This was a young warhorse, but no one present could tell. Because he was short, only half the size of horses his age, and he loved to sleep more than anything, yet his appetite was twice that of a grown horse, and that was how he got the name Seabiscuit. So when he was six months old, the ranch owner gave him away to a trainer. But this trainer also thought he was a lazy horse, so he decided to discipline him harshly.
Yet the daily beatings did not draw out Seabiscuit’s potential, they only buried his talent, until at last he was abandoned, reduced to running alongside others as a sparring horse. Even worse, his jockey would sometimes force him to lose on purpose, just to boost the confidence of other racehorses. By the age of three, Seabiscuit was running in two cheap claiming races every week, suffering endless humiliation, tugging, and whipping, and his temper grew as irritable and explosive as his father’s.
Everyone believed he was hopeless, and in the end he was sold off at the lowest price of two thousand dollars, fit only for slaughter. As the saying goes, there are many horses of war, but few who recognize them, and this time fate finally leaned in Seabiscuit’s favor. Because this small and lame horse would rise to the very top of the world’s news in 1938, named the number one story above President Roosevelt and even above Hitler. But this true story actually began twelve years earlier, when a man had gone several days without food, while his son
beamed with joy, saying, “I earned two dollars for you.” In those years of economic collapse, two dollars was enough to feed a family of seven for a whole meal, and the father, shocked, asked where the money had come from. It turned out the boy had found a job at a racetrack, caring for the horses, and he was better at it than most grown men, earning praise from the well-dressed stable owners. The boy thought with this job, he could finally bring his family enough food to eat, but when he turned back he saw his mother weeping uncontrollably, and before he could figure out why, his father handed him his favorite bag of books.
That was when the boy realized his parents had sold him away, and he cried as he hugged his father, begging him to change his mind, but his parents walked away without looking back. He could not understand why, when he had earned money, he was still abandoned. In truth, he had once been raised in a wealthy home, with four siblings, living in a grand villa. From a young age, he had shown extraordinary talent at horseback riding, and his father had even bought him a racehorse of his own.
But fate struck suddenly, as the worst economic crisis in history erupted, and countless people lost their lifetime’s savings overnight, millions fleeing westward in search of survival, and among them was the boy’s family. No one expected that in such a desperate time, horse racing would thrive against the odds, and the boy’s passion finally had a place to be used. Yet his meager wages could never support a family of seven, and since his parents cherished him most, maybe sending him away was their only way to keep him alive.
Before leaving, his father told him, “You have a gift for riding, once we settle down we’ll call you, one day we will meet again.” But from that day on, the boy never heard from his parents again. Years slipped away, twelve in a flash, and the boy grew more silent and frail. Because of his bright red hair, people called him “Red,” while his real name slowly disappeared from memory. Over the years, he had been fired many times, yet every job he took was still connected to horse racing.
He had no home, only stables to sleep in. And even under such harsh conditions, he grew taller than the average jockey, so to chase his dream he had to make himself vomit to cut weight, just barely qualifying to ride. Red had talent, but no formal training, so every race ended with him at the bottom, and even when he once managed to place second, his boss screamed at him and refused to pay him a single cent. Because he never won, few wanted to hire him.
To survive, he stepped into underground boxing matches, where he was beaten bloody every time, losing every fight, earning nothing, and spending nights on benches at the train station. By his early twenties, he had tasted betrayal and abandonment again and again. But even in this misery, he never sold the books his father left him, nor would he ever give up his pride to line up for free relief food. For his racing dream, he humbled himself to beg strangers at the stables for a chance, and if they refused, he lowered himself further, offering to take the lowest job of walking horses.
Walking horses paid almost nothing, not even enough to eat. As Red walked the horses, he cursed at them under his breath, though in truth he was cursing his own broken life. His moody and unpredictable look happened to be noticed by the trainer Tom nearby. Tom had once been the finest cowboy of the open plains, a man who loved nature and horses, but with the birth of the automobile and the rush of modern times, a man who knew only horses was pushed aside to society’s edge.
