For the dverse prompt. Sport was never my thing, except for one…
Arkle, I loved you, with the fierce love of a small child. Grandad talked about you as if you were a person, and I grew up thinking of ‘Himself’ as the greatest sporting hero that ever lived. My dad had his boxers and I knew all their names though what the feck they looked like I had no idea: Sugar Ray Robinson, Floyd Patterson, Sunny Lister, Rocky Marciano, names that thudded into my memory and made my dad smile. But Arkle was my hero and the only jockey who counted was Pat Taaffe. I remember when he died. We wept buckets, Grandma and me. The others seemed to think it was just a horse. But I knew better, and when Grandma listened to Peter O’Sullevan she heard Grandad, and his beer and cigarette smell filled the room again.
Love sweeps a far shore,
mist shrouded, lives forever,
so bright my childhood.