"THE AMATEURS"

Plainridge Racecourse is our name,
pacing and trotting is our game.
The month is May and it's our opening day.
It's the amateurs, the amateurs and it's all for no pay.

It's all for the thrill
and there's even a Gill.
There's a Gulya and a Gulya and also an Eaton,
and as hard as they try, they sometimes get beaten.

There's a Jennings, Smith and Marc Bouthillier,
you can bet one sure thing, they will always be there.
When the starter gets set, to call for the paces,
the amateurs are ready for those darn races.

With whips in tow,
they are ready to go.
They sit in their bikes, just like a pro,
and when the gate opens up off they go.

Off goes the leader, down to the quarter,
with the rest of the field continuing on after.
A couple get hung and one makes a skip,
but the rest of the field are in for this trip.

Abdelnour makes his move, as they go by the half,
in hopes that he'll pass them and give them a laugh.
To the three quarters he goes without strain,
his big horse is flying and no one can gain.

But in a flash out of nowhere, a horse makes a move,
charging and snorting and appears in a grove.
They are suddenly together and the finish is near,
they seem to be firing all in full gear.

They are approaching the finish and it's too close to call,
the fiery young horse is starting to stall.
With one final burst, the wire he sees,
in hopes that he'll cross it before the other steed.

It's a photo for sure and they both pace and wait,
as a print is made, so they will know their fate.
The driver looks over and shows him a smile,
saying with a grin "it was a hell of a mile".

As I walk to the winner's circle to enjoy a great thrill,
the flashbulbs are popping and I can't quite stand still.
The race is now over and the finish is now complete,
the only thought they have, is that it was great to compete.

                                                         by Robert Lieberman