Horse Druggery
In 2000 I was living in Rio de Janeiro, whilst working at a local school for the princely sum of 500 reals per month (this roughly equated to £120). Given I was living with my Old Man at the time I pretty much could spend the 500 on what I wanted. Usually alcohol.

One weekend a friend of mine suggested that we go to the Hippodromo, where the cream of Rio society go to watch horses flogged around a course as fast as possible in temperatures of up to 45C. It made a change from the usual weekly excursions of getting drunk in a dodgy bar on Copacabana or going to a football match.

Along I toddle, 50 reals in my sweaty hand, thinking that I won't bet it all as I don't really gamble. We sat in the stands at first, drinking appalling Anartica beer and watching a few races (and the several rather attractive young ladies who were nearby). Then a rather spivvy looking gentlemen, having realised we were foreigners, took us under his wing and explained that although he was a teacher in a local school his main passion was betting on the horses. He explained the intricacies of horse betting, led us to the paddock where we glanced over the horses, their flanks streaming with pungent sweat, the jockeys nearby furtively smoking, the impressively chested woman talking to a race official. He explained all about the form of various horses, the differences in the races, the method of betting, where to bet etc. etc.

He suggested we bet on the next race. He was betting on a horse called Iran-Iraq, as it'd had good form in previous races. Sod it, I thought, and put 10 reals down on Iran-Iraq too.

We returned to the stands, sipping beer, and waiting for the race to start. The horses bolted out of the starting area like streaks of brown fire... the jockeys almost upright in the saddles, whips raised, goading them to further exertions of speed.

Half way round, Iran-Iraq was in the lead... I was pleased - I stood to win 40 reals on top of the 10 I'd put down if it won. Three quarters of the way round, Iran-Iraq started to slow, then weave from side to side. The other horses passed it in a flash.

Almost opposite us, with the finish line no more than 30 yards ahead, the now meandering, and clearly drugged up Iran-Iraq stumbled to a halt and fell, badly twisting its knee. Within seconds a race official was there, summoning a vet who, after a few minutes, summoned another guy who put a bullet through its head with a rifle.

As we sat there watching a forklift truck take the now deceased Iran-Iraq off the track, our new Brazilian friend turned to us and said:

"That's the problem with this place. They drug all the successful horses."

I did win 80 reals a few weeks later though.
(Zapiola zip-zap-zop, Thu 7 May 2009, 22:17, Reply)