"There he is! There he is!" a small boy, sitting on his father's shoulders, cried excitedly, as he pointed toward the track.

Samantha Parkington's jerked her eyes off the track program she was reading and crammed her neck to see just as the crowd of thirty thousand rose to their feet and began to cheer. The undisputed talk and toast of the track was making his appearance.

Man O' War, an arrogant lordly two-year old chestnut with a white star on his forehead, pranced sideways eagerly, confident that he owned the track and impatient to be turned loose; his glossy mane rippled as his neck muscles flexed whenever he bobbed or threw his head. Samantha's heartbeat quickened with excitement at the sight of the great red beauty, anticipating the race to come just as much as the colt seemed too.

He'd come to New York to test his undefeated record in the Sanford Memorial Stakes, a quick six furlong—or three quarters of a mile—sprint, against eight other competitors at the famed Saratoga Racetrack. Samantha was thrilled to be here too, she and her fiancé, Eddie Ryland, needed a break.

The last five years had been a very trying for the young couple and their families. What with Eddie serving in the trenches of France and Samantha at home volunteering as a nurse at Bellevue Hospital, the greatest catastrophe of their day had swept them up, leaving them with barely any time to think of anything but winning the war. Then, after the armistice was signed, they'd been immediately thrown into the throes of planning a wedding that would satisfy their Edwards-Ryland family connections. At twenty-five, both were anxious to start their lives together, but after such depravity, planning a lavish wedding often proved more of a sorrow than a joy.

Today, however, all that would be set aside. Before them, pawing, snorting, and spinning in impatient circles until his jockey got him righted and moving toward the starting line, was one of the newest sports' heroes of the day and the young couple was ecstatic. In fact, the only thing that even slightly diminished this day for Samantha was the fact that she'd been unable to get away until that morning and thus had missed several prerace parties where Eddie had been able to mingle with some of the greatest thoroughbred owners of the day.

"He seems to be a handful," she commented, as she fanned her face with her track program, wishing for a reprieve from the stifling heat in the crowd grandstands.

Eddie laughed heartily, his eyes glowing with admiration as he gazed at the fiery chestnut.

"That's putting it mildly, Sam," he assured her, "Mr. Riddle say that Big Red was hell to break and that he's a headache to handle and a catapult to ride." His eyes blazed with esteem as he continued, "He once tossed that jockey of his forty feet through the air and it took them fifteen minutes to get a hold of him again."

"My, my," Samantha said, shaking her head. Then, turning to him with raised eyebrows, she asked, "Whose Mr. Riddle again?"

"His owner," Eddie replied, "Mr. Samuel Riddle. I met him at one of the parties last night. He's a decent man—confident in his horse, as well he should be. Everyone else here sure is."

Nodding at Man O' War's jockey, who wore black silks with a yellow stripe running diagonally across his body and three yellow bars on the sleeves and a black cap, he continued, "John Loftus is riding him and he's carrying a hundred thirty pounds."

"John Loftus?" she repeated thoughtfully, "Isn't he the man who rode Sir Barton to victory in the Kentucky Derby, Preakness Stakes, and Belmont Stakes this past spring?"

"That he is, Sam," he answered jovially, "That he is. What an amazing feat. It's the first time the same horse has won all three of those races."

"I hope it happens again soon," she replied.

"Don't bet on that," he answered.

They quieted again when another chestnut appeared, this one with three white stockings. His jockey wore light blue silks with a white stripe running diagonally across his body and brown cap. The horse jogged easily, with a determined gait.

"Who's that?" Samantha queried.

"That would be Upset," Eddie answered, "owned by Mr. Harry Payne Whitney". Nodding at the jockey, he said, "William Knapp is riding him."

They watched Upset progress up the track a little ways, then Eddie continued, "Man O' War beat him in the US Hotel Stakes eleven days ago so Upset only carries one hundred fifteen pounds today. That means he's not as highly regarded to win. Extra pounds are used to…handicap, shall, I say, the horses who the officials think are better."

"Isn't his jockey the one who surprised everyone in the Kentucky Derby last year?"

"Yes, he's the one." Eddie nodded solemnly, "No one saw Exterminator coming." Then he grinned at her, "Nice going, Sam, you've been studying your recent horse racing history."

She swatted his arm playfully, "Of course, you know I love this sport."

The third colt was another chestnut with a wide white blaze and four white stockings. His jockey's silks were pink and yellow stripes with pink sleeves and a pink cap.

