The pub played next to the television with talking heads another one with horse races on Channel Four. The volume was almost off, so it was not possible to hear anything but the blaring nineties music that came from the radio. Once in a while the volume of this TV was turned up when a race was on. Horses with jockeys on their backs had to run on a track with obstacles of hedges. And the nearer they got to the finish the more the jockeys would slam their whips on the flanks of the horses.
The landlord of the pub asked a man at the bar when his race was on. "In ten minutes, let's have a pint with this." He took the remote control of the TV and his beer and sat at a table. He studied the schedule one more time and waited patiently. Finally it was on. He turned up the volume so much the radio was not audible anymore. The horses and jockeys were introduced first while they were led to the track by a person walking next to the horse.
A man with a sort of umbrella gave a sign and then they were off. The landlord and some other men joined the gambler at his table. The horse was doing quite well, was on the third or fourth spot constantly. Everything was possible. But then the horse fell when he landed after jumping over the fourth obstacle. The jockey rolled away from the horse, stood up and walked back. The fallen horse got to his feet and followed the other horses, but he skipped every obstacle.
The gambler turned down the volume, his mates walked away and the landlord went back behind the bar. A new customer came in, ordered a beer and walked to the unlucky man.
"How did the race go?" he asked.
"The bloody horse fell!" was the answer. He shook his head in disbelief, tore the schedule to pieces and ordered a new pint.
