A Real Champion has Fallen

When I found out that one of my equine heroes Real Quiet died today, I felt compelled to write something.

Horses are by nature fragile. So many get injured, breakdown and die that honestly it doesn't even phase me that much anymore. However, the news of Real Quiet's sudden demise has left me a little more bothered than I usually am when it comes to events such as this.

Ever since I started watching racing at the age of five, I've been a sucker for a hard luck horse; and "The Fish" as his connections so affectionally called him was definitely a hard luck horse. As I was told by people, his breeder keeps most of his horses, but when he realized that "the fish" had crooked legs he sold him to Mike Pegram for $17,000. At first it seemed like only a slightly bad deal. Real Quiet was placing and showing in grade 3 events but had a problem breaking his maiden. Of course, we know how this story ends.

The Kentucky Derby rolled around and the betting public made Indian Charlie- Real Quiet's stablemate- the favorite. They were all going on logic. Indian Charlie looked the part. He was tall, strong, athletic and unlike Real Quiet he didn't have screws in his leg. However, the brilliance of horse racing is that the horses don't know about all the reasons that they should or should not win a race. Real Quiet didn't know that his breeder didn't really think he would amount to much, he also didn't know that his stablemate was the one everyone had shown up to see or that his sire was the miler: Quiet American. You see horses don't have the capability to pity themselves and curse their circumstances. Horses can't blame their lack of success on the recession. All a horse knows is that it's his job to get to the wire first and Real Quiet usually got to the wire first. He was rarely on the wrong end of a photo finish. In other words, he was the personification of perseverance.

R.I.P. fish. Your career was an inspiration to us all.

Do Onto Others

Revenge is pretty sweet; unless you are on the receiving end of it. In those instances it leaves a bitter taste in your mouth that no amount of Listerine can seem to remove.

The year was 1994 and I was an innocent, some would say naive child. I love the Breeder's Cup- every single race- even the new ones that probably don't really belong. However, on this day I was especially excited about the B.C. Mile. The great American bred Lure was on the verge of a history making three-peat.

Of course, Lure drew the extreme outside. However, I wasn't worried considering that he had won the race from that post before. I was brimming with anticipation as Mike Smith's bright yellow silks made its first appearance on the screen. The heroes had arrived, and they were about to show the world that no country can produce thoroughbreds and jockeys quite like the United States.

It probably only took the horses a minute or two to load, but it seemed like an eternity. When they finally loaded I got even more excited. However, all that excitement dissipated after about 200 yards. Lure, who is usually around the lead, broke poorly, clipped heels and was towards the middle of the pack. He made a mild bid and then faded to ninth. I have recapped this race from memory because I still refuse to watch it. A then relatively unknown named Frankie Dettori had won aboard Barathea, and dashed my chances to witness history.

16 years have passed, and I once again have a very realistic shot at witnessing history. The talented filly Goldikova looks poised to do what so many others before her could not and win her third BC Mile. I know that when her jockey Olivier Peslier guides her through the post parade, Churchill Downs will erupt with applause as both Americans and Europeans cheer on this remarkable racehorse, but I won't be one of them.

I understand that the poor girl just wants to run her heart out, but she has no idea about the consequences of her possible victory. If she just mows down Sidney's Candy and then proceeds to make Court Vision and The Usual Q.T. look like allowance horses, then how can anyone reasonably argue that American Turf racing isn't inferior?

I apologize to Goldikova and her connections, but I'd love nothing more than to see a repeat of 1994 with the Anabaa filly on the short end of the stick.