Death. It's something we're all looking forward to. But it's not all fun and games. Anyways
here's a story about death, fun and games.
Frank Hayes was born in 1901 in Ireland. That's what I like to hear, but it also guarantees
a tragic twist for this story. This island showhow originated the term "Luck of The Irish"
but anyone familiar with our nation's history can tell you Ireland has historically pretty
much always drawn the short straw when it comes time for basically any event at all
to unfold. I've lived here all my life and I've never known an Irish person with good
luck, only one with good looks, and that's me.
Growing up, Hayes had a love of horses - and he aspired to one day become a legendary horse
racer. Unfortunately, for reasons that have been lost to time, whether it be his size,
lack of experience or simply the famed "Luck of The Irish", his dream didn't come true,
and he never experienced the feeling of winning a race.
Instead, he moved to New York in the US and worked as a stable hand for a horse breeder,
tending and training thoroughbred horses for racing. Some of these horses were winners,
and although Hayes still enjoyed his work, it was a bittersweet feeling to watch the
horses he had trained cross the finish line with other men on their backs, soaking up
the glory.
In June 1923, however, Frank Hayes saw an opportunity to finally be the man taking his
horse to the finish in first place. This horse was called "Sweet Kiss". Hayes had been training
the horse for its owner, who wanted to test Sweet Kiss in a race in Belmont park on the
4th June 1923. The only problem was, she couldn't find a jockey.
Hayes volunteered, and although he was a capable rider, with no competitive wins under his
belt, the stableboy wasn't exactly championship material. With no other choice, the owner
accepted Hayes as Sweet Kiss' jockey - but he would have to lose weight in order to keep
up with the big boys. "Big boys" being a purely figurative turn of phrase, as jockeys are
traditionally quite small and thin, encumbering their horses as little as possible.
To make sure Sweet Kiss wasn't going to be bogged down by his fat ass, Hayes underwent
training of his own, jogging non-stop and avoiding drinking water, in an effort to cut
weight. He had very little time to do this before the race took place and reportedly
his training was very severe and took a lot out of him.
But it was all worth it in the end for Hayes; on the day of the race, there he was, dressed
in jockey silks and staring down the chance to make a name for himself. Sweet Kiss was
a 20-1 outsider, but it wasn't going to deter Hayes.
After the race started, Sweet Kiss began to make her way to the front of the pack. For
Hayes, this must have been exhilarating, the 22-year-old's lifelong dreams were coming
true right before his eyes and right underneath his arse. Things were looking good but the
stakes were high. These bloodthirsty bastards were all after the same thing, and they'd
be on his ass the whole way, but one extra inch, one split second, was all he needed
to be the winner. Then, maybe the stable hand could be recognised as more than a stable
hand. Maybe this could be the start of his legendary horse racing career. As all these
excitements and possibilities raced through Frank Haye's mind, he died.
Amazingly, Sweet Kiss didn't seem too bothered by this and kept on racing. More amazingly,
Hayes didn't seem too bothered by it either, his body never leaving the horse. The crowd
was astonished to see the rider lead the race lazily slumped in the saddle. Who is this
showboating sockdologer; sloped over in his seat like some sort of baseborn coxcomb?
Astonishingly, Sweet Kiss won the race. As her owner approached to congratulate Hayes,
he finally dropped from the saddle face down. A doctor rushed over but Frank Hayes was pronounced
dead at the scene. He had apparently died of a heart attack during the race.
It was thought this was brought about by the excitement of the race, and probably a result
of Hayes pushing his body to the limits in order to drop weight shortly before the race.
It's similar to how a lot of the deaths in combat sports occur in the lower weight classes,
as those guys often have to cut weight in a relatively short time for a fight - it can
be dangerous.
Although the winning horse was technically without a jockey, Frank Hayes was officially
given the victory, out of respect to the dead man. His first and last competitive win. Frank
Hayes was dead, but he had died doing what he loved, and he had gone out a champion.
He might have been a corpse, but he was the only damn corpse to ever win a competition
in sport history. Maybe that's the true meaning of "Luck of The Irish". He was buried in his
racing silks. Sweet Kiss apparently never raced again, and
from that day on became known as the "Sweet Kiss of Death".
But at twenty to fucking one, I would've called her the "Sweet Kiss of Wealth", there were
definitely a lot of drinks dedicated to Frank Hayes that night. Ah sure, why let a thing
like chronology get in the way of a good time? *sip* This one is dedicated to Frank Hayes,
without whom this video wouldn't be possible, as well as all my loyal subscribers, and if
you're not subscribed, well you can just go straight to hell.