Sunday's sports channels were focused on the yearly spectacle known as the Kentucky Derby. It's more than a horse race...it's a fashion show, a haberdashery's nightmare, a big glossy magazine spread of all the hoi-poloi of Oscar night red carpet proportions. The pre-show interviews of models, actors and the typical "Anyone who is Anyone", takes up more airtime than the less than two minute mad dash of horses to the finish line.
Of course, I highly doubt that any of those "Anyones" gave two hoots in Hell about the men, forced into bulimia, just to stay "at weight", who perch precariously on creatures exploding with instant speed and energy. Creatures whose upper bodies are so terribly out-proportioned to their spindly, fragile ankle bones.
Thirty seconds after the end of the race, Eight Belles, who came in second, was trotting off the maddening pace as those spindly, fragile front ankle bones gave way, both snapping like over-encumbered chair legs. The filly, unable to stand, was put down where she laid on the track.
I wonder how many of the "Anyones" even noticed?
Are horses "born to run"? Yes, as one sees the majestic vision of wild Mustangs, dashing freely across the Western Plains, running unencumbered by leather and metal and men, and for the whims of men.