Last chapters are tough to write. You can count the great movie endings on a couple of hands. Terry Malloy staggering, bloody, into a waterfront warehouse. A dead-eyed Michael Corleone alone in his Tahoe compound. "Shane! Shane!" "Forget it, Jake. It's Chinatown."
So it is with professional athletes, and especially Thoroughbred jockeys. They have no Champions Tour, no Icecapades, no cushy coaching jobs waiting in the twilight. They are either old and working or old and not, without much in between.