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Post by Anthony James Lovasz on Sept 14, 2010 8:41:40 GMT -8
Thunder. It rolled with such tremendous power that the earth shook as if it were going to open up and swallow all life. But the sun was shining brightly, not a could in site... and that meant it could only possibly be one thing making such a surge of electricity in the air. Horses. Down they came, 'round the turn and into the home stretch, straining with the effort to drive to the front. Chestnuts mixed with blacks, grays, and bays, all of them creating a picturesque abstract image of the very essence of a racehorse. Astride each was a jockey dressed in brightly colored silks, perched perilously atop the charging beasts. They were said to be the bravest sort of men, balancing so carefully on inch wide metal strips, restraining the bursting power of the animal beneath them as they catapulted down the track at 45 mph, almost certain death awaiting them should they fall.
The horses stretched themselves out into full gallops, fighting with everything they had to take the lead. Two ran neck and neck for a few strides before the smaller gray head bobbed out in front, followed by the neck, then shoulders. The finish line flashed by, but before anyone could react to the dramatic come behind and one of the biggest upsets in the history of the Santa Anita, a horrible screech blasted out from the second place horse and he leached sideways into the winning stallion, sending the other pair crashing through the rail. The jockey heard the crack of breaking bone before he felt the pain that seared up through his arm, followed shortly by pain from everywhere else as the 1,200 pound animal rolled over top of him. As the horse's body crushed the jockey's chest, he felt like all the oxygen was just sucked out of the universe and he was lying there suffocating. Luckily, he had managed to get his feet out of the stirrups before going down, and as the horse jumped back up onto his feet, he left his rider lying there in pain.
He felt like everything was just starting to fade out, going out of focus. The voices were getting quieter, the pain was beginning to dull, and quite suddenly, the choppy ground where he lay felt much more comfortable than it had before. He closed his eyes for a moment, and let the unconsciousness have him. Somehow though, everything was still registering in his subconsciousness, and after only a few moments had passed all the voices and sirens and panic burst into his mind, and his mind screamed at him to come back and stop all the doctors from doing whatever it was they were doing to him. His eyes opened again with a jolt as all the pain came rushing back and his lungs filled with air once again, and instinctively, he reached out and stopped the EMT's hand from coming any nearer. He knew in that hand there was a syringe filled with whatever sort of drug they felt was needed, and that was the last thing he wanted them doing.
They had managed, already, to get a brace on his left arm, and had surveyed the damage enough to know that he had broken his arm just above his wrist, had a good sized gash on his left lower leg, had at least two broken ribs, probably a concussion, and a lot of bruising. Don't The jockey nearly growled, a tone that was uncharacteristically serious for the 20 year old. He pushed the doctor away, and sat up slowly, ignoring all of the gasps and pleas of the EMT's. He shifted, and slowly pushed himself up onto his feet, knowing much better than to stand quickly. His vision still hadn't returned to it's normal state, but he could see well enough. When he pushed through the crowd of track officials, media, and medical teams and grabbed the horse's reins from the frantic handler trying to control the panicking horse, a cheer went up from the crowd, but he didn't hear it. He was in a lot of pain, and knew he probably should have let the doctors take care of him... but that wasn't his style.
As soon as they were back down to the stable area a groom, and the horse's regular handler came rushing out to take the horse off Anthony's hands, and someone else... he was guessing the trainer... hurried over to help Anthony to somewhere to sit before he passed out. I'm fine he muttered before anyone had the chance to ask, though he clearly wasn't. He was currently going through a bit of shock from the accident, and the pain was making it worse. He looked pretty good all things considered, it could have been a lot worse. There was a bit of a comotion outside the stable, and he could see security guards reinforcing the blockade to keep the press out. Neither horse nor jockey needed those people around asking questions and taking pictures. They'd been hurt, it was a normal part of being in the horse racing world... people and horses got in accidents, and life went on.
