Published: May 09, 2008 10:47 pm            

HUFFMAN-BRANHAM: A different take on the Eight Belles story

Every time someone has asked me over the last week about Eight Belles’ horrific breakdown in the Kentucky Derby, I’ve told them I don’t want to talk about it.

Now I’ve change my mind. Above all, two things prompted my reversal: (1) The photographs being shown unnecessarily and coldly over and over and over again on television of Eight Belles lying on the racetrack after her collapse and (2) my colleague, Matthew Cress’ offensive and ignorant column (“Blame yourself for Eight Belles”) in Thursday’s editions of The Evening News and The Tribune.

I am a horse racing “enthusiast.” My dad is a thoroughbred trainer. His wife is a former jockey. My late grandfather was a trainer before my father. They all — or at some point did — own thoroughbreds. I have had friends who have been trainers and owners , and friends who were simply just dedicated fans of the sport. I’ve never known - nor am I related to — a “corporate drone.” So, according to Matthew Cress, that must mean many of people I’ve known and loved throughout my life are “degenerate gamblers.” After all, he says, those are the only two types of people who are truly horse racing enthusiasts.

These are strong words from a guy who wanted to write about two-legged celebrities on Derby Day instead of the four-legged ones. A guy who says he enjoys “periodic” trips to Churchill to bear witness to the animals and the “social hierarchy” at the track. A guy who, in all actuality, probably mostly enjoys going to the racetrack because it’s a sunny place where he can sit and pretend — like he did in his Thursday column — that he knows something about horse racing because he tosses out the word “Polytrack.”

Matthew Cress has now joined a growing list of people — phoney know-nothings — who watch a handful of horse races every year (at best) and honestly could not care less about “fixing” the horse racing industry like they’re preaching should be done. This is just the soapbox they’re driveling from this week.

The cold, hard and sad truth is that horses break down. If you’re going to watch horse racing, you’re going to see it happen. There’s more than 1,000 pounds of muscle running 35 or 40 miles per hour on top of four legs as big around as a human arm. I’ve watched thousands of horse races in my life and I’ve seen more than a couple of horses break down. That’s just part of the sport. Every time I see it happen — to some claimer or some allowance horse running in the fourth race on a Thursday or to Eight Belles in the Kentucky Derby or Go For Wand in the Breeders’ Cup — it makes me sick. It makes me physically sick. Not just because of what it means for the horse, but because of what it means for the horse’s people.

I grew up in a house with a horseman. I know how hard they work and what they sacrifice to do what they love. I’m not so naive to believe there aren’t people out there who race unsound horses. And I’m not too naive to believe that some people don’t breed horses carefully. There are bad people everywhere. But the majority of trainers love their horses. And respectable breeders don’t breed a mare with bad feet or knees to a stallion with bad feet or knees ... they look at problems and breed to avoid them albeit breeding for speed at the same time.

Trainers spend more time with their horses than they do with their own families sometimes. Every trainer is not a big-time guy like D. Wayne Lukas, Todd Pletcher, Carl Nafzger or Nick Zito. There are thousands upon thousands of “little guys” who will never strike it rich in the industry. They know that yet they continue to do what they do because they love it. They don’t show up everyday to abuse their horses and spend countless hours with them because horse racing is some kind of get-rich-quick scheme. Horse racing is an industry. People make careers out of it — it’s not just fun and games and pretty hats on Derby day. People in the business dedicate their lives to animals to watch them grow and develop and succeed.

I’m sick of television news — still a week after the Kentucky Derby — fueling the fire by showing pictures of Eight Belles laying on the racetrack. I didn’t want to see them the first time and I certainly don’t want to see them over and over again. I’m sick of people comparing horse racing to dog fighting — saying thoroughbred trainers and owners are no better than Michael Vick and the like of thugs who send dogs into rings with the intent of harming — or killing — them. I’m sick — positively sick of people pointing fingers and looking for blame. And I’m sick of people who don’t really care acting, suddenly, like they do.

When things go wrong with horses — like with Eight Belles — it breaks people’s hearts and in an instant, someone’s dream is gone. Tragedy will strike anyone who stays in the business long enough. But they come back and try again and keep moving on. The only way horse racing will ever be a sport without incident or injury is when horses don’t race. And as sad and sickening as it is when you see incidents like with Eight Belles, it would be a much sadder day when there wasn’t an incident like Big Brown’s, Secretariat’s, or Unbridled’s. At least it would be for a horse racing enthusiast.

        

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