American Pharoah knew what was at stake. He'd always claimed to be a smart horse and with that intelligence he could figure out why this next race was so important. 37 years. 37 years since the last Triple Crown Winner.
American Pharoah, like very American thoroughbred, had been taught as a foal of the 11 Triple Crown Winners.
Sir Barton-1919
Gallant Fox- 1930
Omaha- 1935
War Admiral- 1937
Whirlaway- 1941
Count Fleet- 1943
Assault- 1946
Citation- 1948
Secretariat- 1973
Seattle Slew- 1977
Affirmed- 1978
Many had tried, and many had failed. Spectacular Bid finished fourth in the Belmont. War Emblem had failed at the start. Silver Charm and Real Quiet had been beaten deep stretch. The undefeated Smarty Jones had lost by a 1/2 length in 2004. The superhorse Big Brown had been pulled up turning for home. And of course last year's hopeful California Chrome, too exhausted to do any better than a dead heat for fourth.
And now the eyes of not just the nation, but the world, were upon him, American Pharoah. Expecting him to pull off this impossible feet that was known as the Triple Crown of Horse Racing. No pressure, right?
The young colts thoughts were interrupted when a voice hissed "Psst?" American Pharoah pricked his ears, recognizing the dialect as his own, thoroughbred.
"Psst? Pharoah. Over here. Please tell me you know how to undo that latch on your door. I can't risk exposing myself." Hissed the voice again.
"Escaped your handlers?" American Pharoah asked.
"You, could say that." The voice replied. "Now quickly!"
"Okay, I'm coming. Don't get your tail in a bunch!" American Pharoah huffed and reaching over his stall door, he calmly pulled the latch with his teeth and nudged it open.
"Okay, where are you?" He asked.
"Here, around the corner." came the reply.
Sighing, American Pharoah trotted over and found himself face to face with a big chestnut colt. Though they were similar in height, the bay couldn't help but feel a bit intimidated by the bulging muscles and intimidating look in the other's eyes. Now this was a horse born and bred to be a champion. He knew who the other stallion was, now he just had to believe it. Easier said than done.
"S-Secretariat?" He breathed in awe. He started to fold his knees in a bow but Secretariat nudged him up again.
"Do not bow to me, Pharoah. If all goes well, we will be brothers you and I." The big chestnut said.
"I don't know if I can win." Pharoah admitted.
"I know. That's why I'm here." Secretariat said.
"Usually, it's Seattle who makes an appearance to potential Crown winners. He usually only does so if he thinks they have a good chance. He did it with War Emblem and also with Big Brown. That's the only 2 times he's ever been proven wrong. He won't stop whining about it either. Excuses, excuses." Secretariat rolled his eyes.
"So why did you come here instead?" American Pharoah asked.
"Because, unlike Seattle, who can't seem to see past his own long nose, I believe you have a shot. First time since Affirmed that I've declared that." Secretariat said.
So Secretariat believed he could win, just as the rest of the world did. American Pharoah wasn't sure if he should feel more pressured or honored.
"I've been in your position. I know how you feel. It was 25 years before I won my Crown. The pressure, it makes me wonder how I pulled it off." Secretariat said.
"Pulled it off?" American Pharoah repeated incredulously. "You made it look easy!"
"I'll admit I wasn't intending to win the Belmont by such a large margin." Secretariat mused. "I would've been content with a 5 length victory, or another 2 length like my previous ones. However, even after winning both the Kentucky Derby and the Preakness in record time, Sham still wouldn't lay off my back. He believed that as a son of Bold Ruler I couldn't run the distance. But I had already done what my sire could not. I won the Kentucky Derby whereas he finished fourth. I have my mother to thank for my victory."
"Because SomethingRoyal gave you your endurance, which she inherited from her sire Princquillo." American Pharoah added.
"You've been keeping up on your studies." Secretariat said. "That's more than Silver Charm could say. When Seattle appeared before him you know who he thought him to be? Affirmed!"
"What? They're nothing alike!" American Pharoah exclaimed as Secretariat chuckled.
"You are smarter than him. And it takes a horse with as much brain as brawn to win the Triple Crown." He said.
"By those standards, you must be the smartest horse in history." American Pharoah mused, realizing too late he had said that out loud. He backed away involuntarily but Secretariat didn't look mad. The red chestnut tossed his head in mild amusement. "I've always wondered what the eye catcher for fillies was. Must be the muscle after all. Seattle owes me 10 bucks and he'll owe me another 20 if you win."
"You guys, bet on races?" American Pharoah asked.
"Well we have to make the afterlife somewhat entertaining don't we?"
The two were interrupted as angry voices whistled past the pair and a cold breeze blew through their fur. American Pharoah quivered slightly.
"Seems my time is up." Secretariat said. "War Admiral is scary when he's angry. He's just like Hastings, nasty."
"Didn't think you the type to be scared." American Pharoah said.
"Everyone's scared of something. And if you ain't scared of War Admiral, then something's wrong with you kid." Secretariat replied. He touched his muzzle to the bay's ear. "Run well and remember, you are a champion."
He turned to go. American Pharoah felt a sudden compulsion overcome him. "W-wait!" He called.
Secretariat paused midstride, and turned his head back around to look at the bay. "Yes?"
"You never told me, how am I supposed to win the Belmont?"
Secretariat, though he didn't turn around, replied "everyone has greatness in them, and it chooses its moment to shine. For me, it was the Belmont. Who knows, perhaps tomorrow will be your day to shine." And then he was gone, leaving no trace that he was ever there.
American Pharoah stood there a moment, letting the breeze wash over him before coming to his senses. Quickly, before any human could catch him, he loped back into his stall and closed the door behind him, letting the latch reassert itself.
"Now what was all that about?!" called Frosted from his stall.
"Yeah we heard you talking to somebody!" added Materiality.
"Just, a visitor." American Pharoah replied, awe in his voice as he came to realize what had just transpired. He'd just spoken with Secretariat, the Secretariat! The greatest racehorse of the last 100 years and perhaps ever! "A very special visitor."
While Materiality seemed confused Frosted's glass eyes lightened with understanding. "I wish you the best of luck, American Pharoah."
Leveling his eyes on his rival, American Pharoah nodded. "Thank you." He replied.
"But I'm still going to try my best to beat you to that wire." Frosted added, ruining the moment.
American Pharoah couldn't help but nicker, his ears flicking happily. "If you can beat me." He shot back. "Tale of Verve has a better chance than you as all you managed was fourth in the Derby. Tale of Verve finished second in the Preakness."
"What?! I've got a way better chance than that ball of fur!" Frosted exclaimed indignantly.
"Oh yeah? I seem to recall Dortmund leaving you behind in deep stretch!" Mutahij joined in.
"You're one to talk. I never saw so much as a strand of your mane as I left you in my dust!" the gray shot back.
American Pharoah leaned back against the back of his stall with a chuckle, listening to his rivals argue. "They're a good bunch, and good runners too." He mused. He thought back on Secretariat's parting words. "Greatness will shine."
"Will you be there tomorrow?" He wondered out loud. "Will you be running beside me?"
The gentle breeze that wafted over the bay stallion's ears was all the answer American Pharoah needed.