The tell-tale feeling of bone grinding against bone followed by a rather unpleasant pop and pain. It was a feeling Anthony Lovasz was all too used to. Even as many times as he'd been thrown, landing even just slightly on that shoulder always ended in a dislocation. He took a moment to catch his breath, then sat up slowly, and snapped his shoulder back into it's proper position. Yeah, it hurt like hell... but he'd done it so many times, he hardly flinched anymore. Like any jockey, he was a mess of fractured bones, torn ligaments, stretched tendons, and any number of other problems caused by the perilous life he had submitted him to when he was only 13 years old. Once he had gotten his arm back in it's appropriate place, he headed across the track and over to where one of the outriders had caught the horse for him and was waiting.
I'm not as young as I used to be Nova. he said as he grabbed the horse's reins with his left, still braced arm and giving a nod of thanks to the outrider. Even now, 3 years later, he still wore the brace to cut back on the pain. He knew it hadn't healed properly back when he was 20 and he and Doubt went through the rail, but it was mostly just an inconvenience now, the same as his shoulder being so easily torn from its socket. Normally Anthony was a huge proponent of getting back up on the horse after falling, but when the horse was Nova and you'd just injured yourself somehow, it was probably wiser to stay on the ground than get back up on the horse. He could certainly give his rider a hell of a time trying to ride him, and Anthony knew better than to try to control him with only one arm.
When they arrived back at the stable, Anthony clipped the horse in the cross ties and set about removing the tack from the sweaty animal. He had managed to get a decent workout in before the horse exploded. They were making progress, but Anthony still expected to be thrown at least once during the week. It wasn't that he was a bad rider... certainly not, he was a superb rider, and everyone who knew him knew it was true... but with your stirrups up so high like they always were for jockeys, and a horse that could move like a rodeo bronc... even the best rider in the world would hit the dirt when Nova decided to have a temper tantrum. He was just so quick and agile, and incredibly unpredictable. He could appear perfectly fine, running on a nice open gallop, changing leads and listening to his rider like a fine gentleman, and the next moment you'd find yourself without a horse as you hit the ground and the horse took off.
For a moment, Anthony completely forgot that he'd dislocated his shoulder, and without even thinking about it reached up to pull the saddle off of the horse using his right arm. The pain was quick to remind him though, and he winced painfully, and moved his arm back down to it's normal position. Nova turned his head and looked over at Anthony as if trying to figure out what he was doing just standing there instead of getting on with it. Anthony just smiled and patted the horse's neck with his left hand. This is your fault you know. he said to the horse, You're the only horse that's thrown me in the past six months, you need to get in on the deal. Nova just shifted his weight lazily, his appearance suggesting an old retired trail horse rather than a training racehorse. He was always much more calm and relaxed after a workout, a definite welcome change from the fiery pain in the neck he was before expending all his energy.
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Post by portia on Sept 19, 2010 22:21:12 GMT -8
I FEEL SO SMALL SOMETIMES Just like peanut butter and jelly was not one without the other, racehorses and severe injury would not exist should one disappear. Hand in hand in an unholy matrimony of taboo danger, death and crippling was not uncommon to those who understood the lucrative business of racing horses. However, even if one did not get the complex hierarchy and inner workings of the racetrack life, all it took was a little bit of common sense to understand that putting tiny little flies on the backs of half ton animals whose only two instincts were fight or flight and sent them running around an enclosed course with 18 others of their flighty kind did not have some sort of harming corollary. Still, most of the outside world took vicious stabs at the ‘abuse’ of the animals whose heart and soul had been bred and hand groomed for the thrill of the race.
Many protestors forgetting that horses weren’t the only ones losing their lives.