"That's Golden Broom," Eddie continued narrating, staring hard at the colt, "with Edward Ambrose up." He licked his lips then spoke again, "He's owned by Mrs. Walter Jeffords—I met her at a party last night. Her name is Sarah."

"She bought Golden Broom at the same yearling sale that Man O' War was sold at last year and paid three times what Mr. Riddle did too: fifteen thousand to five thousand." He laughed incredulously, "Imagine Man O' War selling for five thousand dollars while another horse goes for fifteen thousand?"

Falling silent, they watched as Golden Broom's pace quickened, excited by the sight of two horses in front of him in the parade. With his ears twitching and eyes alert, he listened to the raucous crowd.

Concentrating on his movements, Eddie spoke again, "He'll be Big Red's toughest challenge today. Mrs. Jeffords is Mr. Riddle's niece and they like to test their new crops against each other every year. Golden Broom won in those early days, before Man O' War grew into those long legs of his."

Another pause then, "The track assigned him to carry one hundred thirty pounds too. That means respect if nothing else does."

Next a trim bay colt with a star came forward, trotting briskly toward the starting line with his head nicely tucked. His jockey's silks were gold and maroon stripes with a maroon cap. "That's Mr. George Loft's Donnacona," Eddie explained, "Someone named Kelsey is riding and he carries one hundred twelve pounds."

The fifth colt was another chestnut, whose jockey's silks were cherry red with white hoops on the sleeves and a white cap with a red hoop. He charged onto the track barely under control. "That's Captain Alcock," Eddie explained, as they watched the horse spin a few unruly circles before being pointed toward the starting line, "His owned by Mr. John Madden and his jockey is someone named Robson. He also carries one hundred twelve pounds."

The sixth horse appeared to a ripple of laughter from the crowd when he gave an excited little buck and bolted sideways before storming toward the starting line. His jockey wore green silks with white dots and white sleeves and a green cap. Eddie said,"That's Mr. William Robertson's Armistice with Linus McAfee riding. He also carries one hundred twelve pounds."

Finally, the last horse entered the track and, seeing that he was behind the others, took off with a snort as quickly as his jockey would allow. The crowd noise surged again, anticipating the race that was certain to start shortly. Eddie raised his voice to be heard over the din, "That's The Swimmer. He's owned by a Mr. Henry, though I'm not sure I remember meeting him last night. The jockey is called Simpson. He carries one hundred fifteen pounds."

Samantha glanced down at her track program. Almost shouting to be heard, she pointed and asked, "Is that really the last one? It says here that there are two more."

"Peace Pennant and Ten Can were scratched," Eddie answered briefly, as the crowd began to settle somewhat, turning their attention to the man who would start the race.

"I hope Mr. Pettingill can get this race off properly," Eddie hissed into Samantha's ear, his tone almost savagely, "If you can't handle a starter's duties, you shouldn't be one."

"It's not his fault the regular man is ill today," she reminded him, squeezing his arm to hush him.

"My grandmother could do better," he spat, "He's botched every single start today."

"I think he is older than your grandmother," she answered, a sly grin spreading over her pretty face. Shaking her head, she added, "Come now, dear, they're about to start."

Eddie quieted, but continued to give the seventy year-old man, who was adjusting his wire-rimmed spectacles, a cold stare.

Unfortunately, as horses are sometimes prone to do, the young colts danced, fidgeted, and outright misbehaved on the starting line instead of waiting alertly for the starter to drop the flag. Track stewards did their best to get the horses quieted enough for a fair start, but as the minutes began to tick by, even the more well-behaved horses began unsettled by the delay and that slowed the process down even farther. The crowd too became restless, impatient about another slow start.

Suddenly, Mr. Pettingill dropped his flag with only the horses nearest the rail lined up for a proper start. Samantha gasped as some of the horses jumped forward, but no false start was called. Man O' War wasn't even facing the track and had given up three or four lengths before his jockey got him turned around and away. A hailstorm of distraught and furious expressions erupted from the betting public as their chosen favorite sped down the track to make up the lost ground.

Samantha's inhaled sharply when she saw that with or without Man O' War challenging him, Golden Broom set the pace with Upset in hot pursuit. Donnacona was right in the mix too. Armistice and Captain Alcock had gotten nearly as poor a start as Man O' War, but almost no one was watching their pursuit of the leaders.

How can he make up the distance in such a short race? Samantha fumed silently, her eyes darting nervously back and forth between the leaders and the favorite, who was still in last place.

But even as she fretted, she saw that the powerfully built chestnut was game for the challenge and gaining ground with every stride. The crowd saw it too and began to roar, as if all their extra noise would urge him on to victory.

