a sad farewell

this is Ray Keerison article on the passing of a True champion

January 30, 2007 -- THE long vigil is over. The painful, meticulously loving struggle to save the life of the brilliant and gallant Kentucky Derby winner Barbaro has ended in heartbreak. The champ is dead.
After six months of guarded optimism leading an expectant world to believe he would pull through, Barbaro's condition suddenly deteriorated when he developed a deep sub-solar abscess in the foot of his severely damaged right leg that required emergency surgery Saturday night. Less than two days later it was all over. He was euthanized yesterday morning at the University of Pennsylvania's New Bolton Center.
The bitter, crushing irony of his fate is that he died, not from the bone-cracking injuries to the right hind hoof suffered in his horrendous breakdown in the Preakness on May 20, but from complications from a disease, laminitis, that subsequently infected his perfectly sound left hind hoof and both front feet which, in turn, caused the recent abscess that struck the courageous colt last week.
It could be said of Barbaro that the operation was a success - his injured hoof was healing nicely - but the patient died. Thus ends the brief, meteoric career and promise of a racehorse that seemed destined for glory, if not immortality. Now, we will never know how good he really was. We are left only to guess what might have been.
Barbaro was a rare and special thoroughbred. The wider public knew him only for a couple of weeks leading up to the Preakness, but in that time he fired their imaginations and captured their interest as few horses ever have.
It's hard to explain the ingredients in the Barbaro phenomenon. It wasn't that he was undefeated or that he won the Derby in dashing style - we could all name a dozen Derby winner heroes.
There was something about Barbaro that horsemen and the public recognized early. For want of a better word, I call it magic. He had about him an aura. Some people have it. A few horses have it. You can't define it or describe it, but you know it when you see it.
Barbaro pulled into Churchill Downs at the end of April to contest the Kentucky Derby with an unblemished racing record, always a big attention-grabber in the racing business. He had won all of his five starts, the last a hard-fought victory in the Florida Derby.

A good record, but not earth-shattering. Around the barns in the days leading up to the Derby, Barbaro suddenly emerged as the star of the show. People spoke of him in hushed tones. Here, they dared to suggest, was a Triple Crown winner. We all got the message. On Derby eve, I described him as a colt "of such soaring potential, he could be the new Seattle Slew."
Barbaro did not win the Derby. He blitzed it, thundering to the wire so far ahead of the field with such a flourish that the spectacle seemed surreal. He was simply sensational. Overnight, he was the talk of the world.
My most vivid memory of Barbaro was not at the Derby, but a few days before the Preakness. We had all gone to Fair Hill in Maryland, where he was being trained by Michael Matz, to see him gallop around the wood-chip track.
Matz then turned him out in a circular grass pen near the barn. Barbaro promptly dropped to the ground, rolled over on his back, and kicked his legs in the air, luxuriating in the sheer joy of the exercise. He reminded me of a little boy paddling and splashing at the beach.
Who could have believed that within a matter of hours, this same Barbaro would be fighting for his life, the bones of his right hind hoof shattered in three places, after galloping less than a furlong out of the starting gate in the Preakness?
The memory of that day, even now, is almost too stressful to contemplate. The sight of Barbaro flailing in his torment, the rush of trackmen to his side, jockey Edgar Prado embracing a stranger in his distress, the horse ambulance, the siren-blasting dash to the veterinary hospital in Pennsylvania, the medical bulletins, but most of all, the hope, the fervent hope that somehow Barbaro would beat the odds.
It was not to be. Even as his crumbled right leg healed beautifully during his early recovery and before his latest setback over the weekend, he contracted the deadly laminitis in his good left hoof. Dr. Dean Richardson, chief of surgery at the New Bolton Center, had no choice but to put him down.
Life's a mystery. Barbaro's trainer, Michael Matz, and his wife, Dorothy, were involved in a horrendous air crash in Iowa in 1989, when 112 passengers perished. The Matzes rescued three children from the smoking inferno and walked away with hardly a scratch.
But Barbaro took just one bad step on the racetrack and paid for it with his life. Leave it to the philosophers to explain. All we know is that Barbaro was a distinguished horse in every way - in breeding, talent, performance, demeanor. He was calm in surgery, patient under adversity, gallant in the fight for his life.
His passing has made the racing world a very sad place.

