His name was Malicious, and you can look it up in the 
_American Racing Manual_: from ages 2 to 4, he won 5 of his 46 
starts, had seven different owners, and never changed hands for 
more than $800. 
     His method of running was simple and to the point: he was 
usually last out of the gate, last on the backstretch, last around 
the far turn, and last at the finish wire. 
     He didn't have a nickname back then, either. Exterminator may 
have been Old Bones, and Man o' War was Big Red, and of course 
Equipoise was the Chocolate Soldier, but Malicious was just plain 
Malicious. 
     Turns out he was pretty well-named, after all. 
     It was at Santa Anita in February of 1935 -- and _this_ you 
can't look up in the _Racing Manual_, or the _Daily Racing Form 
Chart Book_, or any of the other usual sources, so you're just 
going to have to take my word for it -- and Malicious was being 
rubbed down by Chancey McGregor, who had once been a jockey until 
he got too heavy, and had latched on as a groom because he didn't 
know anything but the racetrack. Chancey had been trying to 
supplement his income by betting on the races, but he was no 
better at picking horses than at riding them -- he had a passion 
for claimers who were moving up in class, which any tout will tell 
you is a quick way to go broke -- and old Chancey, he was getting 
mighty desperate, and on this particular morning he stopped 
rubbing Malicious and put him in his stall, and then started 
trading low whispers with a gnarly little man who had just 
appeared in the shed row with no visitor's pass or anything, and 
after a couple of minutes they shook hands and the gnarly little 
man pricked Chancey's thumb with something sharp and then held it 
onto a piece of paper. 
     Well, Chancey started winning big that very afternoon, and 
the next day he hit a 200-to-1 shot, and the day after that he 
knocked down a $768.40 daily double. And because he was a good- 
hearted man, he spread his money around, made a lot of girls 
happy, at least temporarily, and even started bringing sugar cubes 
to the barn with him every morning. Old Malicious, he just loved 
those sugar cubes, and because he was just a horse, he decided 
that he loved Chancey McGregor too. 
     Then one hot July day that summer -- Malicious had now lost 
14 in a row since he upset a cheap field back in October the 
previous year -- Chancey was rubbing him down at Hollywood Park, 
adjusting the bandages on his forelegs, and suddenly the gnarly 
little man appeared inside the stall. 
     "It's time," he whispered to Chancey. 
     Chancey dropped his sponge onto the straw that covered the 
floor of the stall, and just kind of backed away, his eyes so wide 
they looked like they were going to pop out of his head. 
     "But it's only July," he said in a real shakey voice. 
     "A deal's a deal," said the gnarly man. 
     "But I was supposed to have two years!" whimpered Chancey. 
     "You've been betting at five tracks with your bookie," said 
the gnarly man with a grin. "You've had two years worth of 
winning, and now I've come to claim what's mine." 
     Chancey backed away from the gnarly man, putting Malicious 
between them. The little man advanced toward him, and Malicious, 
who sensed that his source of sugar cubes was in trouble, lashed 
out with a forefoot and caught the gnarly little man right in the 
middle of the forehead. It was a blow that would have killed most 
normal men, but as you've probably guessed by now, this wasn't any 
normal man in the stall with Malicious and Chancey, and he just 
sat down hard. 
     "You can't keep away from me forever, Chancey McGregor," he 
hissed, pointing a skinny finger at the groom. "I'll get you for 
this." He turned to Malicious. "I'll get you _both_ for this, 
horse, and you can count on it!" 
     And with that, there was a puff of smoke, and suddenly the 
gnarly little man was gone. 
     Well, the gnarly little man, being who he was, didn't have to 
wait long to catch up with Chancey. He found him cavorting with 
fast gamblers and loose women two nights later, and off he took 
him, and that was the end of Chancey McGregor. 
     But Malicious was another story. Three times the gnarly 
little man tried to approach Malicious in his stall, and three 
times Malicious kicked him clear out into the aisle, and finally 
the gnarly little man decided to change his tactics, and what he 
did was to wait for Malicious on the far turn with a great big 
stick in his hand. Being who he was, he made sure that nobody in 
the grandstand or the clubhouse could see him, but it wouldn't 
have been a proper vengeance if Malicious couldn't see him, so he 
made a little adjustment, and just as Malicious hit the far turn, 
trailing by his usual 20 lengths, up popped the gnarly little man, 
swinging the paddle for all he was worth. 
     "I got you now, horse!" he screamed -- but Malicious took off 
like the devil was after him, which was exactly the case, and won 
the race by seven lengths. 
     As he was being led to the winner's circle, Malicious looked 
off to his left, and there was the gnarly little man, glaring at 
him. 
     "I'll be waiting for you next time, horse," he promised, and 
sure enough, he was. 
     And Malicious won _that_ race by nine lengths. 
     And the gnarly little man kept waiting, and Malicious kept 
moving into high gear every time he hit the far turn, and before 
long the crowds fell in love with him, and Joe Hernandez, who 
called every race in California, became famous for crying "...and 
here comes Malish!" 
     Santa Anita started selling Malish t-shirts 30 years before 
t-shirts became popular, and Hollywood sold Malish coffee mugs, 
and every time old Malish won, he made the national news. At the 
end of his seventh year, he even led the Rose Bowl parade 
in Pasadena. (Don't take _my_ word for it; there was a photo of it 
in _Time_.) 
     By the time he turned eight years old, Malish started slowing 
down, and the only thing that kept him safe was that the gnarly 
little man was slowing down too, and one day he came to Malish's 
stall, and this time he looked more tired than angry, and Malish 
just stared at him without kicking or biting. 
     "Horse," said the gnarly little man, "you got more gumption 
than most people I know, and I'm here to declare a truce. What do 
you say to that?" 
     Malish whinnied, and the gnarly little man tossed him a 
couple of sugar cubes, and that was the last Malish ever did see 
of him. 
     He lost his next eleven races, and then they retired him, and 
the California crowd fell in love with Seabiscuit, and that was 
that. 
     Except that here and there, now and then, you can still find 
a couple of railbirds from the old days who will tell you about 
old Malish, the horse who ran like Satan himself was chasing him 
down the homestretch. 
     That's the story. There really was a Malicious, and he used 
to take off on the far turn like nobody's business, and it's all 
pretty much the truth, except for the parts that aren't, and 
they're pretty minor parts at that. 
     Like I said, you can look it up. 

                             -- The End --