He had to leave the prairie and work in crowded towns, but his honest, straightforward nature did not please people. So he simply lived in seclusion, spending his years in the company of forests. Until one day, he saw a racehorse about to be shot, because with a broken leg it was thought impossible to ever run again, and Tom, unable to watch, bought the horse himself, treating it with homemade herbs every day. Man and horse became inseparable, and this act caught the eye of a wealthy man.
Howard, who had recently decided to enter the horse racing business, had been looking for trainers, but none of the experts recommended to him felt right, and it was Tom, the loner, who caught his interest. He asked why Tom would save a horse that could never run. Hearing his answer, Howard knew Tom was the trainer he needed. Howard was the living emblem of the American dream in the 1930s, once a seller of carriages twenty years earlier. The first time he saw an automobile, he knew it was the future, that cars would soon replace slow wagons.
So he built a business from nothing, founding a car company, and with sharp vision and brilliant business instincts, he amassed his fortune in only a few years. He even bought a farm, and sold every horse, just to park his beloved car collection. But while he was on top of the world, his six-year-old son, driving a car, was killed in an accident on Howard’s new farm. His wife, shattered by grief, divorced him. He knew the blame was his, he should never have taught a six-year-old to drive, and he should never have left his child alone at home for the sake of business, and when he thought of this, he could no longer hold back his tears.
He sealed up the stables filled with luxury cars. To help him walk out of the shadows, a friend brought him to the racetrack for distraction, but the pain in his heart was not so easy to erase. Just when his spirit was sinking, the gentle and beautiful Marcela stepped into his world. She not only let Howard experience the joy of riding, but also slowly eased the emptiness inside him. They soon walked into the hall of marriage, and from then on he fell in love with the horses abandoned by time, beginning his new journey in the racing world.
In this way, Howard found Tom. The next step was to find the right horse and the right jockey. Tom wandered day after day across the racetracks in search, until one morning a small lame horse suddenly caught his eye. With just one glance, Tom saw the royal bearing in this horse, and beneath its defiant eyes he saw the spirit of greatness. He immediately urged his boss to buy the horse. But when Howard saw others buying tall, strong horses with sleek coats and gentle temperaments, and then looked at his own, he couldn’t help but ask.
So Tom called for an experienced jockey. But as soon as the jockey got close, the irritable Seabiscuit drove him back, and he cursed loudly that he was a mad horse. Watching this, Tom also felt a headache. Just then, he saw Red behind him, still holding his ground while fighting against four opponents. Even more dramatic, one who was supposed to be small had grown tall, while the other who should have been tall was born small, were they not two unyielding souls alike?
At Red’s very first meeting, Seabiscuit reared up and screamed, unwilling to welcome this intruder, but Red understood him. Perhaps only those who had been through storms could feel the same, and with just half an apple Red calmed his fury. But their first collaboration was not smooth, on a straight track Seabiscuit ran as if twisting through mountain roads. It turned out Seabiscuit had been trained from childhood to run in circles, and years of beatings had left him with a painful reflex to the whip.
Tom instantly saw he had been trained only as a sparring horse, his natural instincts forgotten. To awaken Seabiscuit’s racing spirit, he led him into a grove and told Red to let him run free. And so they galloped wildly among the trees. With Red’s constant encouragement, Seabiscuit ran faster and faster, charging through muddy paths, crossing a bridge covered in maple leaves, like a gust of wind, and the soul imprisoned for years was finally set free. Red shouted excitedly, because he knew the horse carrying him was no ordinary one, but a true warhorse.
Thus three men who had failed in life, together with a horse no one believed in, formed a legend that would inspire millions. When they arrived at Howard’s grand villa, it was the first time in more than a decade Red sat at a table to eat, with delicious food laid out before him, but to keep his weight he dared eat only a little. Seeing this, Howard spoke. Red’s eyes instantly welled up. For the first time in years, he felt a long-lost warmth.
Later, Howard even prepared soft beds for them. But that night, one lay in the stable reading, and another under a tree in thought, perhaps each was saying goodbye to his former self. The next day, dusty cars were cleared out, and the stable returned to its original purpose. Yet Seabiscuit’s fiery nature remained the same, he neighed constantly in the stable. To calm him, Tom carried in a little sheep, but this was the result. Seeing that sheep was useless, Tom brought in a beautiful mare, closed the gate tight, and when Marcela walked by, Tom smiled, and Marcela saw a scene of gentle healing.
