Anyways, here's a story about death, fun, and games.

Frank Hayes was born in 1901 in Ireland. That's what I like to hear, but it also guarantees a tragic twist for this story.

This island somehow originated the term "Luck of The Irish",

but anyone familiar with our nation's history can tell you Ireland has historically pretty much always drawn the short straw when it comes time for basically any event at all to unfold.

I've lived here all my life and I've never known an Irish person with good luck, only one with good looks, and that's me.

Growing up, Hayes had a love of horses, and he aspired to one day become a legendary horse racer.

Unfortunately, for reasons that have been lost to time, whether it be his size, lack of experience, or simply the famed "Luck of The Irish", his dream didn't come true,

and he never experienced the feeling of winning a race.

Instead, he moved to New York in the US and worked as a stable hand for a horse breeder, tending and training thoroughbred horses for racing.

Some of these horses were winners, and although Hayes still enjoyed his work,

it was a bittersweet feeling to watch the horses he had trained cross the finish line with other men on their backs, soaking up the glory.

In June 1923, however, Frank Hayes saw an opportunity to finally be the man taking his horse to the finish in first place.

This horse was called "Sweet Kiss".

Hayes had been training the horse for its owner, who wanted to test Sweet Kiss in a race in Belmont park on the 4th June 1923.

The only problem was, she couldn't find a jockey.

Hayes volunteered, and although he was a capable rider, with no competitive wins under his belt, the stable boy wasn't exactly championship material.

With no other choice, the owner accepted Hayes as Sweet Kiss' jockey, but he would have to lose weight in order to keep up with the big boys.

"Big boys" being a purely figurative turn of phrase, as jockeys are traditionally quite small and thin, encumbering their horses as little as possible.

To make sure Sweet Kiss wasn't gonna be bogged down by his fat ass, Hayes underwent training of his own, jogging non-stop and avoiding drinking water, in an effort to cut weight.

He had very little time to do this before the race took place, and reportedly his training was very severe and took a lot out of him.

But it was all worth it in the end for Hayes; on the day of the race, there he was, dressed in jockey silks and staring down the chance to make a name for himself.

Sweet Kiss was a 20-1 outsider, but it wasn't going to deter Hayes.

After the race started, Sweet Kiss began to make her way to the front of the pack.

For Hayes, this must have been exhilarating.

The 22-year-old's lifelong dreams were coming true right before his eyes, and right underneath his arse.

Things were looking good, but the stakes were high.

These bloodthirsty bastards were all after the same thing, and they'd be on his ass the whole way.

But one extra inch, one split second, was all he needed to be the winner.

Then, maybe the stable hand could be recognized as more than a stable hand.

Maybe this could be the start of his legendary horse racing career.

As all these excitements and possibilities raced through Frank Haye's mind, he died.

Amazingly, Sweet Kiss didn't seem too bothered by this, and kept on racing.

More amazingly, Hayes didn't seem too bothered by it either, his body never leaving the horse.

The crowd was astonished to see the rider lead the race lazily slumped in the saddle.

Who is this showboating sockdologer, sloped over in his seat like some sort of baseborn coxcomb?

Astonishingly, Sweet Kiss won the race.

As her owner approached to congratulate Hayes, he finally dropped from the saddle face down.

A doctor rushed over but Frank Hayes was pronounced dead at the scene.

He had apparently died of a heart attack during the race.

It was thought that this was brought about by the excitement of the race, and probably a result of Hayes pushing his body to the limits in order to drop weight shortly before the race.

It's similar to how a lot of the deaths in combat sports occur in the lower weight classes, as those guys often have to cut weight in a relatively short time for a fight. It can be dangerous.

Although the winning horse was technically without a jockey, Frank Hayes was officially given the victory, out of respect to the dead man.

His first and last competitive win. Frank Hayes was dead, but he had died doing what he loved, and he had gone out a champion.

He might have been a corpse, but he was the only damn corpse to ever win a competition in sport history.

Maybe that's the true meaning of "Luck of The Irish".

He was buried in his racing silks.

Sweet Kiss apparently never raced again, and from that day on became known as the "Sweet Kiss of Death".

But at twenty to fucking one, I would've called her the "Sweet Kiss of Wealth"!

There were definitely a lot of drinks dedicated to Frank Hayes that night!

Ah, sure, why let a thing like chronology get in the way of a good time?

This one is dedicated to Frank Hayes, without whom this video wouldn't be possible, as well as all my loyal subscribers, and if you're not subscribed, well, you can just go straight to hell.