While severe injury and death was more common on non-grade 1 stakes races, it was never ruled out by anyone that it ‘couldn’t happen to them’. Karma was a bitch and to any that dared to say such a thing got what they asked for in the end. It had happened to Portia, therefore she was all too savvy about the horrors of racing that lay just behind the glorified sport of kings. Many friends had been crippled or lost under the hooves of 12 or more horses bearing down on their defenseless, misplaced bodies. Portia herself had suffered hundreds of injuries, including the one that almost killed her.
That one had been fun.
Thrown off during a rather unimportant race on a promising colt, the only thing that may have saved her was the fact that they had been traveling towards the back of the pack, less hooves to trample her with. Just as they rounded the final turn and the glory of the stretch opened up, the colt suddenly decided he was going to have nothing to do with ‘winning’ like he had been bred and expected to and put on the breaks. Playing the part of catapult, Portia hit the ground running at 45 miles an hour. Unfortunately, it was not the initial fall that almost killed her it, was the two horses that ran up behind them, one knocking her helmet off, the other catching the very back of her head, shattering her skull there.
Needless to say, 18 hours of surgery later, umpteen billion shattered skull fragments removed and one steel plate placement later, Portia was lucky to still be breathing.
The relief did not come until she woke from her two month coma. At that point, she had decided to quit the jockeying and to the next best (dangerous) thing –training and breaking the racehorse legends of tomorrow. And that’s just what she was doing on the still morning. Kindly giving her hard working grooms and exercise riders the day off, Portia wanted a taste of the power everyone had been talking about in Firestorm, her newly acquired colt. He had shown promise at the auction, and so far he was living up to every standard he had been put up against, and she was not about to miss out on the chance to experience true perfection first hand.
Such behavior was simply in her nature.
Noticing only a few horses on the track she settled into her own routine, lots of walking, lots of trotting, two whole laps of canter, then on the third lap, as they came around the turn she cut him loose, sticking close to his neck, she closed her eyes and mentally imagined every part of the living machine working beneath her in perfect unison with a never ending power source. Looking up she saw a horse dump a rider, not able to stop from a dead gallop, she only prayed the outriders would get on it, and thankfully they did. Looking back as she slowed Storm to a canter she nodded to herself as she saw the rider get up.
Calling it a day for Storm, she led him back to the stables.
Clearly the other rider had the same idea. Untacking the bright red chestnut across from him, she kept to herself and busied herself with cooling him down until she looked over as he went to take the saddle of, but winced at the pain. Unable to resist the urge to help she set the brush in her hands down and walked over to the pair, letting the horse sniff her for a second before pulling the saddle off and smiling at the man, You take a fall quite well and with little complaints. Kudos to you, Portia Wolfe. I haven’t seen you around the tracks much, you new or coming back from injuries?
character;; portia word count;; O.811 reservations;; --- notes;; WOOHOO. 1 AM POST –parties-
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Post by Anthony James Lovasz on Sept 20, 2010 21:05:48 GMT -8
If there was one thing most everyone could recognize Anthony by it was his complete lack of Hispanic appearance, but oh so thick Spanish accent. He looked like he should have an American English accent, and if not that perhaps Italian... but never Spanish. He would often be in the middle of a conversation and would suddenly break off into Spanish mid sentence then switch back to English a few sentences later, and never notice. Of course most people around here weren't exactly fluent in speaking Spanish, and would have absolutely no idea what he said and would have to ask him to repeat himself... in English. He had been in the United States for several years and spent a lot of time around people who only spoke English. For the first few years he tried to lose the accent, but to no avail. No matter how hard he tried he just couldn't get rid of it... so he gave up and just dealt with it. Even now, seven years later, he sounded like he had only just come up to the States. He spoke and understood perfect English, he just couldn't speak it without a strong accent. Anyone who knew him would recognize him anywhere because of it.