Then came formal training, and unlike Seabiscuit’s old trainers, Tom told Red not to overuse the whip, and to let him run free in the last stretch of the race. But on the track, no matter how Red urged, Seabiscuit would not speed up, until he saw an opponent ahead. Then Seabiscuit shot forward like an arrow from the bow, determined to overtake. In the stands, Tom and Howard and his wife were left speechless in shock. Even more astonishing, Seabiscuit’s very first time on track broke the course record.
Filled with confidence, they prepared for their first official race, and Howard and his wife personally chose Red’s racing clothes. Tom repeated the strategy again and again: “Stay close to the champion favorite’s right side, and in the final sprint, release Seabiscuit, let him run free.” Red nodded again and again. But after the race began, another rider cut him off, and Red’s fiery temper exploded, he lashed the whip wildly and fought to catch up, completely forgetting Tom’s advice. They jostled all the way to the final stretch, but Seabiscuit lacked the stamina and was overtaken by one horse after another, finishing second to last.
When Tom and Howard came to question him, he was still burning with rage. An eye for an eye, that was the survival code he had learned in underground fighting. But his anger came from deeper inside. Late at night, when Red almost threw away his father’s bag of books, I finally understood—his real fury was from the scars of childhood, the sting of his father’s abandonment and the endless humiliation from strangers. But in his mind, his father’s words, “You have a gift,” finally cooled him down.
The next day, ashamed, he went to Howard, stammering as he asked to borrow ten dollars, promising to repay with his wages, testing if Howard still wanted to keep him, for he had been abandoned too many times. Unexpectedly, Howard smiled and gave him twenty. Red’s eyes brimmed with tears, choked with emotion, for the first time in years he felt the warmth of being chosen even after failure. That warmth turned into strength, and Red poured it into the next race, this time no longer reckless, but keeping the plan, staying right behind his opponent.
His focus gave Seabiscuit strength, and when they entered the final sprint, Red let go. In that instant, Seabiscuit shot forward like an arrow, his speed breathtaking, overtaking one opponent after another. First half a length, then a whole length. After so many years, Red and Seabiscuit finally proved themselves, raising their arms in triumph as applause roared. From then on, they were unstoppable, winning ten races in a row, with no rivals left in the American West. Howard saw the opportunity, bringing Seabiscuit on a national tour.
In those years of economic hardship, the triumph of a small horse and a tall jockey gave strength to countless struggling poor. Everywhere they went there were flowers and applause, and Seabiscuit’s hoofprints even became autographs, sold as souvenirs. After Tom returned, he looked angrily and helplessly at the chaotic stable. He told Howard that Seabiscuit was a warhorse, not a pet for display, and if there wasn’t enough time for training, he would eventually fall to the bottom. What’s more, Seabiscuit had never faced a truly strong opponent, and as Tom spoke, he pulled out a newspaper, and Howard frowned as soon as he saw it.
It was about a champion horse named War Admiral, the king of the East, who had won the Triple Crown. He stood 1.8 meters tall, with a shining coat and pure bloodline, and he was undefeated, praised by the media as the most perfect racehorse. Howard finally realized the truth, that comfort and ease were temporary, and only reaching the peak would bring eternal glory. The next day he decided to let Seabiscuit challenge War Admiral. Once the challenge was announced, the whole country was shaken, for this was not only a contest between two horses, but also a battle of honor between East and West with long-standing prejudice.
But when interviewed by reporters, War Admiral’s owner Riddle sneered and said, “War Admiral is the most perfect racehorse, and a rookie chasing fame dares to challenge?” His words were filled with contempt. The three of them, huddled around the radio, burned with anger, how could such an insult be endured. Howard decided to use money as bait, putting up the highest prize purse in history, a full one hundred thousand dollars. As soon as the news spread, all the famous horses of the East were drawn in, but Riddle remained unmoved.