barbaro

I do not expect anyone to understand why this matters so much to me, but it does. It was with a painfully heavy heart that I learned that the beautiful champion that was Barbaro was euthanized earlier this morning. That Horse showed more life in the final strecth of the KY Derby than some people do in a lifetime……and despite all of his surgeries over the past 8 months, he was still fighting. He never gave up, his owners did out of compassion.
Maybe I am drawing comparisons to my own life, maybe I saw something in this horse that struck a nerve, maybe I foresaw what was to come when he went down at the Preakness. Barbaro was hurt approx the same time my mom started showing signs of her illness, they battled together, they had ups and downs , side by side, and now Babaro is gone. My Mother was a horseplayer, she frequented the track her whole life, from Belmont to Monmouth. she thrived on Derby Day and proudly wore her Bonnets and dressed to the 9's....even for a back yard Party. I hope she lives to see the derby this year, but if she does not , she may very well have seen the last great Champion of our lifetime........I know I will never become this attached to a horse again.
Don't take my word for it, log on to U Penn website and read some of the hundreds of thousands emails that people sent to the Horse.
http://www.vet.upenn.edu/newsandevents/news/Barbaro.htm

who is scarier

The KING of burger KIng or Ronald Mcdonald..........that topic was narrowly adverted for the time being on Sunday in the boat House.........on one side you have this guy with a white porcelin face and stupid grin.......In the other corner you have a scarry clown with white Make up and orange hair.......and don't forget the hamburglar...........this debate can be revived on Sweater Nite.....hours of fun lie ahead.

a glimmer of hope

well well well...just when I thought I was typing away for nothing.....that my interesting blog was being viewed by nobody......that my lyric analaysis was drifting in cyber space and falling on deaf ears......THEY slipped up. ......on Sunday it was leaked that someone saw my SNIX letter on the blog....ALAS I now KNOW you are reading......this changes everything........the blog machine is back in business.........

SNIX is coming

“Number Nien, Number Nine, Number Nine”


With Great Fanfare Sweater Night prepares to turn 9, No, Nien, Nada, Nyet, Ichsnay. Excitement is at a fever pitch in and about the Borough of Churches. The Knights of Columbus cracks the starting lineup this year as a “long time fan, first time host”. For those of you keeping score at home this is the 6th venue to host an event . Competition to host is fierce, like cities of America vying for the right to host a Superbowl. Untold hundreds of dollars will surely flow into the local economy. “Livertog Flumebeedoo and his amazing gefeltah Fish” are slated to perform live that Nite as the Macaddottes have been unceremoniously dumped as house band.

Sad to say we lost one of our sweater nite attendees this past year. There will be a moment of silence this year to be dubbed "RR" ( remembering Roger) The "you know who" lost his battle with gullible-itis this past year, and although his humorless corpse still walks the land , he is no longer welcome at our gatherings. John Duffy will be working the door with his Dude sympathizer wand to identify any spies and block their entrance too. Rog , or was it Raj , suffered for many years with his St Anselms induced inferiority complex, mainly because his parish was too afraid to compete against the other Catholic Schools in South Brooklyn, that being OLA, OLPH and occasionally St Pat's.. Truth be told most Bayridgeites thought St Anselms was a Church without a school or a retirement home for the elderly. For the benefit of those of you who do not remember Rog ( and probably most of you don't) he was a Bush loving ( the beer not the President….his politics were always a question mark) Nike wearing Fool. Honorary Vice President of the Jeff Spicolli fan Club…..he took his nickname from the movie Fast Times at Ridgemont High….before that his nickname was "Rusty" because of his LOVE of Rusty Staub. He was , and I am sure he still is "notoriously" cheap. He still has not paid for his Hotel room at the Final Four in 1988. He was known to overcharge people for ICE at a tailgate party, even though he emptied out the ice trays from his parents freezer. He always bought the cheapest beer that the deli had for sale, which we all did, but he did not have the Pride or Courage to then drink Cheap Beer with a smile…..instead he cowered in the shadows of Moon Man Park, or worse, drank other people's premium beers. In any event , in the newfound spirit of kindness and forgiveness that the Knights and SNIX both share, we will take a moment and reflect on his passing.

Sweater Knight 9 , or Svetter Nite Nein, or SNIX, or whatever you prefer to call it will be held on Friday the 16th of FeBREWary at the Knights (who so recently said NI) of Columbus hall at 8122 5th ave in beloved Bayridge Brooklyn, or Yellow Hook or Broken land as the Dutch used to refer to her. The pregame skate starts about 5:30 in PC’s Pub ( 7259 5th ave ) just a stones throw from the Knights. The Gala itself should kickoff at 8:00 p.m.The requirements stay the same, bring a Jersey and your thirst. As an added wrinkle this year, there will be a day after brunch at PC’s pub for the 1:00 faceoff between our cherished Rangers and the woeful Philadelphia frequent fliers on Saturday 2/17. Craig Paz has agreed to put out a warm buffet during the game. In closing I hope this letter finds you in an inebriated state , or at least well on your way , depending on when your mail is delivered. Feel free to spread the word as all are welcome with the exception of you know who. Until the Puck drops, lace up , Gear and for the Popes sake DRINK UP !! …..don’t forgot to log on to the Official Sweater Night blog at
http://sn2k.blogspot.com



Thomas P O’Dowd
President & Founder