He was just about to reach up and pull the saddle off using his right arm, but before he could do so, someone else slipped in and did the work for him. That was another Anthony thing... he couldn't multi-task, at all. If he was focused on his horse he wouldn't notice anything around him unless something was done to get his attention. He could only assume she had seen the grimace of pain when he'd attempted to take the saddle off and wanted to help. He hadn't been in Addison long, but at this point he definitely liked the people there. They seemed much more... well helpful than a lot of places he'd been. Sure, removing the light weight saddle wouldn't have been a problem for him if he just made sure to use his uninjured arm, but having people around to help was definitely something he wouldn't take for granted.
He turned and looked at the girl with that ever friendly smile of his, and as soon as he saw her, he knew he knew her from somewhere... he just couldn't place her. As soon as she said her name though, he knew exactly where he had seen her first. He had only just started racing in the states when he first met her. She was one of those impossibly talented riders who young guys just starting out could only hope to be as good as some day. As he recalled, there had been some sort of accident she was involved in just before the first of his nearly career ending accidents. Only, unlike him, after that one she seemed to have made the wiser decision and stopped racing. Anthony would probably never be that smart. He'd probably have to be killed before he stopped racing, it was the only thing he knew.
Coming back, he said with a nod, but as I'm sure you can tell the injuries haven't exactly healed yet. And they probably never would. Anthony was almost constantly getting himself hurt... mostly because he rode such crazy horses. Any time an injury was nearly healed, he'd get thrown by some insane horse and re-injure it. That was why his arm was still braced three years after injuring it... and why he was constantly dislocating his shoulder... and why on bad days he still had a slight limp... and why on the worst days he still had withdrawals from the drugs. He was a walking disaster, a doctor's worst nightmare, and there was absolutely nothing anyone would ever be able to do to help him... and even if there was, he most likely wouldn't let them.
It had been a long time since Anthony had seen Portia, but it still didn't feel quite right to re-introduce himself, so he decided to wait and see if perhaps she would remember him. They didn't really know each other all that well back in the day, but they had each had their fair share of the limelight at one point or another... and who knew, maybe she would remember that crazy 18 year old who was hell bent on getting himself killed on the racetrack all for the love of the sport... after all, there probably wasn't another one out there that could quite measure up to his level of reckless love of horse racing. He was definitely one of a kind. [/size]
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Post by portia on Sept 21, 2010 7:46:15 GMT -8
I FEEL SO SMALL SOMETIMES Portia had done little to catch up with old friends from her jockey days when she had decided to rejoin the living after being in a deep coma for two months. Knowing the way gossip spread around the backtrack as quickly as the horses they raced, she assumed that most of her old friends and rivals had safely come to the conclusion that she had simply died. In a way, she was quite dead, dependant on a machine to keep her heart pumping and her lungs working. So, if her guess had been right about the rumors, then she couldn’t be too terribly upset with it, she was sure she had been dead too, it also didn’t help that she hadn’t really raced since then.
Though, if she hadn’t been told one more fall and she’d die, she’d still be out there doing what she loved.
Unfortunately the knowing that if she took the wrong spill, her life would end as soon as it had began made most trainers and barn owners reluctant to hire her. After a few months of trying to get rides and drawing up dry when people were like ‘hey, didn’t you die?’ then forced her to explain everything, most trainers decided they did not want the liability risk of a jockey dying on them simply because she hit the ground too hard. After that, left with no other alternatives she took over her father’s racing business; at least it still allowed her to be with the one thing that had made her feel ‘good’ at something.
There was no question in her mind that she would have died if she had to give it up.
Holding the saddle in her arms she looked at the man for a second, trying to figure out why his features and voice were ringing bells of recognition yet failing to put a name to the face. Obviously she knew him from the track, there was no way he was someone else. When he spoke of just coming back from injury it all clicked, and the recognition lit up in her face as she smiled at him, Well, you never were the type to let an injury stop you, were you, Anthony? Walking into the tack room of the race barn she stuck the saddle on one of the empty slots then came back out and went back to brushing Storm.
It was good to know he hadn’t died yet.
