Best Mate

My name was Best Mate, and I was a legend in horse racing. I’m a three-time Cheltenham Gold Cup winner, and I’ve won almost £1 million in prize money. But they always want more. I was consistently winning races, including some of the bigger ones, so I became a bit of a celebrity. The expectations on me were massive, but every horse has their limits. 

At Leopardstown in 2004 everything started to go downhill. I’d already slipped in the horse box and hurt my face, but they decided to make me run anyway. I struggled with the ground that day. “He just wasn’t alive under me” said Jim, the jockey, afterwards, disappointed with my performance. They later found out that I had a virus.  I was worried I would die. They were worried I would miss the chance to win another Gold Cup. 

It took me 6 weeks to recover to get back in training, and then a week before the big day in training both of my nostrils started pouring with blood. From my illness to my burst blood vessels, every bit of my body was crying out to stop and rest. But I wasn’t allowed. My life is only worth anything for them if I can win prize money. They entered me into another race at Exeter. 

I collapsed on the track and died. My heart had given up. I was only 10 years old and I should have had at least another 10 years ahead of me. My body was asking to stop and I was made to go on. They killed me that day.  “As far as the horse is concerned it was a wonderful ending” is what my trainer, Henrietta Knight said afterwards. I would beg to differ.  

They called me Best Mate but they were no friends of mine. They took every second of my life from me right until the very last race. Now I’m nothing more than a story in the history of their so called ‘sport’. 

My name was Best Mate. I was someone.