Bobby Ussery is not a classy rider. He shifts around in the saddle, stretches too far forward, and arches too high off the horse. Fans of a bygone smoothy like Eddie Arcaro are appalled. "A real butcher on style," they say. Then they line up at the pari-mutuel windows to bet whatever horse has Ussery up.
The thing is, the butcher wins—on all kinds of horses, on all kinds of tracks. "I try," he explains precisely, "to get my horse to the wire first." Fortnight ago, at New York's Aqueduct, Ussery booted home...
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