Death at the Derby

I watched Big Brown dominate the Kentucky Derby on Saturday and right afterwards I quipped about how the media's annual triple crown hype machine was now officially underway.

This storyline took a backseat as the place horse, Eight Belles, immediately was down on the track.

Initially, NBC reporters' were optimistic about the fillies injury and thought it could be a heart problem. The vets stoic response to Eight Belles' condition shocked me and I know fired up PETA's press operation.



WOW. The range of emotion from your horse being second place in the derby to death is whirlwind crazy.

Horses that get shocked and drugged piss me off more than having to make the difficult decision to put a horse down.

I grew up going to a track in Nebraska so I love horse racing. My mom worked part time there, resulting in me knowing how to exacta box horses before I learned the degrees of a right angle.

I hate crooked trainers/jockeys as well. (The CEO of the Nebraska track wrote my high journalism teacher a letter after I ripped the track in a high school newspaper column for being rigged.)

My most memorable story at my hometown horse track was getting into a screaming match with a jockey after I witnessed him during the homestretch, pull up the reins up on a heavily favored horse(1 to 2) he was riding to just finish 4th, out of the money and ruining all of my trifecta box bets.

I confronted the jockey while he was walking back to the paddocks and asked him how much he received by tanking.

The jockey responded to my criticism rather harshly, telling me that I needed to back to school. (I was a High School senior at the time, wisely enjoying my afternoons after class at the track. My favorite line to my friends was telling them that I was out for a spring sport, the horse track.)

Being a wise ass/know it all crude teenager, I repeatedly called him a crook and a midget. I thought about jacking the little hobbit but his eye level was below the 5 foot fence and I could not reach him.

My meat head friends did little to dose the altercation's flames and only encouraged my testosterone rage. Security eventually kicked me out and I never bet on a horse that swindler rode on again. Today, I hope he is struggling from his likely eating disorder and meth addiction.

True Story.

I apologize for the ramblings but hey, it is Monday and I thought it was much more entertaining of a story than discussing the ethical morality of horse racing.

In the upcoming weeks, the media and soap box pundits will provide ample coverage of that sanctimonious angle.

Mac Gs World