While I had a pretty fun day overall (financial considerations aside), I end it unsettled, as always, by the breakdown of another horse. George Washington’s death is no more tragic than that of any other racehorse at any other racetrack around the country, but having it happen on racing’s biggest day nonetheless lends it a greater profundity; it’s hard to celebrate and grieve at the same time. I stopped watching racing as a kid after Ruffian’s breakdown, and during my ten years as a vegetarian I eschewed racing as an inhumane activity, one in which I didn’t want to participate. I’m not a vegetarian anymore and I spend more time at the track than almost anyone I know, but it is sobering and cause for reflection when a great athlete loses his life on the field of play. Given the little information that we have, it doesn’t seem that George Washington’s breakdown is anything more than a horrible accident: it’s not because the track was sloppy, it’s not because he was unsound, it’s not because he was running on dirt instead of grass or synethetics.
That doesn’t mean, though, that we shouldn’t pay attention; we shouldn’t lose sight of the sadness on a day when there was much to celebrate, on racing’s greatest day.
