Waiting for Saturday

Curlin: ready for battle

Before I get started, tell me that isn’t the most impressive looking colt you’ve ever seen?  My god Curlin is gorgeous!  And check out that look in his eye.  Can’t you just feel the cheesy 80’s music coursing through your veins?

“It’s the eye of the tiger, it’s the cream of the fight
Risin’ up to the challenge of our rival
And the last known survivor stalks his prey in the night
And he’s watchin’ us all in the eye of the tiger”

Yeah man….that’s how pumped I am right now, pumped enough to break out the old-school 80’s cheese, and the cumulative effect of this is that I can’t sleep a bloody wink. With that in mind,  I’m going to struggle here to put into words how I’m feeling:

I want Curlin to win in the World Cup on Saturday so freakin’ bad!!!!  I’d almost sacrifice anything to see it happen.  In fact, I’ve decided that if it’s humanly possible, I’m travelling to wherever he makes his first return start back in the U.S. to see him run.  The way I see it, I’ve only got handful of opportunities to see him run in person again before the season will be over.  All the anticipation of days like Saturday and the upcoming Kentucky Derby in May just seems to make time pass in the blink of an eye.  Plus, and perhaps most importantly, I just know I’ll never have another Curlin. 

Every horse racing fan gets at least one great one.  I feel a bit like Chaz Palminteri’s character, Sunny, from the film “A Bronx Tale” when he imparts the wisdom that every man gets 3 great boxers in their life.  Hopefully the symbolism isn’t lost upon the reader.   You guys know what I’m talking about.  That special horse that makes you get choked up talking about their greatness.  The one that when you close your eyes and picture greatness, their image is forever burned into your brain.  We’ve each got our own opinions and preferences, and lord knows I’m not asking for anyone to agree with mine, only to understand the passion which he awakens in me.   Indeed, like good King Henry V would implore his men in the infamous “St. Crispin’s Day” speech that I’m so fond of quoting:

“he shall stand a tip-toe and rouse him at the name of Curlin”

Obviously I substituted Curlin there for “Crispin.” 

Of course, I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t worry.  It would be un-Kevin like for me to show false bravado or ersatz heroism and boast too much about his talents.  I know he’s got his work cut out for him, and the mettle of his foes is battle tested and assured.  I know that Saturday will take a great deal of patience, energy, and a healthy dose of lady luck.  I know, that it’s always a possibility that Saturday could be his last race.   But I won’t let that damper my excitement for a moment.  Part of me wants to trumpet as loudly as I can the kind of passion he invokes in me, but then I remember that the more I build him up, the harder he will fall if/when something goes wrong.  I’m almost ashamed to admit I know this, but wasn’t it the Dixie Chicks that once twanged “if I fall, you’re going down with me?”  I suspect that would be Curlin’s tempered reply to me if he could speak. 

Nonetheless,  my love of Curlin comes over me like an irresistible force and compels me to enjoy the fleeting moments of greatness we are afforded when they present themselves.  Who knows how long it will be before another takes such a hold of me?   Surely I’ll lock my love of Curlin away somewhere special, where no other could usurp his position of honor.  That’s just how I am.  Loyal to a fault.  What makes him so special to me is that he has rewarded me over and over again for that loyalty.  How could I not love him so? 

Folks often think I’m kidding when I talk about that moment after the Preakness was run - when it was official on the monitors and you could see Curlin getting that chestnut nose of his over the wire ahead of Street Sense.   My memory is somewhat choppy.  I remember unleashing a loud Neanderthal-like yell….or probably more correctly a series of loud Neanderthal-like yells (and yes, there may have even been gratuitous chest-beating).  I remember holding my wife’s hand.  I remember her looking at me in amazement in disbelief, and I remember being utterly speechless while tears of joy streamed down my face.  Ah, to live life with such passion and emotion.  It can only be described as exhilarating.

We live in an age where heroes are hard to come bye.  Regardless of how right or wrong it is to prop sports figures and celebrities up as “heroes” or “role models” - it’s an act we do almost instinctively these days.   More often than not, we end up regretting these decisions as folks wind up being accused of cheating, or breaking our hearts by departing for distant clubs via Free Agency, or making some public ass of themselves, much to our collective embarrassment.  Horse racing has it’s pitfalls, believe me, but the one thing that strikes me as genuine is the nobleness of the horses themselves.  Such valiant competitors.  The perfect blend of beauty, power, and speed.  Sometimes the people around them are not to our liking, but the horse itself just wants to run, and for that matter wants to win. 

For a guy whose football teams have been in decline in recent years (the St. Louis Rams and the Alabama Crimson Tide), and for whom the Orioles haven’t managed an 90 win season in, I don’t know - 50 years (or so it seems), I can’t even begin to quantify how thrilling it’s been to have this guy to cheer for.  When I needed a champion, he was there.  Now we’ve got one major hurdle left to climb.  One last trial and tribulation before we can forever say that he took on the world and won. 

If there is enough magic out there in the night, that by some stroke of fortune and good-omen I could somehow will him on this weekend, then by god make it so!  This will be my last post about Curlin and the Dubai World Cup until the results are official on Saturday.  Just thinking about it has me all worked up again.  This is what we live for folks - races that actually matter.  While the nation is torn assunder searching for political candidates to support, I’ve got my resolve fully invested in a special colt that should be running his heart out this weekend for the biggest prize of his life.  And just like Sunny says in the clip from A Bronx Tale I linked above:  “who knows, this one may put wind in your sail….this could be your first great one.” 

Watch him while you can folks.  The great ones come and go far too quickly.