"Give me a horse!" -SHAKESPEARE, Richard III (Act IV, Scene iii)

"THEY'RE nearing the gate... They're at the post... They're in the gate... They're off! And it's Some Kinda George in the lead, followed by Windon Tide, Heaven Again third, Bail Me Out fourth, then it's Robert Kope, followed by Pippin Orchard, followed by... They're turning into the stretch... They're into the stretch. And it's Windon Tide, then Some Kinda George.... They're battling it out. And it's Some Kinda George by a neck...."

A rising excitement grips the crowd near the finish line. A little boy holding a brown paper bag jumps about wildly, trying to hold onto his package and wave his arms in the air at the same time.

"Come one, Heaven Again!"

"Ride him, Ramos, RIDE him!"

"And it's Windon Tide, then Some Kinda George. And the winner is Windon Tide!"

The train ride to Suffolk Downs Race Track isn't much. You take the blue line out from Government Center and roll past the sleek silver cylinders nosing down at the Airport, the junk-covered beaches of Wood Island, and the abandoned playgrounds of Orient Heights.

At the Downs you scurry along with two hundred other people to find a place on the Surrey, a miniature trackless train which ferries people back and forth between the track and the subway. You pay the $1.50 admission price unless you're a senior citizen, in which case it's only 75c), push the turnstile, and you're in.

I went out to Suffolk Downs early one Saturday morning and walked down the road to the stables. Nothing is more peaceful than a stable in the morning. As I passed the rows of stalls, the sweet smell of fresh hay floated up from the hay bins. Dogs and goats lolled in the bright sun. I watched a horse flick its tail lazily. He munched quietly on his hay, grinding the stalks with horizontal sweeps of his lower jaw. Simon and Garfunkel's "Bridge Over Troubled Waters" drifted over from the Track Kitchen.

IRVING is a black groom who works in the stables. His friends call him "Red." He has an uncle-whom he calls "Unkie"-who has worked on the track most of his life. Unkie started out to be a jockey but got too heavy and had to quit.

"Aaab, were you sleepin'?" Irving whispered to a horse in the stall in front of me. "Well, if you're all right now, we'll turn you out." He opened the stall and inside were a horse and a goat.

"The goat keeps the horse company,' he explained. "This horse used to pace round and round in his stall. The goat quiets him down. A racehorse is kinda like a woman, ya know. He's temperamental, he's aggressive, and sometimes he's a dog and he makes you hate him. And sometimes you love him."

Irving led me over to his bunk, one of several tiny rooms near the stalls. "This is a 24-hour-a-day job," he began. "We get here at 4:30 in the morning to feed and water the horses. After their exercises, we have to wash 'em, cool 'em, and brush 'em. Then we do 'em up. We rub their legs and bandage 'em with cotton and wraps. At 10:00 we feed and water the horses again. Before the race in the afternoon we get 'em ready. Then we wash 'em and walk 'em after each race. Feeding time might go up till 7:00 or 8:00. This is no life on the backside." Irving opened a bottle of whiskey and took a swig. "Then they wonder why the groom gets drunk."

"A groom has to be real trustworthy to the trainer. There're a lotta secrets around a track. A groom has to be half a doctor, half nurse, and a babysitter too. You have to love the animal first; he comes before you. When a mother loses her child, she's sad; when a man loses his horse, he's hurting' too," he added, echoing the old cowboy ethic. "A horse comes to us all ugly and with long hair. We're the ones who make him beautiful enough for you to bet your money on."

Irving has been around the track since his boyhood. After nine years in the army, he returned to racing in his middle twenties. He tried leaving the track again. He became a painter for a summer, then switched to carpentry, made a lot of money, and bought a bar.