Felix Francis - Triple Crown

Clen was short for clenbuterol, a drug used extensively in certain parts of the world to treat asthma in humans but also as a decongestant to help clear an unwanted build-up of mucus from a horse’s respiratory tract.

But I could hear Paddleboat’s airways. They were as clear as a bell — not even a hint of a wheeze.

I’d once done some research on clenbuterol for the BHA. Although not in fact a steroid, it had similar anabolic effects in horses, such that it helped to build muscle. It was rumoured to have been widely used in US training barns for many years almost on a daily basis, like a feed supplement. Only recently had new regulations been introduced requiring that clenbuterol use be suspended at least fourteen days prior to racing.

‘See to it he also gets a five-millilitre shot of HA in each hock joint and five hundred milligrams of Adequan into his hindquarters,’ George said to Charlie, who wrote again in his notebook.

HA is hyaluronic acid, a component of synovial fluid found naturally in healthy joints, while Adequan is an osteoarthritis drug. Both are used for the treatment of degenerative joint disease, something that really shouldn’t affect a horse that was only four years old. Paddleboat’s future prospects were looking worse by the minute.

George and Charlie moved out into the shedrow.

I quickly closed the stall door and moved on to my next horse, a five-year-old gelding called Debenture. The trainer and his assistant repeated the process of feeling his legs and discussing his future.

‘He’s still getting the vitamin shots,’ Charlie said. ‘I’ve given him two already this week and I’ll do one more tomorrow. They should set him up well for the Spring Handicap.’

‘Good,’ George said, before moving back out into the shedrow and on to the next horse.

And so on, down the full line of stalls.

When the inspections of my four horses were complete, I returned to each one in turn, replacing the protective pads and bandages on their legs and removing their halters.

George Raworth and Charlie Hern were still on their tour when I’d finished, so I walked round the shedrow towards Stall 17, which was at the other end of the barn, next to the office.

Stall 17 was the home of the barn star.

Fire Point had his head out over the half-door and he seemed to be taking a special interest in everything around him. Horsemen often talk about a horse having an intelligent head, by which they mean it is broad with eyes set far apart, a straight profile with ample nostrils. Fire Point’s head was none of those things. It was narrow, slightly dished, and with a small muzzle. However, his eyes were bright and alert.

‘Wonderful, isn’t he?’ said a voice behind me. I turned. It was Keith. ‘I love redheads,’ he said. ‘He’s like a reincarnated Secretariat.’

It was quite a statement. It was true that both Fire Point and Secretariat were chestnuts, but Secretariat was a legend in racing. Big Red, as he had been nicknamed, didn’t just capture the 1973 Triple Crown, he destroyed it, completing his trio of wins with an astonishing 31-length victory in the Belmont Stakes, a feat so extraordinary that it reportedly made those watching it cry.

And now, more than forty years later, Secretariat still held the record times for all three of the Triple Crown legs. He had been quite a horse, maybe the best ever.

I went over to stroke Fire Point but Keith put a hand out to stop me.

‘Mr Raworth doesn’t like anyone going near him. Other than me, that is. I look after him.’

I remembered that it had been Keith I had seen leading Fire Point over from the barns before the Kentucky Derby. Now he looked at the horse almost in awe. Certainly in adoration.

When the trainer’s tour of the barn was over, the grooms lined up at the feed store for Charlie Hern to issue the correct amount of concentrated mixed horse nuts for each animal.

As a general rule, racehorses eat one pound in weight of mixed feed for every hand high they stand at their withers. Most Thoroughbreds are around sixteen to seventeen hands high so they eat sixteen to seventeen pounds a day, plus some hay for fibre.

‘Paddleboat,’ I said, getting to the head of the line.

Charlie scooped two large measures of nuts from the feed bin into a black plastic bucket with a large number ‘1’ painted on the side in white. He then poured some thick syrup onto the food from a stubby brown glass bottle with a white label.

The syrup contained the clenbuterol — it said so on the label. Next, he measured more feed into the buckets marked 2, 3 and 4, for my other horses.

‘Make sure they eat it all up,’ Charlie said.

I took the buckets back to the appropriate stalls, gave the feed to the horses and waited while they ate it. I then checked they all had fresh water before returning the equipment to the appropriate store. My first evening’s work as a groom was done, and I hadn’t messed up.

Raworth’s six grooms plus Maria and the yard boy went together to the track kitchen for supper.

‘Food good,’ Rafael said to me on the way. ‘Plenty.’

‘Don’t listen to him,’ Maria said. ‘It is garbage. Always full of chilli. Mexicans will eat anything.’

‘Where are you from?’ I asked.

‘Puerto Rico,’ she said.

Hell, I thought. I hope I hadn’t turned down the chance to share a room with her.

‘Are there many Puerto Ricans here?’ I asked.

‘Lots,’ she said. ‘Diego, my cousin.’

She indicated towards one of the others in our group. I smiled at him but it wasn’t reciprocated. He simply glared back at me with cold black eyes.

The eight of us did not eat together as a single unit. Having individually swapped a meal token for food with Bert Squab at the service counter, most went off to sit on their own or with grooms from other barns. Maria, however, sat down right opposite me.

Cousin Diego clearly wasn’t happy.

He moved to our table, taking the chair right next to Maria. He continued to stare at me, eating his supper without ever looking at it once. I found it rather disconcerting, and Maria wasn’t happy with him either.

‘Go away,’ she shouted at him in English.

He didn’t like that.

‘ Habla Español, ’ he shouted back at her. ‘ Mantente alejado de este gringo. ’

‘ Púdrete! ’ She stood up and raised her hand as if to strike him but stopped short. She sat down again. ‘ Por favor vete. ’

Diego reluctantly moved away across the gangway, but still he continued to stare.

‘I sorry,’ Maria said, looking down at the table. ‘Diego speak very good English, much better than me, but he still act like he in San Juan. All his friends here from Puerto Rico. They like control of women. He not like me speak to men not from Puerto Rico.’

‘Do you speak to men not from Puerto Rico often?’ I asked.

She looked up at me and smiled broadly. ‘Only every day.’

I smiled back at her and sensed Diego getting agitated to my left.

We ate for a while in silence. Maybe the food was a little too hot for Maria’s taste, but I liked things spicy and, as Rafael had said, there was plenty of it.

Attached to the track kitchen was a recreation hall and Maria and I went through there after eating. Diego followed. In the hall were some casual seating, a jukebox, two pool tables and five computer workstations. There was also a large TV currently showing a baseball game between the New York Yankees and the Kansas City Royals.

‘Where’s the bar?’ I asked.

‘No here,’ said Maria. ‘Sometime boys go out to bar but drinking not allowed on backside, although some still do.’ She smiled as if implying that she was one of those.