Pity the primate who’s victimized by his own prefrontal cortex.
Rick Dutrow had plenty of cause for confidence before the Belmont Stakes. His horse was hot. The competition was thin. The title, in other words, was very much there for the taking, and so of course it was only logical to tell the truth to anyone who happened to wander by with a microphone.
But one species’ optimism is another species’ oat bag.
And suffice it to say that Big Brown’s trainer may have slightly overestimated his prize stud.
Dutrow’s pre-race PR blitz was marked by the kind of hubris only Clubber Lang could love. It wasn’t just that he guaranteed victory; it was that he made victory seem obvious, even trivial. Not since 1978 had a horse won the Triple Crown. In listening to Dutrow, you got the sense that the drought had merely been for lack of human chutzpah.
You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make him drink.
More to the point, you can lead a horse to the starting gate, but you can’t make him run.
Whether the joke’s on him or you is a question that more or less answers itself.
Saturday’s results need no explanation. Maybe it was the cracked hoof, or the Winstrol withdrawal, or Kent Desormeaux’s apparent determination to take the scenic route to the finish line. In any event, Big Brown displayed all the poise of an unprocessed glue stick—and when the dust settled the only disappointed party was the one who’d had the gall to get his hopes up.
Lo the paradox of rational consciousness, right Bubba?:
Forethought allowed man to domesticate the horse.
It also, alas, resigned him to shoveling a whole helluva lot of manure.
Unsubstantiated egotism is not a new thing under the sun. The novelty here—and the folly—is that Dutrow let himself get carried away about his pet. Big Brown lost the Belmont Stakes because Big Brown is a horse, and because horses are generally unconcerned with the way the world ought to be. Maybe Dutrow was right when he called his colt the class of the field. And maybe his greatest sin was being cursed enough to give a damn in the first place.
A horse is a horse, of course of course.
And no one should talk up a horse of course.
Unless of course that horse has some kind of freak neurological mutation that makes him plan and plot and project into the future—in which case it’s probably best to put the poor beast out of his misery, lest he be forced to spend a lifetime only just saying, is all...
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3 months ago
Great analysis, as usual, Ryan.
The owners of Big Brown are a couple of jackasses who deserve any bad fate that befalls them in my opinion.
The horse, on the other hoof, only deserves the fate that awaits him: he'll likely spend the rest of his life (following one more race) in stud, which ain't such a bad life. Come to think of it, I wouldn't mind trying that role. Where does one apply?
3 months ago
Announcing your plans is a good way to hear god laugh. So Al Swearengen said.
Arrogant Ricky's hubris be not the horse's fault.
The poor pony had no idea what the apparently panic stricken jock was pulling by, well, pulling on him.
That was a horrible, horrible, horseie ride by that jock. Just horrendous in a horse sense...
Exacta that with his pony prance on Real Quiet...and we have an time triple crown choker..
Hard gettin that trip crown down...
That being said the horses owners look like evil clowns...
And that horse had his chance at real renown...
But instead left his trainer looking like just another sad clown...
3 months ago
BRILLIANT!
3 months ago
How bout some Horse Rap? Maybe more Muddy Waters... or an ode to the old Belmont Blues, or just horse rap crap...
Ricky's feelin dark..
Thought it was all a lark...
So he kept up da bad bark...
If he keeps thinkin'
bout dem Belmont Blues
He might turn to drinkin'
And start sinkin'
In dem ole Belmont Blues...
Hard gettin that trip crown down...
Brown's owners look like evil clowns...
Their cocky, costly Cajun let em down...
And that Brown had his chance at real renown...
But instead left his trainer looking like just another sad clown...
Permanently frowned...
Feelin' Down...
But not Brown...
No its not near as bad as it sounds...
Call off the hounds...
Send away his clowns...
He's headin' down town....
To get down...
To fool around...
In forever foxy filly town..
How dat sound?
For Big Brown..
To get around...
Dem old Belmont Blues..
3 months ago
Unprocessed glue stick....fantastic!
from 3 months ago
Yet another reminder that Ryan has a future career at Hallmark. Great stuff, as always, Ryan!
3 months ago
I wonder what Mister Ed would have to say about all this.
And Dan, I don't mean to be nit-picky, but your blues piece doesn't fit the characteristic AAB verse structure of the genre.
3 months ago
Wow, wow indeed! Long time back there was some horse stable that was up in flames somewhere in MN, ever since I stayed away from reading up on these things, but this wonderful read pulls me back to the sport! Thank you!!
about 1 month ago
I have two favorite horses at the track. The horse I bet on and the horse racing against Rick Dutrow. What a jackass (or horseass as the case maybe...)
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