Lightning strikes twice when Calvin Borel's driving.
Last year, he rode the horse I picked, Mine That Bird, all the way to glory, and now he's gone and done it again, and me standing stunned holding the winning ticket like Charlie Bucket.
Some anonymous addled intern they had operating the Chyron machine on whatever TV station I was watching it on was way behind on updating the positions, and with just seconds to go, they had Conveyance in the lead. When it was over, I assumed Conveyance had indeed won it and was about to walk to the kitchen to freshen my Julep, when everyone started congratulating and lauding me. When I said, "Did I win?" they must have all thought I was drunk. Which, well, technically, I was.
Mr. Borel's a good Cajun man, which I also appreciate, and I enjoy that his accent is damn near incomprehensible to some folks, necessitating me to translate for him, much in the same way Col. Dockery and I used to have to do for those who couldn't understand Hasil Adkins' thick Logan brogue.
So whoever Borel's riding next year, I'm laying down the farm on that nag. Of course, lightning probably won't strike a third time. Or will it?
- - JSH
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