Peter Robinson had to be waiting to break out this little anecdote. That said, it really does fit.
Watching the returns come in this afternoon I found myself recalling my great uncle, who was a harness racer, and a horse named Schuyler Hall—maybe because the commentators kept talking about the political "horserace." Schuyler Hall's first owner raced the horse as a trotter, with mediocre results. My great uncle retrained Schuyler Hall, racing him instead as a pacer.
The gate would open, the other horses would launch onto the course…and Schuyler Hall, at first attempting to trot rather than pace, would rear up and throw his head from side to side, going nowhere. My great-uncle would talk to the horse, calming him. And then Schuyler Hall would find his gait, starting to pace. The rest of the field would by now be approaching the first turn. But Schuyler Hall would settle into one of the fastest paces my great-uncle ever recorded, closing on the other horses with every step. The spectators would cheer, and then, as Schuyler Hall began passing one horse after another, jump to its feet. After having begun to race four or five seconds after the rest of the field, Schuyler Hall would always finish in the middle or better.
“The horse never finished first,” my great-uncle would say. “But when Schuyler Hall found his gait, you never saw anything more beautiful.”