11/02/2025
His story is amazing.
He stood just fifteen-two hands high,
too small, they said, for dreams to fly.
Too stocky, too stout, too “American-bred,”
“Europe will eat him alive,” they said.
But Battleship carried a royal flame,
born of Man o’ War, a king by name.
From his sire he took not just speed,
but heart, and fire, and an iron creed.
In 1938, he crossed the sea,
no crown on his brow, no grand decree
just sturdy legs, a fearless stare,
and a will to prove he belonged out there.
🇬🇧 At Aintree they smirked, they shook their heads:
“The Grand National? He’ll end up in shreds.
Four miles of turf, thirty fences to clear,
where giants falter and vanish from here.”
The horn blew sharp the race began.
He leapt the first like a warrior’s plan,
the second with grace, the third with might,
each jump a battle, each stride a fight.
Horses stumbled, champions fell,
but Battleship pressed through mud and hell.
Rain in his mane, sweat on his skin,
he would not break, he would not give in.
And then , the final stretch appeared,
two horses close, the crowd roared, cheered.
Battleship surged, his spirit aflame,
as if the finish itself called his name.
Zebra boards flashed, hooves struck the ground,
and silence fell without a sound.
The photo told what hearts now knew:
🏆 Battleship — champion, through and through.
First American-born, American-owned,
to conquer Aintree, to stand alone.
Once “the American pony” to their eye,
now a legend, too great to deny.
That day,
the little horse who shouldn’t have been
became the horse they’ll never forget.
