A long and wordy description of the fight between Newton and his adversary is not something, I guess, which I can handle successfully on my own. My sympathies lie with Newton and I want him to win, at least this last time. But the plot demands otherwise. The time has come to seek help elsewhere.

But you know what - NEVER reinvent the wheel if you can steal the plans!
On the net, Never copy something if you can link to it (but I couldn't find something suitable).

And so, for your edification, I have had to lift something from somewhere. It is a bit from that master of humourous literature - P G Wodehouse - He is describing a race, of which the outcome was somewhat disappointing for his hero. I have copied it, lock, stock and barrel. And, to make it fit in with our story, kindly substitute Isaac Newton for Ocean Breeze.

Then Goodwood came along, and I dug out the best suit and popped down.

I never know, when I'm telling a story, whether to cut the thing down to plain facts or whether to drool on and shove in a lot of atmosphere, and all that. I mean, many a cove would no doubt edge into the final spasm of this narrative with a long description of Goodwood, featuring the blue sky, the rolling prospect, the joyous crowds of pickpockets, and the parties of the second part who were having their pockets picked, and - in a word, what not. But better give it a miss, I think. Even if I wanted to go into the details about the bally meeting I don't think I'd have the heart to. The thing is too recent. The anguish hasn't had time to pass. You see, what happened was that Ocean Breeze (curse him!) finished absolutely nowhere for the Cup. Believe me, nowhere.

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