In 1938, the biggest celebrity in America was not a man but a horse: Seabiscuit.

A crooked-legged, eccentric claimer with a gait one journalist likened to a duck waddle, Seabiscuit rose to greatness with the help of three men: a half-blind failed prizefighter and failing jockey; a virtually mute mustang breaker; and a bicycle repairman-turned-overnight millionaire and racehorse owner.

Emerging in the depths of the Depression, rags-to-riches Seabiscuit became the idol of the American public, drawing radio audiences as large as 40-million, inspiring an avalanche of merchandising, and earning more newspaper column inches in 1938 than Roosevelt, Hitler, or any other public figure.

That summer, after two highly anticipated East Coast showdowns with arch rival War Admiral fell through, Seabiscuit returned to his California base for the inaugural Hollywood Gold Cup at Hollywood Park. The race was billed as a confrontation between Seabiscuit and the brilliant Argentine champion Ligaroti, who had just won the American Handicap, shattering the Hollywood nine-furlong track record by 3 1/5 seconds. The Gold Cup would be a family affair: Ligaroti was owned by the Binglin Stable of crooner Bing Crosby and Lin Howard, son of Seabiscuit's owner, Charles Howard, and he was trained by Jimmy Smith, the son of Seabiscuit's trainer, Tom Smith.

The ballyhooed duel never materialized. Seabiscuit, lugging 133 pounds, roared up from more than a dozen lengths back to crush the field and break the track record. Ligaroti, under 118, was bumped out of contention. When he finally got rolling, it was too late. He finished a fast-closing fourth.

Bing and Lin wanted a rematch. In mid-July, while dining with Charles Howard, they began to plan an unusual match race. The result would be one of the most spectacular and bizarre horse races ever run.

Chapter 17: The dingbustingest contest you ever clapped an eye on

Lin Howard was in one of those moods during which crazy ideas sound perfectly sensible. A bullish, handsome man with decisive eyebrows and more hair than he could find use for, Lin had a great deal of money and a habit of having things go his way. So many things in his life had gone his way that it no longer occurred to him not to be in a festive mood, and he spent much of his time celebrating the general goodness of things and sitting with old friends telling fat, happy lies. But things had not gone Lin's way lately, and he was not accustomed to the feeling.

Lin wanted in the worst way to whip his father at racing, to knock his Seabiscuit down a peg or two, and he believed he had the horse to do it in Ligaroti. He was sure enough about it to have made some account-closing bets on the horse, at least one as a side wager with his father, and he was a great deal poorer for it. The last race really ate at him. Ligaroti had been at Seabiscuit's throat in the Hollywood Gold Cup when another horse had bumped him right out of his game. He had streaked down the stretch to finish fourth and had come back a week later to score a smashing victory over Whichcee in a Hollywood stakes race, firmly establishing himself as the second-best horse in the West.

Bing Crosby and Lin were certain that with a weight break and a clean trip, Ligaroti had Seabiscuit's measure. Charles Howard didn't see it that way. Since the race, he had been going around with pockets full of clippings about Seabiscuit. Anytime anyone came near him, he would wave the articles around and start gushing, like a new father. The senior Howard probably didn't hold back when Lin was around. He was immensely proud of Lin's success with Ligaroti, but he enjoyed tweaking his son, and he was good at it. He had once given Lin a book for Christmas entitled What You Know About Horses. The pages were blank.

One night shortly after the Hollywood Gold Cup, Lin was sitting at a restaurant table across from his father and Bing Crosby. They were apparently talking about the Gold Cup, and Lin was sitting there looking at his father and doing a slow burn. Bing wasn't too happy either; his misadventures as a horse owner were becoming an embarrassment. An idea was kicking around in Lin's head, and it seemed as good a time as any to toss it out there. Why not have a match race between Seabiscuit and Ligaroti?

Charles snorted.

Crosby lit up. The year before, he had invested $600,000 in the building of a new track, Del Mar, a magnificent seaside racing palace near San Diego. Del Mar was a Bing paradise, featuring good racing by day and dinner, dancing, and crooning by night. But in its second year Del Mar needed a boost; daily attendance averaged just six thousand. A match race featuring Seabiscuit was just what the track needed. Crosby knew he could talk the board of directors into footing a big purse for the event. Crosby and Lin worked on Howard for the rest of the meal.

Howard began to see the merits of the race. For one, a sizable purse could get Seabiscuit that much closer to Sun Beau's money-winning mark; he was still $85,000 short. In addition, Smith might enjoy pitting his horse against one trained by his son, Jimmy, just as Howard would enjoy facing off against Lin. And Lin wouldn't let up on the needling. Howard gave in.

Lin wanted to make it interesting. He dared his father to make a side bet with him. Howard shook him off. He told him he couldn't bear to take any more money from his own son.

Crosby hustled off to make the arrangements. He returned with a fair deal. Del Mar would put up a winner-take-all purse of $25,000, 14 percent of the entire purse budget for the track's meeting. Seabiscuit would carry 130 pounds, Ligaroti 115. The race, slated for August 12, would be run over a mile and an eighth. (George) Woolf would ride Seabiscuit, Spec Richardson would ride Ligaroti. (Woolf would substitute for Seabiscuit's regular rider, Red Pollard, whose lower leg had been virtually sheared off in a racing wreck.) Charles and Lin flipped a coin to determine post position. Charles won the toss and picked the rail.

At Del Mar the reporters followed Smith everywhere, but all they got out of him was a gusty "Ugh!" Unable to catch Seabiscuit working, the newsmen took a page from the Wise We Boys and staked out tactical positions around the track. Smith somehow evaded them. Someone wondered aloud if Seabiscuit was working "camouflaged as a diesel tractor." In the afternoon, racegoers streamed past Seabiscuit's stall. "It looked like a parade," Smith growled. When the races were on, Seabiscuit could see the fields go down the backstretch and would try to climb out of his stall to run with them. Smith had had enough and secreted the horse away to a new stall. The press couldn't find it.

In the week before the race, Howard took an unusual phone call. The caller was a track official, who told him that a New York bettor had sent $5,000 to wager on Ligaroti, challenging Howard to put up $15,000 against it. Howard was surely amazed at such a huge wager from a complete stranger, but he was not one to back down from a challenge. It took him a while to learn that he had been suckered. The mysterious "New York bettor" was in fact Lin, who had talked the track official into placing the call.

Meanwhile, Lin and Crosby were hard at work putting on a horse race Hollywood-style. Crosby arranged to have a large section of the clubhouse roped off and patrolled by guards, with admission restricted to Ligaroti rooters-the "I'm for Ligaroti" section. He went out on a promotional tour to gather a cast of thousands, contacting four hundred friends, mostly movie people, and talking them into coming to the track to cheer his horse on. He appointed Dave Butler, director of Shirley Temple films, head cheerleader, fitting him with a turtleneck emblazoned with the initials bl, for Binglin. He had four hundred Ligaroti pennants printed up in the horse's colors, cerise and white polka dots, a