For Riddle was already one of the wealthiest men, and one hundred thousand dollars meant little to him. In the end, the race was still held, and Red could have easily taken the championship, but in the final sprint, an opponent suddenly charged from the right rear, and Red acted as if nothing had happened, by the time he reacted it was too late, and he lost by just a nose. When Tom questioned him, Red shouted in frustration, “I can’t see on the right!” Only then did Tom learn the truth, that back in the days of underground fighting, Red’s right eye had been blinded.
He was furious, thinking a rider who had lied and lost vision in one eye was unfit to be a jockey. But when Howard heard, he wasn’t angry at all, instead he repeated Tom’s own words back to him. However, when Howard saw newspapers insulting Red as a blind jockey, he immediately held a press conference and declared, “First, Red will always be Seabiscuit’s jockey. Second, since War Admiral dares not come, then we will strike first, and win every race he has ever entered, until the two of them face each other.” And so three men and one horse set out on a new journey, and each time they passed through a city, Howard delivered passionate speeches.
In an age filled with unemployment, Red and Seabiscuit, who had endured so many defeats, became the role models and the spirit people most needed. With public emotion boiling over, this seemed less like a duel of horses, and more like a battle between common people and privilege, between the individual and fate. At last, under heavy public pressure, Riddle was forced to accept the challenge. But he demanded that it be held at his own racetrack, and since War Admiral disliked starting gates, the race would begin with a bell, and Howard agreed without hesitation.
The date was set for two weeks later. At first, they thought War Admiral had only been mythologized by the media, but when they secretly watched his training, their jaws dropped. War Admiral’s speed was like lightning, and if they still used the strategy of trailing behind and then sprinting, Seabiscuit was doomed to lose. Because once War Admiral took the lead, no horse on earth could catch up. So if they wanted to win, they had to change their approach.
To get Seabiscuit used to the starting bell, they moved the training to nighttime, and at the sound of the bell they cracked the whip, letting him gradually form a conditioned reflex. Within days, Seabiscuit could already run at full speed in the darkness without distraction. Though Red could not see clearly, he trusted completely in Seabiscuit’s night vision, letting him carry him freely through the dark. Two weeks passed quickly, and Seabiscuit’s strength had risen to a new level. But at this moment, Red encountered his first employer, who after business failure now had only one not-so-good horse left.
He hoped Red could ride his horse for a lap, so that buyers might see it and pay a higher price. Before the man even finished speaking, Red agreed, for he still felt indebted to him. But during the run, a tractor backfired and startled the horse, and Red was thrown heavily to the ground. In the chaos, he failed to free his foot from the stirrup, and was dragged for dozens of meters. Though his life was barely saved, the bones in his right leg were shattered, and even if healed he would be crippled for life, let alone ride again.
Howard had no choice but to cancel the race. But Red was the first to disagree, because this was Seabiscuit’s honor, and after much thought, he proposed that his best friend George ride him in his place, for George too was a top jockey. On the hospital bed, Red told George all of Tom’s strategies and the skills of handling Seabiscuit. They talked from day into night, and in truth he was not only passing on techniques, but more importantly teaching his friend how to love Seabiscuit.
Finally, Red asked George to close the door, because what he was about to say was Seabiscuit’s ultimate secret to victory: “When the race begins, you must let Seabiscuit take the lead, but in the final corner sprint, you must slow down and let the opponent catch up.” George was stunned, “Why would I do that?” At last, the much-anticipated race day arrived, and as the sun rose the racetrack was already packed with people, with cars lined up for fifteen streets.
While waiting for the start, the crowd had already eaten sixty thousand hot dogs, two thousand barrels of beer, and four thousand tons of cola. Factories across the country even closed for half a day so employees could listen to the live broadcast. That day, more than forty million Americans tuned in to the race. Seabiscuit’s odds were two to one, not favored by capital, but when he stepped onto the track, the crowd erupted in cheers, because he was the warhorse in the hearts of the ordinary people.
