What Is There To Say? He's Gone.

I saw the news yesterday on MSN when I came back from lunch. There, next to his picture, were the words. I don't remember what they were exactly, but it summed it all up. He was dead.

They finally put Barbaro down after a bout of laminitis (where the hoof falls off). I remember when I was doctoring on the old mare (who is fine, by the way) and a bandage had gotten wet and tightened down on her leg, not only setting back the months of progress we had made on her injury, but also causing her whole fetlock to swell. I was so worried about laminitis at that point. The vet later assured me she was fine and was probably in no real danger. But still, the thought of having to put her down because of a mistake on my behalf was a little more than I could have dealt with at that time. But she's fine now, most of the hair is growing back and it looks like the western winds that blow through our little valley here are chapping the healing skin, serving as a reminder to me that it could have been a whole lot worse. But I was willing to put in the time to heal her wound, even when other people were telling me I may get to a point to where its fruitless and I needed to be done with the old girl.

Thinking of our boy Barbaro, its amazing when you think about the resources put into that four-year-old. His owners put up millions for his health care, which, as an investment you can understand, but even more, as people who love these monsters, is even more understandable. If he hadn't won the derby, there's a very good chance he would've been euthanized either on the track or led away from the spectator's view to do the grim task. But instead he was a winner. He did things his critics didn't think he could do, namely winning the Derby after a five week rest. Only one other horse in history had done that. He took the lead and led the other horses not by noses but by lengths. I remember watching the race. Barbaro was beautiful that day. What we all saw wasn't an example of a well-trained athlete doing what they're supposed to do but instead the will to go beyond adequate. To win like he did took tremendous heart.

They say when Barbaro shattered his leg that day at the Pimlico, the stands were filled with people sobbing. Perhaps it was because they were all too familiar with the grim realities of horse racing and of livestock in general. Since that day, flowers and treats and email poured into to the facilities that looked after Barbaro. George Nori, on Coast to Coast AM, was having positive thought vigils for Barbaro. It almost seemed a nation was brought together by the plight of this animal. And when signs of improvement were reported, those of us who cared shared the good news. We could see the heart that pushed him to win the Derby come through in his healing. Though he would never race again, we were heartened by the thoughts of him living out his life in a pasture, nickering at mares and living the charmed life of a stud. I think we all thought of him as the horse that could have won the Triple Crown. Though unknown and impossible to prove, it didn't manner. He could have done it. Remember Afleet Alex? Imagine if that horse would have had a different jockey the day of the Derby. Good chance he would have been the latest Triple Crown winner. Barbaro seemed to have that. A good jockey, a big heart and the Derby behind him.

I keep thinking about Barbaro. I regarded him as a hero - my only hero in fact. The great thing about having a horse as your hero is you never have to worry about them doing or saying something to leave you disappointed. I remember when I finally realized that about sports figures. They're human. They open their fat gobs and say something alienates you or do something that makes you embarrassed for them. Barbaro was pure. He represented what we all wish we had. He did more than what was expected of him. Even with the shattered leg, he wanted to keep going. He fought and bucked in the paddocks before being put in the gate. Barbaro had attitude and spirit and heart. If there was ever a model role model, that damn horse was it.

Looking across the cultural landscape of the United States, taking into consideration other public figures which represent what is best about us as a people, its pretty bleak. A generation of pop tarts is potentially turning our daughters into panty-less party girl hussy sluts. Our sons fair no better. Juiced up sluggers and thugs of all types are creeping into cultural acceptance and, to a certain degree, are being hailed as heroes. I'm all for low culture making its mark on the landscape. I love it. I eat it up like a diabetic needing a sugar fix. But the problem is the lives of these people aren't staying in the adult arena for adults to consume. For chrissakes - they make thongs for little girls. LITTLE GIRLS! All of this negative shit is creeping into all aspects of the lives of our future, making the longview seem pretty bleak. Their childhoods are being sold out for this rubbish. The person you voted for is just as bad as the one you didn't. The guy at the free throw line or gal in the business suit don't care about anyone but number one. Celebrity can be made by mediocrity. So, in light of that, why bother trying?

And perhaps this is why this horse stood out. Barbaro was a bright, shining moment amongst all of the negative, damaging garbage and darkness that fills our lives today. We have no one we can trust. But we could trust that this horse would give it his all.