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April 14, 2003

The Mourning After

I am mourning my wallet for my failure on Saturday to adhere to my principle of betting the horse for the course--Sir Cherokee.

I am mourning my self realization that I fall in love with closers who finish races like Sir Cherokee did and then obsessively bet them in every race they run; I had hoped to control this tendency of mine by ignoring the Florida races in February so that maybe MAYBE an ounce of objectivity would be preserved for the First Saturday in May.

I am mourning my blind obsession for the Kentucky Derby, a race that I cannot stand. This race is the Crack Cocaine of the racing ghetto: destructive, controlling, paranoia inducing, financially devastating. Over in a minute and a few seconds. Everybody wants a Derby horse. Whose career is essentially finished by the summer of the three year old season. Which blows---who does not love the sight of a horse that goes on as a four, five and six year old champ?

And then if the horse happens to win the Preakness too, forget it, here comes the triple crown histeria again, so that thousands of dejected fans can crowd the Belmont train tracks feeling like crap when once again something stupid happens to derail this hopeless pursuit.

Give us a gelding Derby winner who can go on to be a four, five and six year old champ. Give us a Derby also ran who goes on to be a four, five and six year old champ.

It's only a race. It's only a race.

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