February 24, 2025 
Again and again. Again and again.
The repetition now has a rhythm. It could be the bass line of a song.
This isn’t a song you listen to solo on earbuds, either. This is a song for the masses, a song to be shout-sung in arenas by crowds.
Or crooned cocooned by matte-black walls, sunk in a leather armchair, in that epi-center of fandom, the official headquarters (unpublished location) of the Kent Dolls, the super-secret, ultra-exclusive Team KPF fan club.
“Two-for-two!” people are saying, singers are singing, and writers are writing. “Two-for-two” refers to the two, $500,000 5* Grands Prix held at WEF so far this 2025 season, both won by Kent and his mount Greya in decisive style.
But “two-for-two” leaves out that 5* World Cup win in Cali a few weeks ago aboard Toulayna. And let’s not forget the 4* Grand Prix win at the World Equestrian Center in Ocala, also with Toulayna, because then we get to say he’s touring all the North American winter circuits and winning at all of them.
“Shall we consider some of the applicants?” someone asks from a nearby armchair, referring to the amassing stack of applications on the chest of drawers ’neath the oil portrait of our hero.
What a thing to ask post-midnight after the latest victory! I’m three sheets to the wind, as sailors say, full up with whiskey.
They call our table in the VIP the “Mafia Table” for its location in the corner, with only a bar behind it, full visibility of VIP and arena, easy escape via the adjacent exit. I’m never dry in this corner, as the bourbon bottle lies with the bartender only feet away, and our server anticipates my thirst (she is a most-beloved woman). As soon as one glass is empty, another—full—replaces it.
My neighbor drinks vodka with loads of muddled lime and sugar and a splash of soda and I sip at it. What a delight that is, fruity and quaffable, fresh like a bubbling brook. It goes down with no burn at all. Unnatural, really.
“I need some pain when I drink,” I say. I consider quoting Robert Frost, “To Earthward”:
“Now no joy but lacks salt,
That is not dashed with pain
And weariness and fault;
I crave the stain
Of tears, the aftermark
Of almost too much love.”
I don’t do that, though, because I don’t have these words memorized. Only the feeling of them lies permanently inside me, so I sit with them as I sip my bitter whiskey.
That was hours ago, before I sunk myself, satisfied, into my Secretary-General’s armchair at the Kent Dolls headquarters. I’m still drunk, though.
“I’m not considering applications at this late hour!” I shout.
“It’s early, early—3 a.m.,” someone corrects me. “They just really want the hat.”
This refers to the cap emblazoned with “KENT 4EVA” worn by some Kent Doll members.
“Nobody needs a hat at 3 a.m.,” I reply in a steady voice.
As soon as I’ve said it, I start to think, Do people need hats at 3 a.m.? What if it is raining? Or what if their hair is a mess or they’ve been crying with the joy of Kent’s latest victory and need to hide their makeup-smeared face under the brim? What if someone does need a hat after all?
“Get me the applications,” I whisper.
The applications are hefted over and heaped into piles in front of me. An espresso machine is also brought and plugged in so it sits on the table next to the stacks.
“It’s going to be a long night,” I sigh, knowing it’s already morning.
“Would Kent give up?” someone says cheerfully, thumping me on the back. His shirt says the same thing. He became a member only two weeks ago, when KPF was just one-for-one.
No, he wouldn’t, I think, reaching for the first application. No, he wouldn’t.
Email Marie at Marie@TheKentDolls.com if you are interested in joining the Kent Dolls and adding your application to the bottom of the colossal stack!
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