As she curried the chestnut’s sweaty coat she looked over at Anthony and said, How you been, Tony? Hopefully not too broken, yeah? Though they had not known each other on a strict personal level, they had been next to each other in the gates for races before, had lost to one another, and applauded one another for getting awards and winning important races. She was not sure how he viewed her, but she saw him as the young man with a great deal of talent and a natural seat with quiet hands who preferred to risk it all. He had a strange fetish for the dangerous ones. But she could see where his love for them came from; there was a certain feeling that coursed through one’s veins when they knew they had the insanity under control.
That is, until the control snapped and all hell broke loose.
Gazing at the horse he had been riding, the colt looked strong and agile, quick on his feet (well, she had already seen that), and obviously difficult. Leaning against Storm for support, the colt leaned away, not wanting to hold her up. Eventually standing back up on her own two feet she nodded towards the other colt and said, New mount? He looks difficult, but you sure do ride him well when he’s not putting you in the dirt.
character;; portia word count;; O.638 reservations;; --- notes;; FLDSJAFSD IM SO HUNGRY
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Post by Anthony James Lovasz on Sept 23, 2010 9:15:00 GMT -8
Tony... it wasn't a name he was really all that used to being called. A few guys at the track had called him that, but it had been quite a number of years since he'd been at the track, and quite a few since he'd been called Tony. He didn't have any objections to it, though, Anthony rarely had objections to anything, with the exception of carrying a stick, anything involving doctors drugs or alcohol, and sex before marriage. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, Anthony Lovasz was a strong supporter of abstinence. He was probably just about the only one in the whole city who still had moral grounds to stand on and wouldn't step off for even a moment. Of course, taking into consideration that unless he literally wanted to die, he wouldn't drink, there would be no getting him drunk and into bed for drunken sex. No, odds were he would be this way until he either got married or was killed on the track.
He just grinned and shook his head when she mentioned him not letting being hurt stop him. No doubt she had heard all about "that crazy guy, Anthony" riding a month after being literally crushed by a 1200 lb horse. No, but you know how it is, injury is always enough to stop trainers from hiring you. Nobody wanted a guy on their horse who was probably 50% more likely to get hurt or killed than the other jockeys. It wasn't that he was irresponsible by any means, he always did his best to keep himself and his horse out of harms way, it was just that his arm and opposite shoulder both being braced scared people away. After all, who would put a guy that broken on their horse?
Truthfully, the only reason Anthony was so banged up was because he was the guy who rode the horses nobody else would come within 10 feet of. Yes, there was something about controlling insanity that thrilled him, but at the same time, he did it because he could. Growing up on the rowdy tracks in Mexico seemed to have destroyed his entire concept of fear. He had never been afraid of a horse, and he had never been afraid to ride a horse. Point him towards the animal, and he'd ride it without question. That was how he made his living. He was a superb rider, and if he did ride the normal yest still talented horses, he could probably do better as far as placings went in the races, but he got more rides by being that jockey who would ride a horse that was more likely to buck you off an deliberately trample you than put any effort into the race... and strangely enough, he tended to get those horses to cross the wire in pretty damn good positions considering how awful and difficult to handle they were.
He is difficult, he said with a nod as he went about getting the horse cleaned up a bit, algún idiota rico lo compró en una carrera que reclama, no sabe una pinche cosa acerca de caballos. There he went... off in a bout of Spanish without even realizing it. The curse of understanding two languages so well you could hardly decipher between them. He's had no training since he ran as a two year old. It was probably mostly due to the fact that he spent the first sixteen years of his life speaking only Spanish, then when he moved to the United States he had to learn English quickly, and had been speaking mostly English since then. The problem arose because, though he didn't realize it, he thought in Spanish, and somewhere between thinking it in Spanish and speaking it in English, there was a translation... and sometimes he just couldn't keep up with himself. It was all subconscious, so odds were there would never be an end to this mixing of English and Spanish.
