I think last summer’s movie “Seabiscuit”
was to horse racing what “Rocky” was to
professional boxing, I really do. Except
without the punching. And the shorts. Also,
“Seabiscuit” had no romantic story line.
But Rocky and I, we’re both from Philly.
But I didn’t jog through the streets for
workouts. But you can see the parallels.
I never did this for the money. I
did it because I love to race and
because if I don’t race, the little guy
on my back goes to the whip.
If you had told me right after I banged
my head on the starting gate and cracked
my skull that this was going to help my career,
I would have taken a giant dump on
your shoes. But it’s true. Look where I am
today. Crazy world, man.
No, I never wanted to get married. But
let me get this straight: Two men can get
married in Massachusetts, but you out
two horses at the altar and people will
stare? This country has a long way to go.
I’ve won all eight races in my career, but
if I lose Saturday, they won’t remember
me as 8-1. They’ll remember me as the
horse that blew the Triple Crown. Deep
down, this nation is really shallow.
I’m a little tired of hay.
I get mail all the time. Ayoung woman
from New Mexico sent a telegram that
said, “My health is not good but every time
I see you run, Smarty Jones, I feel so much
better. Good luck at the Belmont Stakes.
You can do it.” I know, who sends telegrams
anymore? Why not e-mail? It’s just weird.
When I’m running, I block everything
out. I don’t hear the crowd, I
don’t hear the other horses, I don’t
hear the jockeys. All I hear in my
head is Eminem’s “Lose Yourself.”
Corny, I know, but it helps.
There is no such thing as a silly question,
There is no such thing as a silly question,
just silly people who think a horse
would never answer them.
