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For Carly
PROLOGUE
It was over quickly, but this moment was five years in the making. The gates of the barrier stalls opened and the field of nine leapt into action. The annual sprint feature, known as the William Reid Stakes, was underway. As the horses left the structure to gallop the 1200 metres, they were closer to the traffic of Melbourne’s Tullamarine Freeway than they were to the spectators in attendance at Moonee Valley Racecourse. The sun’s glare obstructed the view of those peering through binoculars from the shaded seats in the grandstand. The searing heat of a midsummer day was at its peak by 3pm—race start time.
The first horse to come into view was familiar to the crowd of just under 20,000. It was the chestnut figure of the race favourite: Manikato. He was no stranger here. Manikato—or ‘The Man’ as the press had dubbed him—had won this race the previous four years. Long white bandages concealed the chestnut colour of his forelegs. They secured his cannon bones, which ran from his knees to his fetlock joints—a legacy of his bulky size and his drive to win from his previous 43 starts. He was the patched-up old warrior, literally wrapped in cottonwool between starts and only performing on days of historical significance—such as this one.
His last win was three months earlier, in the spring of 1982, when his prize money tally exceeded one million dollars. That day at Moonee Valley marked an unforgettable hour in Australian horse racing, with Kingston Town winning a third Cox Plate and Manikato becoming racing’s first millionaire sprinter in the following race, the Moir Stakes.
Now here he was at the same track, and another sentimental and historic moment was contemplated. According to the punters, the script was simple: Manikato would jump straight to the lead and never be headed. Not many argued with this hypothesis; the chestnut started at close to an even-money favourite.
However, an imminent threat emerged from the pack. Four-year-old Qubeau had risen through the classes and was looking for stardom in the premier sprint event. He muscled up alongside Manikato, seeking to keep the pressure on. And so he did. Just as there was no respite for the punters jostling for personal space on the public lawn, nor was there any let-up between race competitors. The furious pace in the stifling heat of the first half of the event made those who backed Manikato nervous. The horses weren’t the only ones sweating.
At the halfway mark, Manikato’s track record was in danger. Qubeau had stayed level with the champion, hoping the ageing horse may crack in his first race for almost three months. In earlier days, Manikato would have staunchly rejected any challenge. But by his forty-forth race start, he needed to win through craftiness and guile rather than relying on his dazzling and sustained speed. He had psyched out his opposition in the Freeway, Memsie and Moir Stakes several months ago, bullying his way to the lead in each—his reputation demanding others stay out of his way. But this strategy wasn’t proving successful now.
With 600 metres to gallop, Manikato’s trainer, Bob Hoysted, allowed himself a moment to take his eyes from his binoculars and peer at the race clock running on a semaphore board beyond the inside rail. Thirty-five seconds ticked to thirty-six. It confirmed what Hoysted could see through his glasses: a relentless, flat-out tempo. His head pounded with worry—of foremost concern was how fit the great horse was; vulnerable moments lay ahead—of that he was sure.
Gary Willetts, Manikato’s regular rider, refused to be drawn into a panicked move. Rather than begin pushing the horse so far from home, he encouraged a very slight increase in tempo; it had now escalated from hot to hotter. Willetts also knew they were about to start turning for home and his rails position meant he could save some ground—a luxury denied to most others.
From this viewpoint, the horse following Manikato became a potentially leading chance. Ideal Planet was the well-credentialled second favourite for the race, coming off a hat trick of victories and sporting the polish of Australia’s leading trainer, Tommy Smith. Smith had spruiked for weeks that he had the right horse to end Manikato’s reign in this race. His horse was pocketed, but onlookers sensed that if he got any clear running, he could easily catch the champ ahead. There was no room yet.
And peeling out wide to make a run was 20/1 outsider, Torbek. While long odds, he was an experienced campaigner and enjoyed Moonee Valley, having already notched a victory at the track. Like Ideal Planet, he’d trailed the speed and remained uncommitted until this point, which made him a big danger to Manikato’s record attempt.
As they turned, Manikato hugged the rail and—before straightening—Willetts called for the big finale. From this position as a younger horse, there would have been no doubt of the result. But the chestnut had been through a lot in his racing life, particularly in the lead-up to this day. Those closest to ‘The Man’ were confident he was past all of that, but his legs had never endured the rigorous exertion they were currently under.
At a fraction under 200 metres in length, Moonee Valley’s home straight is extremely short. Barely ten seconds remained in the race as they entered the final stint. The noise from the crowd became raucous. Most were barracking for Manikato—the sense of occasion demanded it—not to mention the prospect of fatter wallets.
Manikato still led, but looked to be hanging on by a thread. Willetts was motioning in unison with the giant stride of the beast—arms and legs moving rhythmically back and forth—drawing every ounce of energy out of himself as well as his partner. Qubeau was still alongside him, although not quite on level terms. Torbek was closing too. In behind, Ideal Planet was attempting to barge his way into the open to spoil them all late. The race was far from over with just a few strides left.
Unlike most of the spectators, Bob Hoysted wasn’t standing and cheering; he was holding his breath—no more than a fixated onlooker. He had worked tirelessly to get his champion racehorse ready for a crack at a record fifth William Reid Stakes win; now there was absolutely nothing he could do. He also knew that the frenetic early pace exposed his horse to a possible late swooper.
As Gary Willetts reported later, the final few strides seemed to happen in slow motion. It was all hope from here. Ideal Planet had run out of time to claim the necessary opening between Manikato and Qubeau—the latter tiring after a tough run. That left Torbek, who was still running up to Manikato. Willetts tilted his head slightly to the right and could see where his only danger lay. It was touch and go who would reach the finishing line first. But as the two drew to the finish, Willetts could feel a little extra energy from under him. The crowd’s roar reached a crescendo, the race clock stopped and the first horse over the line was the race favourite, Manikato—just.
It was a narrow margin, small enough for the judge to ask for a photo-finish print, but large enough for those standing close to the post to swear their life on it. A second roar engulfed the racecourse when the number ‘1’—Manikato’s saddlecloth number—was illuminated on the semaphore board for first place, confirming the result.
While some headed straight for the air-conditioned comfort indoors, many lingered outside to await the champion sprinter’s return before them. The applause rang out for several minutes. Bob Hoysted numbly shook a few hands en route to the stall, where the winner would be unsaddled shortly. He was so fixated on getting there, he’d never remember who congratulated him on that brief journey.
Back in front of the grandstand, Gary Willetts unbuckled his helmet and raised it in triumph, appreciating the historical moment. No horse in Australia had ever won a race at the highest level five years in a row—until now.
As Manikato stood in the winner’s stall, Hoysted was more concerned for the horse than talking to the jockey, who he knew was well-accustomed to the stress of the William Reid Stakes. After a few brief words, Willetts was off to weigh-in while Hoysted felt the chestnut’s front legs. The heavy white bandages seemed to be holding them together. He summoned a staff member to be ready with two plastic bags full of crushed ice for Manikato’s return to his race-day stall. After a cool water hose down, the gelding wore those plastic bags on his legs—not for the heat of the day, but to soothe the swelling of his troublesome forelegs—a constant battle scar.
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