Man O' War roared into the backstretch, seemingly undaunted by the distance that he'd lost. To him, his opponents were mere mortals who didn't stand a chance against his greatness. Neither Eddie nor Samantha nor anyone else could believe their eyes when he blew by The Swimmer as if he were standing still. Everyone yelled all the more.

"Go!" Samantha shouted, jumping up and down, heedless of the rules of ladylike behavior instilled in her since childhood, "Go!" Her track program flew out of her hand as she waved her fists and was quickly lost and trampled under the people in front of her.

Man O' War only kept gaining ground with every one of his twenty-eight foot strides.

"Look at him, Sam!" Eddie gushed, tears in his eyes, "I've never seen anything like it. His strides, by golly…" His voice broke off when he choked up with emotion.

The horses barreled into the far turn as Man O' War closed in on the lead group. Donnacona was forced to take the turn wide and it effectively took the wind out of bay colt. He dropped back even as Man O' War gained more ground.

"He's going to do it, Sam," Eddie shouted, excitement pumping renewed energy into his veins. "By golly, he's so good even old Mr. Pettingill can't throw him off." He pointed, "See, Loftus is steering him toward the rail so he can make up the ground faster. I told—"

"No, no," Samantha cried, pointing as Man O War was bottled up by Captain Alcock and Armistice, "He's boxed in along the rail!"

"What is Loftus thinking?" Eddie fumed, aghast at jockey's judgment.

Then, almost as suddenly, Man O' War was freed from the blockade and charging forward again. Only Upset and Golden Broom were ahead now.

"He's fading, he's fading, Sam!" Eddie yelled, wild with excitement as Upset passed Man O' War's main rival. In the next few strides Man O' War also blew past Golden Broom.

"He's got it. He's got it!" Eddie whooped, "Have you ever seem a more magnificent colt? He won't be denied!"

The crowd roared too, believing that nothing, not even a horrendous start or being boxed in late in the stretch could conquer their beautiful champion.

"The line, the line!" Samantha screamed, as the two houses closed in on the finish with Man O' War still behind, "They're too close!

"Go, go!" Eddie hollered with all his might, urging, willing, pleading, the great chestnut locomotive to make up the lost ground. The crowd and Samantha were right there with him.

Then an unearthly silence descended over everyone when Upset claimed victory by a neck.

Author's Notes: If you're wondering why I started out being pretty specific with the horse colors/markings, silk colors, and jockey/owner names then got less detailed as I went along, it's because some information is simply lost to history. Records weren't as well kept in 1919 as they are today. Also, I must note that I made up the part about the horses' demeanor in and order of the post parade. My most hearty thanks to The Jockey Club and National Museum of Racing and Hall of Fame for helping me find what information was available.

A Look Back: First off, it must be noted that starting gates weren't used at Saratoga in 1919, which accounts for the horses' ability to get out of line at the beginning. Upset's winning time was 1:11: 20, but the horses were at the starting line trying to get settled for around four minutes—or nearly four times longer than they were actually running the race.

Man O' War is widely regarded as the greatest racehorse of the 20th Century, with only the 1973 Triple Crown champion, Secretariat, coming anywhere near close. He finished his racing career with 20 wins in 21 starts and beat Upset by substantial margins in every meeting except the Sanford (that's 6 of 7 meetings). For those of you wondering if Man O' War won the Triple Crown, the answer is no. Mr. Riddle believed that a mile and a quarter in early May was too much to ask of three year olds so he skipped that race. In his racing career, Man O' War equaled one track record and set two new track records, two American track records, and three world records.

After racing his horse as a two and three year old in 1919 and 1920, Mr. Riddle retired him—rather than cripple him—after learning that Man O' War would be expected to carry astronomical weight handicaps if he raced at age four. Instead, Man O' War was sent to Faraway Farm in Kentucky to be a stallion where he continued to be a popular tourist attraction and make his impact felt on horse racing. Among his three hundred fifty foals, sixty-four became champions, with the 1937 Triple Crown champion, War Admiral, being the most accomplished. He is also grandsire to the legendary Seabiscuit. Man O' War retired from stud duty in 1943 (age 26) and died in 1947 (age 30). He was still so popular that his funeral was carried nationally on the radio.

Now, here's a question for you. Who thinks that Man O' War's loss to Upset is where we get the term "upset" for when a favorite is beaten in a sporting event? Sorry to disappoint, but it's not true. The term for such an event predates the 1919 Sanford.

Who's looking forward to the American Triple Crown races this year?