Classic

We had guests over on Saturday evening. All non-racing fans, at least beyond the Kentucky Derby and an occasional day with us at Saratoga (and even one amongst that group expressed surprise that two of this year's Triple Crown races would be run at Churchill Downs). However, I didn't have to tell any of them who Zenyatta was, nor explain that much was at stake.

And, of course, I didn't have to explain the rules of the game, or how horse racing works or anything. It might seem complicated to us, with our Beyers and Moss figures and Sheets and bounces and trips and traps and pace and track bias and sires and dams and workouts and trainer patterns and class drops and so on, and so forth. But to the other 99% of the population, races, whether between horses, humans, dogs, turtles, or whom-or-whatever, are the simplest game in the world. They're off. And, as I've often argued in almost six years of blogging, watching races is nothing less than a human instinct. We stop and watch when kids race down a block, scream our heads off with nothing at stake at a silly animated race on a scoreboard at baseball games. And horse racing, specifically, is part of the American language, and is inexorably ingrained in our culture. (When's the last time that you saw a movie about video lottery terminals?) Enough so that I believe that whatever lies ahead in an assuredly uncertain future, horse racing will always attract enough participants to survive as a viable industry, if only as an occasionally newsworthy sports attraction.

So, other than assuring our guests not to worry when Zenyatta was so very far back at the beginning (and at the same time trying to convince myself of the same), nothing else needed to be said. When Mike Smith, after losing precious time and ground after finding the shortest paths home blocked off, finally set his mare down for her fateful drive towards history, the screaming and shouting and pleading and imploring began. It raised to a desperate crescendo, before crashing to a crestfallen "OH!" when she fell just short. I have no illusions that any of them will be calling me any time soon to ask me to take them to Aqueduct, or to explain how to bet a Pick Four. But I know that they will always vividly remember the dramatic race that we witnessed, recall the courageous mare with heartfelt adoration, and promptly forget the name of the horse who won.

They're lucky in that they won't concern themselves with pondering and debating over how to factor her loss into her legacy, and how she should, or shouldn't, rank with the great horses who have graced the sport in the past. Surely, there have been horses who actually enhanced their legends in defeat. In the case of Zenyatta, the localized nature of her campaign and the questions about the surfaces over which she raced left her with something to prove. So I don't know that her defeat to a very solid, but not great, racehorse in Blame can be said to not have damaged her legacy at all. However, as Randy Moss stated in his eloquent colloquy after the race, her place in history should be diminished 'just a little bit.' And, at least in the case of a dozen people watching the race in Rego Park, Queens, including myself, surely not at all.