Being an avid fan of horse racing for most of my life, I’ve had the privilege to watch, and bet on, some of horseracing’s giants: Secretariat, Affirmed, Seattle Slew and Cigar come to mind. Yet in all those years I’ve never seen the likes of the sport’s brightest new star, Zenyatta. Just the mention of her name sends my heart a fluttering. Her record speaks for itself: nineteen races and nineteen victories, nary a blemish, she’s demolished on all those she’s faced, both male and female. And now for the grand finale, the ne plus ultra, she will be putting her unblemished streak on the line against a tough group of males in the Breeders Cup Classic at Church Hill Downs on Saturday. If Zenyatta wins she will be the only thoroughbred in history to notch 20 straight wins. Does it get any better? I’m salivating! Every night I thank the Almighty for the privilege of being alive during this unprecedented moment in history.
Yet why such a dearth of publicity? Why the silence of the pen? Don’t the scribes realize Zenyatta is the kind of equine force that could single-handedly resurrect the sport of kings to its previous days of glory? But the pundits, those nasty cynics, like a swarm of angry bees, are determined to slight the mighty mare. They say she’s a pampered, spoiled queen who has spent too many hours soaking up rays on the California coast. They whine about her facing inferior competition. Some have even inferred she may not be the greatest racehorse ever. I say Bah Humbug to all the naysayers. Wake up! Get a life! Have they not witnessed her superiority? Her splendor? Have they not seen her make her one big move, accelerating like a locomotive, swooping past the competition and flashing past the finish line with a blur. All one can say is Zenyatta, Zenyatta, Zenyatta!
So why bury the accolades? Feed the starving masses. We need more information on this goddess. Thank heavens for the Daily Racing Form, for it was they who offered up a few precious gems: In the afternoons, Zenyatta is walked both in the shed row and in an outdoor walking ring that encircles a patch of grass about the size of a tennis court. That grass is an afternoon snack for Zenyatta.
Zenyatta’s trainer John Shirreffs added, “She’ll graze and walk down to the other end and graze and then drag you down to the other end again.”
Now this is truly amazing stuff; but I crave more. I’m like a voracious vampire in search of more blood. Feed me! Sure I’m delighted to know she encircles a patch of grass the size of a tennis court, but Zenyatta fans scream for more. For example, what about her sleeping patterns? What time does she go to bed? Does she get a snack before nighty night? Does she get cold in the evenings and require a blanket? Does she experience nightmares prior to race day? Does she wake in the middle of the night craving ice cream? How yellow is her pee? And, most importantly, who runs for her latte in the morning?
Possibly I'm obsessed, but we’re not discussing a two bit nag entering the glue factory; we’re talking about God’s gift to horse racing, Zenyatta! Perhaps only 60 Minutes said it best: thoroughbreds are supposed to be high strung and hot blooded, but there's something Zen about Zenyatta. She loves kids and welcomes strangers, particularly when they come bearing gifts.
When she hits the track though, there is a personality change you can barely believe. She becomes obsessed, it seems, with showing the boys that she is faster and tougher than any one of them. She drives people into fits of frenzy.
Unbelievable! You’ve got to love it, there’s something Zen in Zenyatta. Wow! Heavy stuff indeed! Maybe a Zen Master visits her stall regularly for some transcendental meditation sessions. Who know, she might even be doing a little yoga on the side. Why, hell, she could be the Second Coming of Christ. And the fact she loves kids, welcomes strangers, and drives people into fits of frenzy figures right into the Messianic mode. Yes, there’s an ineffable aura surrounding the horse, and somehow I just don’t think the media gets it. Perhaps, though, only TVG came close when on their 243 airing of Zenyatta’s last workout, one commentator lamented the fact that this would be Zenyatta’s final workout: “This is so sad, it nearly brings tear to my eyes,” said a guy they call Wolfy. No truer words were ever spoken. Possibly only the death of President Kennedy evoked such emotion in me.
Alas, these days folks are desperate for a hero, a prodigious personality—horse, human or dog—who can deliver them from their daily drudge. And I’m convinced Zenyatta is the one. Hence, I can’t wait for the Breeders Cup Finale, when, for the last time, Zenyatta calmly loads into the starting gate, glares at the male gladiators, and proceeds to run the pedestrian imposters into the ground. Yes, I will be there, sporting my Zenyatta tee-shirt, my Zenyatta ball cap and my Zenyatta boxer shorts; and when the great mare circles the field and blows them all away, I’ll will raise my Zenyatta beer mug and scream: “Zenyatta, Zenyatta, Zenyatta!
No comments:
Post a Comment