Two weeks before Christmas, Santa Claus was sitting in his office, reviewing his list of all the boys and girls.
Just then, the door burst open and in charged Comet.
“Comet,” scolded Santa. “You know better than to come into my office without knocking. It’s the busiest time of the year and I’m checking my list twice!”
Comet ignored the reprimand and said, “Hey S.C., I have a little request for you.”
Clearly exasperated, Santa put down his list and took off his reading glasses. He let out a long, tiring sigh. “What can I do for you?”
Santa raised his white bushy eyebrows in surprise. “You want to race? In a horse race?” Santa asked, incredulous.
“Yeah. You know I’m pretty fast, or else why would you have named me ‘Comet’? I’m not Blitzen, you know - he keeps a stash of reindeer hooch in the barn.”
Santa placed his reading glasses back on his nose and began rifling through a pile of papers on his desk. He pulled out a copy of The Daily Racing Form. Deftly, he flipped open the section to Hollywood Park.
“It’s a race for 2-year-old fillies,” he observed.
“You’re Santa. Make it work.”
“It’s on Cushion Track.” He looked up at Comet. “You ever run on synthetic surface?”
“I don’t run on any surface.”
“What about that Bobby Frankel trained entry, Country Star?”
“I should be able to fly right by her … literally. And I should have some pretty good odds on the board to provide you some decent action.”
Santa pondered Comet’s request. “You’ve made a career pulling a sleigh. You’ll need a jockey. What do you know about jockeys?”
Comet snorted. “There’s a guy called P Val who looks just like Huey, the elf who assembles Tickle Me Elmo. I figure he’d work.”
Santa Claus studied the form for a few more moments. “Alright, Comet, I’ll grant you your request. Go and race. But bring along Huey. We need someone to place our bets.”
“Huey won’t work, S.C.," replied Comet. “He’s not tall enough to reach the mutuel windows.”