The Race I sit down on the hard stone bench at the Circus Maximus. The men around me have already begun getting drunk from the masses of wine in their paws. I try to ignore them but resistance is futile. I hear the trumpets and the chariots come out of their grooming stables. I thank Jupiter that the men around me get their attention turned to another subject than just the liqueur. The chariots pull up to the starting line and begin their preparation for the starting horn. The agitators wait patiently for the trumpets to sound. Glaring at each other, they start to lightly whip their horses to get them riled up for the race. The judges gave the agitators the signal to get ready and then sounded the trumpets and the starting gates opened. After about 500 meters the eight racers guided their chariot s of four horses to the end of the first obelisk and guide their horses to the right and around the turn. In the crowd, the almighty Marcus Aurelius is in the stands behind the Judges Box . He is being fed grapes by one of the many servants in his box. The most distinguishable patricians are with him. Most of the drunken men around me have started to chant the color of their liking which is Red. They keep this tradition up for the next six laps. By the time that the sixth dolphin is turned downward, there are only five chariots left and Red is in the lead. I am very surprised of this because Red does not have a very good reputation on being ahead for more than two laps in the beginning. It does not look good for Red for White is coming up behind him fast and strong.
The next lap was full of screams and shouts from the drunken men about me trying to get their message across the other 260,000 spectators in the Circus Maximus. Eventually, the two chariots make their way to the finish and Red is in the lead by no more than one half meter. I could just barely see the agitator of the White chariot frantically whipping his horses. The seventh dolphin s nose is turned towards the ground. Half the circus is screaming with joy, the other half is yelling in angst but the entire 260,000 people are yelling or screaming for some reason. Even I am. What can I say, the drunkards got the best of me. “Say, pass me that amphora. It is time to celebrate.”