by Barbaraanne Helberg

Created on: February 05, 2007   Last Updated: June 25, 2009

Perhaps the most picturesque athlete of all is the Thoroughbred racehorse.

He is a thousand pounds of controlled energy and grace traveling through the wind, literally airborne every few strides, on thin and delicately constructed legs. Fibrous tissue, ligaments, long bones carrying his gliding bulk of hundreds of pounds, a thousand and more, propel him forward on a man-taught mission: to reach a finish line at all costs ahead of his competitors.

Even casual horseracing fans get caught up in the chase and the grace. And even those casual bystanders, who watch now and then, who tune in to the sport for just the three spring races that comprise the Triple Crown, can be found in tears when this soaring creature, flying and straining forward against his fellows, missteps and crashes to an end, an end like no other in sports.

A great, brave bay colt has passed, having met such an end.

For eight months, the world cheered for Barbaro to fight on after his disastrous misstep in 2006's Preakness Stakes. Two weeks prior to his terrible accident, Barbaro had swept the competition at Louisville in the Kentucky Derby, the first race in the Triple Crown series. Those who witnessed his move there on the final turn, his flying change of gears that pushed him to the front of the Derby field, knew he was something special. As he pulled forward and scattered turf back toward the trailers, stretched farther away under the easy hand of Edgar Prado, his veteran jockey, those watching caught their breath. Yes, the crowd seemed to confirm in cheers of approval and even in silent unison, here is our Triple Crown contender.

The roses were hung about his neck with difficulty. He shook them away as if to say, "Not yet, I have more to do."

Casual fans, die-hard fans, his owners, his trainer, his jockey spent two weeks breathlessly biding their time until the day of the Preakness Stakes, the second race of the Triple Crown. The big bay with the conformation reminiscent of Secretariat strode onto the Pimlico racetrack on the day of the Preakness looking convincingly fit and confident. There had been no Triple Crown champion since Affirmed in 1978. A restless and ready racing world watched the bay and nodded in anticipation.

A shorter race than the Derby's 1-1/4 miles, the Preakness, at 1-3/16 miles, was, never-the-less the next test for the strapping bay who had hit the Derby finish with plenty of stride and heart remaining. He was unbeaten, had won all his races in powerful moves to the stretch,

• 1
• 2
• Next Page >>