If only there were more people like Anthony Lovasz, the world would be a better place. There was hardly a thing in this world that could get him down. He had missed being a kid because of the horrible life he had been submitted to with abusive parents and living in complete poverty for 16 years, and now it seemed as if he was trying to get all of that back. He was 23, but he was definitely a kid at heart. He never rushed to do anything, and was always capable of finding a bright side to everything... including nearly getting himself killed multiple times and the drug withdrawals. Yes, if there were more people like him, there would probably be no more wars, and everyone could leave in peace... it was too bad he was so against procreating before marriage. [/size] Translation: "Some rich idiot bought him in a claiming race, doesn't know a damn thing about horses."
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Post by portia on Sept 24, 2010 7:27:45 GMT -8
I FEEL SO SMALL SOMETIMES Anthony was a talented rider, there was no denying that. The proof stared many people in the face as he crossed the wire while riding obstinate and difficult horses and placing or showing. Most of the times, he was an upset to the betters ballot, messing up their trifecta’s and superfecta’s. Still, Portia knew he could have a chance to rise to bigger and better things if he were given a horse that actually tried to race and not kill him. However, she knew that convincing him that there were better things than the thrill of riding a beast straight from hell would be hard.
She smiled as he said most trainers wouldn’t hire because of an injury.
Portia knew that song all too well. It had been overplayed when she was trying to come back from her injury always ‘Aren’t you the jockey that everyone thought was dead?’ or ‘so how large is that metal plate in your head?’, most of the times those few questions was all she had needed to hear to know that she wouldn’t be getting the job. Still, she couldn’t blame them. When trainers had the choice of her, a promising jockey that had won various Breeder’s Cup races and placed well in all of the Triple Crown races but had a steel plate in her head, and a jockey who was equally successful but without the serious injury in their past, obviously they were going to hire the one who had yet to almost die.
While the racing industry was known to favor its veterans, for the veterans coming back from injury, the race world suddenly became their worst enemy as it doted on its younger prospects.
After not having a job for a few months Portia had given up and started to train. It had taken her a year or so to get her name out there and get herself known, but now she had a whole hoard of horses in need of riders. Maybe Anthony would be willing to ride a couple of her horses, she did have Chase, that horse was particularly nasty as far as behavior went, she was sure he’d love to get his hands on that one. Still, she wouldn’t mind putting him on better behaved horses where his talents could be put to the test. Or better yet, where his talents could be proven and give him more clients and horses to ride with better attitudes.
Either way, she hoped he’d like to ride for her.
Finishing up grooming Storm, she leaned on his chest and put her arms above her head and over his neck as she listened to Anthony talk about the horse he had been riding and was hopelessly lost when he broke out in a string of Spanish, not necessarily understanding what he was saying but simply nodding and smiling, she looked at the horse and frowned for a second. He looked like he could move if he actually put his mind to it and not trying to kill his rider. Chewing her cheek she let go of Storm’s neck and stood up straight, Well, you’re doing a good job with him. But other than him, you riding anyone else? I’ve got a few horses I need a rider for, and one that I’m sure you’d love, this guy here needs one too. She affectionately patted Storm’s shoulder as she mentioned the powerful chestnut.
When it came to Storm, she was like a love struck little girl, couldn’t get enough of the powerful colt and hoped to get a lot of good rides out of him.
character;; portia word count;; O.6o4 reservations;; anthony notes;; blech sucky post
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Post by Anthony James Lovasz on Sept 28, 2010 22:45:02 GMT -8
The odds of coming back after one accident where you are crushed by a horse are slim enough, trying to come back after being crushed by a horse twice were nearly non-existent. Anthony had been trying for quite some time now to prove to people that he hadn't lost his skill in the months following the accidents. It was hard to prove though. His problem was that it was the same accident on two different horses nearly only one year apart, which had brought people to the conclusion that it must've been his fault. After all, what are the odds of a freak accident like that happening twice to one person if it didn't have something to do with them? Of course, that wasn't the case. He had no control over the 2nd place horse crashing into them and sending them through the rail, the same way he had no control over the bird that spooked the blind horse he was helping to retrain... but people liked jumping to conclusions, and unfortunately for him, they had jumped to the wrong one.
