No Mint Julep Is Worth This

It was eight years ago this year that we went to the Kentucky Derby.  It was a gift to my mother for what was at the time, her upcoming 75th birthday, and a dear friend of mine, her nearly ninety year old grandfather, my cousin and aunt joined in on what was the culmination of a lifelong dream for several of us.  We have photos in splendid hats, memories of mint juleps, and the sense of contentment that comes from actually setting out to do something that many people talk about but never quite get to.  

Prior to relatively recently, I always loved horse racing, but particularly the Derby.  For weeks ahead, I'd read the sports section of all the major newspapers to seek out opinions on the favorite and not so favorites.  I'd pay particular attention to the human-interest stories.  The unlikely horses that had accomplished some remarkable feat, the hard luck tales of the owners, the stories on the jockeys and who they liked to ride and why, and I'd come up with an intelligent hunch on horses that were quite likely to at least show.  I very seldom went with the straight favorite, always preferring some hint of character or spirit that would come across in a horse.  Most of the horses I'd pick to show, preferring to get maximum mileage out of my buck and helping to ensure that'd I'd at least have some payout on Derby day.  I prided myself on not being labeled an amateur by the slew of professional betters who always occupied every OTB before they went defunct, knowing how to fill out a form in a cinch and being able to proceed right to the counter without hesitation.  I very seldom didn't have a winner.  

But that's all over now.  The New York Times has run articles for several years now outlining the fact that the US has the loosest medication policies of all countries active in the horse racing industry.  England, Ireland and Hong Kong have warned their American counterparts that they race horses that shouldn't be racing.   They disclosed the likelihood of how often, if there was a possible remedy to mask a horse's injuries, that many trainers in America would find a way to illegally pump a slew of drugs into them.  Somehow, you can't beat American ingenuity when it comes to mangling horses and maiming jockeys.  I gradually weaned myself off an infatuation with the sport, finding it hard to garner enthusiasm for an American tradition now so tarnished.  But the absolute kicker was the eye-brow-raising front page, extensive story published in the Times this past Sunday.  I am sure there are differing viewpoints, claims of exaggeration, and perhaps valid suggestions on how to reform the industry from those in it, but for now, evidence that 24 horses get euthanized a week as a result of horse races gone awry, that recently in New Mexico, there were nine that horses died and jockeys injured in a 13 day period, and that bodies of one of the most majestic animals on earth are being dumped next to old toilets in junkyards, was enough to make me eternally lose any infatuation for the sport. 

I'm grateful to have gone to the Derby once in my life, albeit naively, if only to spend some time with cherished friends and family.  But I think I'm most grateful there was no tragic horse accident at the Derby we attended.  Right now, the practices of many in this industry seem indefensible.  As Gloria proclaims before her fateful end in "They Shoot Horses, Don't They?", it's time to get off this merry go round, before the endings get even worse for  both the jockeys and horses.