A Post From Glen

MEMORIAL

Tonight I sit before the blank space that has a blinking curser and I ponder what might have been.It seems just like yesterday I remember that beautiful first Saturday in May, when a champion shined before the world while he held their attention for almost two minutes.Like a stout stallion riding into a battlefield to inact his power upon a preiously strong foe.From the gates he exited with a purpose and galloped around the Churchill Downs homefront for the first time lost in the obscurity of a modge of thorobreds.Each in his own right, bred, trained, disciplined, to hold position and when the time was right, to release a fury that would carry them to the wire.From the backstretch, I remeber well, a champion made his move. Along the backstretch and its final turns the heart of a champion began to pound.And when the time came to release the homestretch push, the jockey without much whip, asked of a champion what most horses could not produce. But this was no ordinary horse.I'm sure many a jockey has asked his horse down the stretch for more than could be found. But this champion, with nostils flared, head held high, lengthened his stride, and what a stride it was.With each stride the dusty space between number one and the obscurity of the hord grew to insurmountable lengths.As I watched this beast of strength, speed, and heart I could feel my own heart climb the staircase of my throat. Cold chills covered over my arms.And from my own piece of obscurity that I call home, I cheered a champion down the final straight stretch. That's what he did for us all. He made us feel like we were champions with him.And when he crossed the finish line, no photo examination would be needed and I knew I had just witnessed something special.This was no ordianry Kentucky Derby. This Running for the Roses had produced a bouque much more fragrant than the roses draped over this champions neck.No time records were broken that day. But you just knew the spirit of past champions like Seattle Slew, John Henry, Man O' War had just surfaced once again in the great Bluegrass State.As I look out my window tonight I'm taken away from that warm Saturday of a Spring Day by winters chill, accompanied with light snow. The cold has replaced all the glamour, pomp, glory of that day.I now know how big the heart of this champion really was. For some eight months, held by a sling at times. Many surgeries, and countless times of pain and agony. My champion lost a race.A race most other horses would have given over to much earlier.Deep down though, I know that somewhere in a far off distant pasture. Man O' War, and a host of other champions have welcomed a new kid on the back forty.A youngster removed before his time. A champion with a heart bigger than any sun that ever shone over the Bluegrass for any Kentucky Derby.A champion named Barbaro.I love you kid. And I'll always wonder what might have been.

Signing off from Richmond,
Glen