So it now seemed his only hope rested on rich idiots like Jamie Colburn who bought the horses just for the posterity, knew nothing about them, and would just throw money at people to ride them, no trainer, nothing. Anthony was determined to get Nova back into the racing mindset and behave so that he could actually race and prove to people that he still had it. Of course, being as broken as he already was, this task was easier said than done. It was too bad Jamie hadn't bought an easier going horse, it would make life a lot more simple for Anthony... but simple was never the way things went in the horse racing world. Everything was complicated, and even more so after a bad injury. But giving up just plain old wasn't in Anthony's blood, he couldn't do it. Even if he never got on a decent racehorse again, he'd just keep right on trying until it killed him.
He wasn't quite sure how to respond when she asked if he was riding any other horses. Sure, that part was easy. No, he wasn't. The hard part was responding to her mention of horses that needed riders. It sounded almost like an invitation, but it was in a statement form, not asking him if he would, so he wasn't exactly sure what to say. No doubt it would be easier for him if he didn't have to put so much effort into translation to English before saying things. Some things just didn't translate right, and he had to try to find ways around them, which obviously made responding to things much more difficult, and no doubt was why he often went off in Spanish like he had just moments ago. He would subconsciously think he had found a way around it... but really he hadn't translated it at all... so it just came out in Spanish.
Nevertheless, Anthony was one of those guys who just rolled with things, regardless of the consequences. He could sit there in silence trying to find something to say, or he could just say the first thing that came to mind. He favored the second option by far. Nothing besides him consistently. He said in response. He honestly hated inconsistent rides. How could trainers expect him to get the best out of their horse if they just wanted him to ride in one race? In order for him to do the best he could, he usually wanted to ride a horse for at least two weeks before the race, and stay with that horse for some time... but with his recent fall from the ladder of success, he was suddenly finding it more and more difficult to be picky about his rides. I'm not sure if you're offering, or just tempting me. he added with that signature grin of his. Honesty is the best policy, yes? Whether or not that statement was true, it was one he tended to go with. So far, it had worked about 90% of the time, and as before mentioned, he was one of the few who kept chivalry alive. [/size] Sorry for the wait... and the horribleness of thise post...
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Post by portia on Oct 18, 2010 10:33:50 GMT -8
I FEEL SO SMALL SOMETIMES The hesitation in his voice made Portia fall silent for a moment, wondering if she had offered up her question too soon. She was still learning the finer art of requesting someone to ride some of the horses in her barn for her (even though she knew Anthony rarely turned down a job). Many trainers and owners who were nothing but historic giants in the sport had given her as much points as their infinite knowledge could provide, but she had known that in the end it’d only be her own experiences that helped her to learn. She was a hands on learner, there’d be no formal classes that could make the information set in.
Trial and error.
For Portia, there was no better way to learn how to fix a mistake than to make it. Many people feared blemishes on their record, horrified should they fail to make the right decision; but she relished in the thought and very idea of making the wrong decision. While she knew it might cost her a win or a client or rider, she knew that in the future when a similar conundrum presented itself, she’d know how to address it without making the exact mistake again. Fool me once, shame on me, fool me twice shame on you, right? The only thing she truly disliked about the racing world she so deeply adored was that it was such a dog eat dog world if you didn’t watch your own back.
So far she had been lucky and avoided getting her throat slit.
