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 โHimselfโ 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 OโSullevan 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.
Jane Dougherty Writes 
Love all those names of boxers that I have no clue of either… the only one I knew the name of was Ingmar Johansson… but I never watched it.
I think all the boxers of my dad’s youth were well past it by the time I was born, but he still idolized them. Strange as he was a very gentle man.
My dad and I used to watch Friday night fights sponsored by Gillette on a 12 inch black and white TV, and I learned all those names too. Now the thought of watching a prize fight sort of sickens me. Funny how your attitudes change as you age.
I never actually saw them fight, but my dad talked about them so much and had boxing magazines, that I felt I knew them, even though, to be honest, they all looked the same to meโmen, usually black in boxing shorts and their faces mostly obscured by boxing gloves.
I’ve only spent one afternoon at a horse race because of a company event, but I can see how people can find it exciting and memorable. I suspect it is both the jockey and the horse who win the race.
When there’s an empathy between the horse and rider, they form a team. It isn’t always there though, and a lot of jockeys use the whip to get the horse to run faster when they decide it’s time for a spurt. Not pleasant to watch.
“Love sweeps a far shore” — beautiful.
Thank you!
Ah, the races. I like the power of your childhood memories, and the way children absorb parts of the adult lives around them, the way associations grow.
I can’t hear Peter O’Sulllevan’s voice (and it is such a distinctive one) withouth being carried back to Saturday afternoons at my gran’s house near Batley park and all that represented. Thank goodness for memories ๐
You are lucky in your memories. This touched me.
I have a tremendous fund of memories. I’m certainly lucky to have them.
I have no knowledge of any of this–or sports, in general–but I like how this is such a strong, fond memory for you.
The racing was in integral part of my life. We were glued to it all Saturday afternoon. I knew the names of all the horses and their ‘form’. Arkle was special though because he was like part of the family.
You parlayed your memories into a great read, and the haiku is absolutely touchingly beautiful!
Thanks Beverly. Childhood memories are often like that. We need a good long look backwards to appreciate them.
You may hate sport but you love your dad and what do you know? Now you officially have a sport haibun, and a good one!
Thank you! I have one cousin who has inherited the entire sporting genes of the familyโshe plays practically everything and even does it for a living. None of the next generation are even remotely interested in any kind of sport, either to participate or watch. Watching the racing at my gran’s and listening to my dad talk about the exploits of Sonny Liston were such an integral part of my childhood though, it doesn’t count as sport, more ancestral wisdom ๐
“Love sweeps a far shore,” The line sparkles.
Thank you! I’m glad it struck a chord with you too ๐
Wow, I didn’t realise we had so much in common, Jane! My dad was into boxing in a big way – he boxed when he was in the army – and my grandpa was into horse racing! I love the haiku!
My dad tried to teach me to box when I was eight and was beaten up by a gang of ‘Proddies’ from the housing estate on my way home from school. There wasn’t Krav Maga then, so he thought I ought to be able to defend myself using his very hazy boxing tactics. All I remember is the warning to make sure my thumb was outside my fist before throwing a punch. My dad broke his thumb once like that. I’m pleased to say I never had the occasion to use my boxing skills.
My Granny was brought up on The Wirral, loved racing, went to Aintree for the National most years and wore extraordinary hats. Her maiden name was Arkel. No prizes for guessing her favourite ‘nag’ despite the difference in spelling. She too adored Pat Taaffe as did I for exactly the same reasons as you so beautifully frame in your poem. Love does indeed sweep a far shore …. quite lovely this is
That link really pleases me. And to be an Arkel too! Some memories are iconic, and the horses is one of mine. It links to memories of grandparents and their parentsโa whole family line that I never met but who have left such a strong imprint it’s as though I knew them intimately. My dad’s boxing heroes were from another age and another continent. Exotic but unreal.
There is no doubt at all that my grandmothers and indeed the grandfathers I never knew have left deep footprints … I am a huge believer in skipped generations. Our Grandparents, therefore are an essential not just in linkage but in helping us understand who we are, I think. I was fortunate in having both Grannies and through them both I understand slightly better why I tick in a less than traditional way ….
Loved Arkle, too, what a horse. Strangely, you’re granda didn’t favour Muhammed Ali or ‘Cassius Clay’ as he was known when he beat Floyd Patterson and Sonny Liston
He did. But everybody knew about Cassius Clay. It was the other fellas with their unreal sounding names that got to me. Boxing wasn’t big where I came from and apart me, I don’t remember anybody else being remotely interested in it. The horses though, they had us glued to the telly.
You mention Sugar Ray Leonard and Rocky Marziano. Another American middleweight world champion, Rocky Graziano’s story took on epic proportions when his three bouts against Tony Zale captured the world’s imagination. Rocky was defeated by Sugar Ray in 1952 and went on to write his own biography, Somebody Up There Likes Me which was later made into a movie starring Paul Newman.
Another Rocky. They all seemed to be either Black or Italian Americans, because in those days they still were. It was another world, associated with the old films on the TV. I don’t remember much about them now except their names. I think my interest in it faded when I was ten or so. It wasn’t considered very suitable for a girl.
Haha, I get you. That film helped to launch Paul Newman’s career. It’s worth a watch if you ever get a chance. Graziano had a rough time but he was quite a person.
They all seemed to be in those days. The Mericans anyway. Made us seem very rag-tag and sleepy ๐
I think of Ali when you mention boxers. And although I hate that sport, I was drawn to tears to see him light the Olympic flame with his shaking hands — and the world held their breath to see if this once magnificent body, could do the task.
This is a wonderful piece of memory — what’s wrapped up in childhood memories.
It’s hard to watch people diminish physically. Boxing is hazardous enough without having to contend with the other illnesses of aging. He’ll always float like a butterfly in my memories ๐
Oh, you weave wonderfully! I read this through thrice, and am still certain that each of my understandings is the right one! Feckin’ brilliant!
I’m glad you enjoyed this, and that you got three meanings out of it ๐ Growing up between cultures has its own special magic.
Indeed. Well, the magic showed through!
I’m glad you saw some of the magic too ๐
Oh the love and the connection you had with them, it’s so delightful to read. Haiku is delightful too. Well done on Haibun.
Thank you! It’s a form I was introduced to here on dverse and I’m getting to really love it ๐
Same way for me too! No problem at all!
๐
I wept, too, when a horse that was going for the Triple Crown went down and eventually had to be euthanized. There is something about horse that touches me down deep. They are indeed special.
There is a lot of cruelty in horse racing and those awful events that make horses do stupid dance steps. The Grand National has a bad reputation for casualties because there are so many (far too many probably) horses take part. Pat Taaffe was a sensitive jockey and he never used the whip on Arkle. Said the horse knew exactly what was needed to win.
I recognize a couple of those boxer’s names but never cared much for watching the sport. Wonderful haibun!
Thank you ๐ I never watched it either, just listened to my dad describing boxing matches he’d seen or read about. It was fascinating, but probably only because I caught my dad’s enthusiasm.