At the sound of the starting bell, Seabiscuit leapt forward exactly as he had in training, instantly taking the lead. As he thundered across the field, the crowd surged with him, their hearts tied to Seabiscuit’s every stride. Soon they reached the final corner before the sprint, and Seabiscuit was ahead by two full lengths, holding absolute advantage. But outside the track, three men whispered over and over, “Slow down, slow down, slow down.” You must understand, not everyone in this world is willing to give up a lead and trust in something as intangible as a fighter’s soul.
But George proved worthy of Red’s trust. He gradually tightened the reins. As Seabiscuit slowed, War Admiral closed in, and soon the two horses were neck and neck. The moment Seabiscuit locked eyes with his opponent, he felt an immense pressure, but it also ignited the warrior spirit deep within. When Seabiscuit crossed the finish line, the crowd exploded, and cheers echoed across the skies of America, as War Admiral’s undefeated legend was shattered. No one had expected that a naturally small, lame horse would defeat the perfect War Admiral by four lengths, and it was not only a warrior’s victory, but the victory of the working people.
Elsewhere, Red heard the news and cheered as well, but soon he fell into silence. Even though he had prepared himself to say farewell to racing, when the moment came, it was still hard to accept. In the end, Howard sent Red to the estate to recover, while George continued to race with Seabiscuit. Until one accident brought their fates together again. In a fierce race, Seabiscuit tore all the ligaments in his front leg, and doctors declared he would never return to the track, saying the most effective way to end his pain was euthanasia.
Hearing this, Howard glared at the doctor. And so, a lame jockey and a lame horse met again in the place where they had first crossed paths. In the days that followed, Red went to the stable daily to apply medicine and massage Seabiscuit. When the injury eased, he led him to the woods for walks, and they lay together on the grass reading books. Months later, a gentle breeze passed, and suddenly Seabiscuit began to trot. Seeing this, Red took out the long-hidden tack, braced his injured leg with a stick, and with the help of servants, they slowly returned to the track to relive their battles of old.
Another six months passed, and when a flock of birds startled Seabiscuit, he ran far, stronger than before, and as they circled the great trees, they ran more and more freely, as if today’s running foretold tomorrow’s return. That night, Red suddenly ate less than usual, and Howard immediately sensed his thoughts, but said nothing, and instead secretly brought Seabiscuit to the track to test him. To their surprise, he had completely recovered. Radio reporters saw it too, and soon the news of Seabiscuit’s return spread everywhere.
When they went to register, Seabiscuit became restless, because Red had arrived. After patting Seabiscuit, Red walked straight to the registration office. This time, they would fight side by side. Howard stopped him. But Red was determined, willing to risk permanent injury rather than abandon his dream. This troubled Howard deeply, and he sought advice everywhere, asking doctors, Tom, and even his wife, for over the years he had come to see Red as a son, and he feared losing him forever.
Until George finally told Howard. And so, Red once again returned to the racetrack. When the crowd saw them, thunderous cheers erupted, for no matter the result, seeing them rise again was already the greatest miracle. When the race began, waves of pain tore at Red’s nerves, leaving him no time to think about strategy, and Seabiscuit also struggled under the siege of the pack. You must know, at seven years old, he was no longer in his prime, and soon they were left behind, struggling like a trapped beast, and the hearts of everyone in the stands tightened.
Age and injury are the greatest enemies in sport, and worse still, both horse and rider had suffered grave wounds. But at that moment, George, who was leading, suddenly slowed and came to Seabiscuit’s side. For having once fought alongside Seabiscuit, he knew what he needed most, an equal opponent to awaken his fighting spirit. Defeat, hardship, injury, age—these thieves of fate tried to stop him, but when his warrior spirit was rekindled, the red flash on the racetrack returned. This film is adapted from true history, and in reality Seabiscuit not only overcame his injuries, but also ran the best time in Santa Anita Handicap history, the second-best in American racing history, and broke a world record.
In the Great Depression of 1938, Seabiscuit’s miracle became the strength that pulled countless Americans from despair, giving them courage to rise again, and soon the economy began to recover. It is no exaggeration to say that Seabiscuit changed not only his own fate and his owners’ fate, but also inspired an entire nation. And that unyielding spirit is what every one of us needs, for only with it can we travel further on the road of life.