Firestorm took a step back away from her, tired of holding her light weight up, making her stand up straight again and watch the jockey opposite of her. Raising an eyebrow she smiled at his question and shrugged, I suppose it could be a bit of both, I’ve got a couple of really nice colts in my barn that could use a few consistent riders, they just don’t do too well with a different rider every race, one of their owners insists that it makes them run better…I’m hoping if I can find someone he likes he’d let me keep one jockey on them all the time. Turning her back to him she went back to grooming the copper colt, but still chattering away (as she was so well known for doing when it came to her business), With my recent move from the East to down here, few of my regular riders came with me, I’ve been seriously strapped for riders lately, and as previously mentioned, it’s great to know you haven’t gotten yourself killed yet because you’d be such an unfortunate loss to the racing world.
She looked at him over her shoulder and shot him a genuine smile.
Finishing running a comb through the colt’s mane she dropped it back into her box of brushes and turned around to Anthony once more, looking at him now with a serious look in her eye, If you’ve only got one horse, I’m sure you’ve got room for one or two more, don’t you think it’s about time you get put on some consistent stakes winners?
character;; portia word count;; O.526 reservations;; --- notes;; EEEWW. Crappay post.
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Post by Anthony James Lovasz on Oct 25, 2010 20:44:42 GMT -8
anthony just grinned and shook his head when she said he would be such a big loss to the racing world. As much as he would have liked to agree, he really couldn't see it. After the accidents he'd had to take quite a bit of time off... just over a year... and so far it seemed like the racing world hadn't suffered a bit. Not to mention the fact that after his attempt at returning it seemed no one even remembered who Anthony Lovasz was, beyond the fact that he had ridden two horses that had gone through the same accident with him aboard. In light of his recent "failures" it seemed none of his impressive accomplishments mattered. It was as if people suddenly came to the conclusion that he had lost his touch with the horses he was riding, which was entirely untrue. He hadn't lost his touch at all. If you took into consideration the amount of pain he put himself through in order to ride, it was pretty obvious that he was so dedicated to the sport he was practically in the range of unhealthy obsession.
It'd be nice if the rest of the world agreed with you. He said light-heartedly. Despite his apparent inability to get back up to the level where he had been before his career was put on hold, he seemed completely unfazed by it. In all honesty, he seemed like nothing had changed at all. He was still that guy who just kept getting right back on after he got thrown, he was still that guy who was nearly impossible to catch without a smile, he was still that guy who when everyone else was down about something, he could find a bright side. It was like he was trapped in this happy haze of clueless bliss, as if he was completely unaware of the horrible state of things around him. Of course, he was aware of it, he did know what was going on, but he chose to always look for the bright side... after all, everything here was far better than the life he'd led in Mexico, and he was grateful for it.
He was just unclipping the cross-ties from Nova's halter when she spoke up again. He was fairly certain that even though she hadn't come out with something crystal clear like "Would you be willing to ride for me?" or something along those lines that she was asking... in her own roundabout way, as if waiting for him to take the initiative. He stopped, making sure to keep firm pressure on the stud chain looped over Nova's muzzle, not trusting the horse one little bit, and turned his attention back to her. If I had 50 horses to ride in a day I'd still make time for another. He said good-naturedly, but honestly, and if that's an invitation, I say yes. Would Anthony ever turn down a ride? Probably not. He would find a way to ride as many horses as he possibly could without killing himself. Racing was his life and he would spend 24 hours a day riding if he could. He was reliable that way, and it was one thing that had made him so popular back before his injuries... you could bet if you needed a rider Anthony would be there. Whether it be a stakes winner or an unraced two year old, he wouldn't turn it down.
Just to be clear, though, he added, and I'm sure you already know, Stakes winner or claiming race loser, I'll still ride them. It didn't matter who he was riding for, he always wanted to make sure his trainers knew he didn't care about a horse's record. As was proven by his impossibly long list of races he'd ridden in, he seemed completely unaware of the rank of a horse or a race. Hell, he was that jockey who rode claiming race losers into the winner's circle of stakes races. When he was on a horse that he really clicked well with, no matter how good or bad they were, you could bet something impressive would come as a result. [/size]
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