May his big heart rest in peace

When I walked onto the grounds of Churchill Downs two years ago, the first thing that struck me were the names. The name of every winning horse in the history of the Kentucky Derby is engraved along the top of the walls that encircle the paddock area. One hundered and thirty names. Winners, all. I remember standing beneath them in awe, feeling the thunder of hooves run through me, sensing their majesty, thinking that these names are on the greatest list of champions.

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I was in Sardi's in New York with my mother and a friend watching the Kentucky Derby last year when Barbaro sped to his place among those champions. The crowd gathered around the televisions in the bar went insane during that race, voices raised, joy screamed, strangers' arms grabbed in anticipation . Mom turned to me excitedly and said, What a horse!

Indeed.

Two weeks later I watched the horrific moment when Barbaro's life forever changed, the moment that ultimately was the beginning of his end. As his jockey heartbreakingly struggled to bring him under control, I recalled in 1975 the same scene unfolding as I watched Ruffian fall to Foolish Pleasure. Not since then, have we so publicly seen such an instance of horror in horse racing. One searing moment of dread and dismay. Shock and knowing creeping in. These gentle giants cannot withstand such an injury.

And yet for a time Barbaro seemed to defy that. Over the past eight months, I've followed his recovery, rocking back and forth with his progress and setbacks. In the end, those who loved him most did what was merciful.

Mercy aside, in the end it's not the horse who did this to the horse. It is us. Last summer alone, in Chicago's Arlington Park, 17 horses suffered fatal accidents. Between 2003 and 2005, on racetracks in California, there were more than 240 fatalities. Two hundred and forty. There are myriad reasons, too little time between races, too pushed for qualifying times, too much drive and expectation. Too pushed for fame, too pushed for the purse. These horses, mighty as they may be, stand on fragile legs. Laminitis stalks a leg injury as opportunistically as cancer a cell.

May the racing world be reminded yet again the need for changes to a flawed and greedy system. Let the burden of this tragedy rest heavily upon the shoulders of those who have the power to change the system, and let it raise their minds and actions to those changes.

Barbaro's name will forever stand at Churchill Downs, etched in history among the giants who preceded him. Like them, he had a heart for racing and a body built for the wind to chase. May that giant's heart now rest. Painlessly. Peacefully.