The Legend of Zippy Chippy (26 page)

“He feel good here,” said Felix, “close to his people.” With its triangular track surrounded by a Ferris wheel and fast food booths, it was hard not to be close to people at Northampton Fair, especially the ones with sticky fingers and pink cotton candy stuck in their hair.

Felix wondered which horse would show up today: the one who would focus on the start of the five-furlong course and give himself a chance to win, or the one who played the part of a prison lifer, not caring to leave his cell even when the door burst open? Felix never wanted to relive the nightmare of Zippy's banishment from Finger Lakes; it was a permanent stain on his training record.

Dwelling may have been a dark thought rattling around in the back of Felix's mind, but no such thoughts were troubling Zippy. Today Zippy Chippy proved to be a gamer, all business from bell to wire, or as Felix liked to say, “from posta da posta.”

Breaking clean and fast from his eighth hole position, Zippy looked like the racehorse Felix always knew he could be. Head down, rider up, Zippy flew from the gate, lean and mean with a mission in mind. Aboard Zippy Chippy for the first time, jockey Howard Lanci just let him go, no direction, no whip necessary.

Zippy passed the rest of the field early and, believe it or not, easily. At the near pole, he was about six lengths ahead of the pack of seven maidens. Zippy did not try to trash talk the other horses or bite them or slow down to let them catch up. He took the lead and held it, still six lengths out front at the second pole. Even when he was challenged by Short Notice and tailgated from behind by Unblessed, Zippy kept out in front coming into the homestretch, although his six-length lead had shrunk to a half a length. The crowd cheered wildly, and Felix and Zippy's handlers yelled themselves hoarse. (Sorry.) Heading home, the horse found himself in a place he'd seldom been before – first. He was lunging now to stay ahead of Short Notice, while Unblessed dogged them both from behind. Racing to the wire, Zippy was clinging to the lead, holding on by only his toenails.

He battled Short Notice right to the very end in front of a roaring grandstand crowd, head to head, shoulder to shoulder, with riding crops slapping a whole bunch of asses as the pack scrambled toward the finish line. The two horses hit the tape in almost a dead heat, except Short Notice was leaning in. A winner by one lousy neck. Spent but still spunky, Zippy Chippy finished second by two feet. The heart was strong, the legs a little less so,
and for one brief, dazzling moment, it had looked as if the Zipster's fortune and fate would come down to lucky number ninety-eight.

But wait! A yellow inquiry sign began flashing on the board. A foul had been claimed! Zippy's former (weren't they all?) jockey Willie Belmonte, who today was aboard Unblessed, lodged a formal complaint claiming that Short Notice had interfered with his mount in the first turn. It was obvious to the crowd that Belmonte and Unblessed had been bumped by Edgar Paucar's winning mount, but was it intentional, and did it affect the outcome of the race? With the most to gain from the inquiry, Howard Lanci stayed away from the fray, taking Zippy for a jog far down the track.

Silence dampened the mood of the track as bettors took their eyes off the inquiry sign only long enough to check their tickets. If Belmonte's claim of foul was upheld, then his horse, who had come in third, would be moved up to second and Short Notice would be disqualified. The second-place horse would be moved up to first place, thereby making Zippy Chippy the race winner. Oddly enough, once again the Zipster's future was in the hands of the men with binoculars strapped to their foreheads and video monitors on their desks.

For some of the longest minutes of Felix Monserrate's life, the track steward pored over the tapes of the race from every angle, trying to analyze the alleged foul. The officials saw the clash, they agreed there was bumping, but was the hit deliberate and therefore a foul?

“He ran a good race,” said Felix nervously, nodding toward his horse, who was still out on the track wondering why he wasn't being led back to the barn as usual. That bucket of cold water hanging from the wall in his stall wasn't going to drink itself.

As the four horses involved in the inquiry cooled down and mingled in front of the grandstand, the winner's circle
remained vacant. Zippy looked at it, somewhat confused.
Gee, I've never been in that place before. Is it new?

