No Horse Will Ever Win the Belmont by 31 Lengths Again

June 9, 1973 ~ Belmont Stakes ~1 ½ mile ~ Belmont Park

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Secretariat raced into the ever glow of immortality in the 1973 Belmont Stakes. His victory, past one of the widest margins in the history of the American turf – 31 lengths alee of his nearest challenger and in a world record time for the 1 1/ii miles distance – two minutes 24, remains ane of the almost memorable in sports history. At any moment, a racing fan who might have seen a thousand races, or ten thou races, or but ten races, can think of those winning numbers 31 and two:24 and be transported instantly back in time. Back to ane of the landmark achievements of a sport as former as equus caballus and man.

The numbers 31 and 2:24 merely trigger the Real memory of a horse running as no horse had ever seemed to run before or since.Secretariat ran more powerfully, and with more than fluid skill than one could ever hope from a horse. And humans hope for much from horses. To experience the glory of Secretariat's Belmont is to be flooded with emotion of having seen something of truthful wonder.

The most lasting image, in fact, is probably not in the numbers at all. Those numbers came later, after Secretariat crossed the finish line. Just those who accept seen countless races would instantly know what the fourth dimension on the teletimer meant. Few of us know the record times for horse races of various distances at unlike tracks, even though a possible track record was part of the talk leading upwards to the 1973 Belmont Stakes. For nearly of us, information technology took an skillful journalist to explain that Secretariat had just run the fastest Belmont in history. Probably after a moment of enquiry information technology was noted that the winning time was not just the fastest ane ½ miles at Belmont Park, but likewise the fastest ane½ miles-time always recorded in America. Peradventure fifty-fifty in the world!

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To figure out that Secretariat's final margin was 31 lengths is besides something that came later. Calling the race on goggle box, Chic Anderson estimated that Secretariat was perhaps 25 lengths alee. For the official margin, the Daily Racing Form Chart Caller had to study the films, and maybe view a wide-bending (very broad-angle) still photo to count the number of lengths by which the mighty horse won.

And what kind of measurement is a length, anyhow? How come they don't just come up correct out and say how many feet he was ahead of the 2d-place horse?

The answer is that a "length" is a unit of measurement that represents the approximate length of 1 equus caballus. That distance is easier to judge than yards or feet when horses are flight past at high speed. The Chart Caller is also aided in determining finishing margins past the inside rail of the rail, which serves as a kind of ruler. The rail is held up by support standards placed one length autonomously. (Did you know that?)

Anyway, the remarkable numbers came subsequently.

The truthful memory of Secretariat in the Belmont is far more than compelling than numbers. It is a brilliant mental moving picture show of a equus caballus doing something no other horse of his time had ever done.

Hither'due south the way the 1973 Belmont Stakes was run, according to the official notes made by the Nautical chart Caller for the Daily Racing Course:

"SECRETARIAT, sent up forth the inside to vie for the early lead with SHAM to the backstretch, disposed of that i afterwards 3-quarters, drew off at will rounding the far plow and was under a paw ride from Turcotte to constitute a record in a tremendous functioning."

Kind of short and sweetness. To flesh that out a fiddling, Secretariat broke from the inside post and went to the front end from the start. He was challenged by old rival Sham into the first plow, effectually the long first turn, and into the backstretch. The 2 were flight on the front cease, ripping off quarter-mile fractions of 23 3/five, 46 i/5, and 1:09 4/5 for the start three quarters of a mile. That's vi furlongs, or half the Belmont's 12-furlong distance, run at blazing fractions. The speed was besides much for Sham, just only seemed to energize Secretariat, emboldening him to go on and show what he could do. Sham would fade to last, and Twice a Prince would eventually nip My Gallant for second, in a good functioning past those two.

As Secretariat rounded the sweeping Belmont far turn (the turns at Belmont are the longest of whatsoever track in North America) he seemed to be on prowl command, with jockey Ron Turcotte just steering. Not asking. Secretariat's lead widened from vii lengths to twenty lengths on that plough.

On to the wire, Turcotte did not ease the equus caballus, just permit him run on. On any other mean solar day, the rider would take been pulling the horse up through the lane, letting him have a bow nether wraps. Saving something for another 24-hour interval. But THIS was the twenty-four hour period, and the savvy rider knew the horse was running well within himself. Turcotte knew the time had come to let the horse bear witness the globe what he could practise.

All that power. All that balance. All that heart. All that speed. Secretariat was ready to roll. And the margin kept widening, and widening, and widening.

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By mid-stretch the Big Reddish Horse was ahead by 28 lengths, with the margin finally to attain 31 lengths by the cease. Equally he flew down the stretch he stretched out in step by thousands of wildly cheering fans.
Now yous saw the jockey.

Ron Turcotte wasn't the kind of rider who moved around a lot in the saddle. He didn't pump. He was all the same. Almost motionless. Like most of the great ones.

But maybe you saw him tilt his head only a nod to the left for a moment, in the direction of the infield teletimer. Checking the fractions of the race then far. In the Kentucky Derby, Secretariat had broken the rails tape. He'd broken the Preakness record at Pimlico, also, though the timing was unofficial. Coming to the wire in New York, Turcotte knew with one glance that he had a shot at the Belmont record. If he could get it, that would mean the horse had broken the runway record in all three Triple Crown races. An unheard-of feat.

And so the horse.

In the final strides, we saw the horse for the first fourth dimension. Before, we had watched the margins between Secretariat and the other horses. Saw how close it was early. Saw how fast they were running. It was the mode nosotros sentinel equus caballus races: watching the way they raced each other, how far one was ahead, whether i seemed to be gaining, or fading. How far. The gap. We saw the closeness melt, and the margin spread like warm maple syrup rolling off the side of a loma of pancakes.

Only now, instead of the margin we saw The Horse. He was no longer racing the others. He was racing just himself and history.

He was gray to us, considering we saw him on a blackness and white Television set ready. He was solid grayness, and the blue and white blocks of the rider'due south silks were night grey and white. The runway was white. The blinkers were checkered.

His chest grew. His head held steady. Or lowered a scrap, perhaps, as the wire approached.

If you were at that place, at Belmont Park, you saw Secretariat in living color. He was dark red, darker than his normal, brilliant, crimson-blond coat. With every muscle churning in full combustion, the horse darkened in color.

His legs, yous couldn't come across them. Not even a mistiness. You could run across his white-stockinged anxiety. Like a depression trail of vapor. A white wisp of flight fog.

And and so it was over.

The moment froze. What nosotros are left with are those fleeting glimpses – a blazing pace, a huge running machine, a visual roar of acceleration, an e'er-widening margin, the coat darkening, a white vapor of feet, a jockey sitting chilly, a horse solitary – and one long-lasting moment frozen in memory. What we witnessed. The champion's charisma. A feeling. An emotion. A ripple of goose bumps.

A moment of greatness.

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Source: https://www.secretariat.com/past-performances/belmont/

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