Eight Belles to Big Brown: "Hey, Could Be Worse"

What began as a "foregone conclusion" ended with "whaaa happened?" The wide world of sports and racing's casual fandom prepped for the first Triple Crown winner in three decades, but instead we're left with mouths agape and frightening images of a sweat-drenched trainer. Shit, Dutrow was more sweat than man by Belmont's end.

Everyone's asking "What went wrong?," but I think even my amateur arse has figured out what's becoming more obvious with each passing Triple Crownless year. The breed-for-speed mentality embraced by most (if not all) horse farms these days has made the grueling mile-and-a-half Belmont unattainable for sprint horses. In other words, it's nearly impossible to birth a horse with both speed and stamina that can win the breezy Kentucky Derby against a huge field of fast equine motherfuckers and the long, hard slog of the Belmont Stakes a few weeks later. I'm not sure we'll ever see a Triple Crown winner again. We know Jim McKay will never see one again either. More on that in a moment.

This must be a real heartbreaker for jockey Kent Desormeaux. He's the winner of three Kentucky Derbys (including one atop Fusaichi Pegasus in 2000 when I was there) and two Preakness Stakes, but he's failed in now two highly anticipated bids for that rare Triple Crown. Maybe Kent's also been bred poorly. Hey, we know from the avalanche of human interest stories on his brave son that he may have some breeding problems of his own (ouch, that was low even for me...jeez, sorry Kent, I'm the asshole).

I gotta think, however, as badly as this day went for Desormeaux, it's better to lose the way he did yesterday than the way he did aboard Real Quiet in 1998. For those of you who don't remember that exact race, check out this kick in the junk below. I'd rather ease up my horse than lose by a nose in the final stride of the race -- then again, I am a defeatist and have very few, if any, characteristics of a winner. Check it:



Back to the aforementioned Jim McKay, who fortuitously passed away on his beloved racing day. I'd eulogize a fellow journalist and sports fan here, but there's no room for my tongue on his dick with the media all over it. He deserves all the praise heaped upon his larger-than-life character, and Rebirth of Slack MGMT has nothing but hot lovin' for McKay and his persona.

Having said that, just once, just fucking once, wouldn't it be awesome if someone dropped in a horribly untrue but seriously delivered iota of biographical information in an obituary before the last line? It's so easy! Something like: "McKay's survived by his wife Margaret and daughter Aranxta Sanchez Vicario. Jim McKay, dead today at age 86." Or maybe something like: "McKay said he has no regrets and wouldn't change a thing, except the time he fistfought a monkey and lost badly. Jim McKay, dead at age 86." Or even something like "McKay was a true poet in a world of prose. He's the only known journalist to have given Walt Whitman a well-oiled handy. Jim McKay, dead today, at age 86."

RIP, Jim.