And then … a collective sigh came up from the crowd as the ominous I
NQUIRY
on the sign was replaced with the decisive word O
FFICIAL
. Foul play had been ruled out. Willie Belmonte's claim had been denied. Having lost the race and then the appeal, Zippy Chippy had been beaten both at the wire and up in the booth. This was the closest Zippy had come to winning in nine years of trying, including the mesmerizing match against Black Rifle that had taken place exactly three years before.

“He was in front by six lengths,” said Felix, the excitement in his voice betraying the fact that he'd never before witnessed his horse with such a commanding lead. “They had to run to catch him today. He was on top today.” They nodded in unison, the trainer and his fidgeting horse.

For five fast furlongs over soft and hallowed soil, Zippy Chippy had been on fire. Full-striding down that beaten path, he looked downright Jack Londonish:
I would rather that my spark should burn out in a brilliant blaze …
 Today Zippy knew where the finish line was and how to get there in a timely fashion. In less than two divine minutes, it seemed that Zippy Chippy had had his bum patted by the gods of thoroughbred racing.

If Felix was stunned by the loss, Zippy's fans were devastated. The horse himself was so upset that he shaved a full ten seconds off his backside victory dance. Back in his stall, he polished off his dinner like it might be his last meal ever. Racetrack officials could be fickle, but feed bags were forever. Many believed this would have been an excellent place to hang up Zippy's halter, while he was almost on top for once. However, Felix, seeing the glass as half full and then topping it up with a can of Coors, took the near win as a sign that things were finally turning around.
Yeah, in the trainer's eyes, Zippy's losing streak was ripe for the breaking.

“You watch, next week. We gonna win,” boasted Felix, talking to anybody and everybody at once. “This much he lose by,” he said, as if he were telling a fisherman's tale about a trout he'd hooked and lost.

And Zippy may very well have won the next time out. He was fit, he was primed, he was due. But torrential rain that week washed out most of western Massachusetts and the race card along with it. From horses to humans to Mother Nature, there were many obstacles to winning a race, and Zippy Chippy had come up against them all. His racing season was done. A sad bit of irony here is that Short Notice only ran three races in his career, using this one to crush the Zipster.

The squeaker with Short Notice made all the sports headlines. L
OSS
N
UMBER 98
: A
T
L
EAST
Z
IPPY
G
OT
O
UT OF THE
G
ATE
! Nobody knew it at the time, but this valiant duel with Short Notice would be Zippy's last great hurrah.

Zippy Chippy's future as a racehorse may have been in serious doubt, but according to Felix, the rest of his life never was: “Even if I die, my daughter is never going to let him go out of the family. He been like family for all of us.” Felix Monserrate, president and CEO of the American Foundation of Underdogs.

Every day may not be good, but there's

something good in every day
.

Anonymous

Should he, would he, ever race Zippy Chippy again? That was the question Felix Monserrate was asked every time he faced the media as well as his family and fellow tracksters. Although his answer was yes one day and no the next, he knew one thing for sure. When people – and yes, Zippy qualified as a person; after all, he had been covered in
People
magazine – stop doing what they love, they die from the inside out.

“People say, ‘Put him inside the fence, he will be happy.' He will not be happy. Not Zippy,” said Felix, the homestretch philosopher. “It's like when someone is working for thirty years and he loves his job and you retire him, send him home, he get sick. People die from doing nothing.” Standing next to Felix, Zippy swished his tail back and forth liked he was agreeing with his trainer … or simply swatting flies.

Felix was bang on. Anything with a soul, be it humans or horses, shrivels up and retreats into a shell when separated from the love of life. Far too many people fail to make a healthy transition to retirement and die slowly, longing for a return to their life's work, which is all they ever knew.

So, hand to harness and over uncertain ground, Felix and Zippy continued to walk the rocky path of racetrack life together. Both wanted to finish as winners in their careers, but the synergy and the alignment of the stars had so far never been quite right. Whether it be in the sweet stillness of dawn, or the end of a long day sharing a beer, there was always more hope in their stable than hay. Although second place was as close as Zippy had ever come to winning, number ninety-nine had a real ring to it. Plus, Zippy loved the Three County fairgrounds; you could smell the hot dogs browning on a midway grill all the way from the starting gate. People standing around with food in their hands, distracted by the sounds of the rides, were easy targets for the Zipster.