths in them, and as he did so, the masses gave full throat to the spectacle.

    Ridden for dear life, the people's champion sprinted into the long run home, with a wall of four left behind him, all in a world of pain. Hard up against the fence, Veracity had begun to shorten stride, while on his outer, getting a split and starting to put in the big ones, came the challenger, Patkai. Centennial was three wide and starting to wobble and on the outside, Sagara was under the pump. Hindu Kush was by now beaten off and both Geordieland and Eastern Anthem were now being asked the supreme question, but neither knew the answer.

    Yeats stormed past the two furlong post, his giant engine roaring on all cylinders as he tore the heart out of those who dared to mount any kind of challenge against him. But none were there to answer the call, bar a single plantive voice from deep in the wilderness, and that whisper came from the gallant Patkai. He dug deep, delving into the very depths of his being, looking to find that something, anything, that could see him bridge the gap. But no matter what he did, or what he tried, he barely made a yard.

    Now full of himself, Yeats thundered into the last furlong of the Gold Cup, and into racing immortality. Murtagh riding like a man possessed, left nothing to chance. He pushed, he shoved, and he drove the wonderful horse on, stride after stride, working his magic on the son of the legendary Saddler's Wells. And as brilliant an effort as the warrior put in, it was matched that warm, sunny afternoon by the man with the reins in his hands. And all the while the brave Patkai continued to lay it all on the line for Ryan Moore, but what little hopes he had for victory, were brutally dashed against the rocks of despair. Yeats in crushing his foes that fateful day, on his way to a fourth Ascot Gold Cup win, had stamped himself as a true champion among champions.
     
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    Last edited: Dec 8, 2017
  2. Ron

    Ron Well-Known Member
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    Cycs, nice to see you matey. Maybe we can get the horse forum going on here with your talent. Are you moving over or will you be going to refugees? This is a good place, better than BBC but we don't have the racing community here. I'm on the Wycombe (football) board and a moderator for my sins. Hope you will stay here and attract some others.
     
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