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Originally Posted by brianwspencer
Worst spill I've ever seen -- not in the case of how graphic it was or how brutal it was -- but how it affected me:
Comprehensively
It was the day we planned for 6 weeks, me taking my 18 year old coworker to the track for the first time. And I was so happy that Comprehensively was running, not only was she going for the first time, she was getting to see my favorite horse up close. I had lost money already, so we stood around to watch my boy run in this race. I played a measly trifecta bet and a few dollars to win on him just because it's what I do.
He was midpack in the stretch, he wasn't going to threaten for the win, or maybe he was, but something went wrong. He stumbled, fought with all he had to stay up, took another step and lost it. Twyla went flying off of his back and onto the track, he flipped and twisted on the ground. He got up. I silently prayed, as fast as I ever have, that he would run off like I've seen so many times before. He stumbled. He couldn't stand up straight. He made his way inside the 16th pole, fighting to walk, seemingly unaware of what had happened or how it had happened. There he was being the horse that he is, giving every last bit and trying to find the wire, unburdened of his rider. He came right in front of us, and I saw his front right leg. Shattered. Flailing in all the wrong ways. I almost cried. And I started to as my friend looked at me, trying to understand how this horse meant so much to me. She had heard about him all day long, and I was so excited to share him with her. She caught on quickly from the look on my face and the tone of my voice that she caught during the few words I could manage to say. Mostly, "I'm going to cry." The man next to me shouted "on to the glue factory!" and it took everything I had to not lose it. For Twyla and the others risking their lives every second out there for his kicks. For these animals who love what they do. They do it for him.
His trainer stood with him, his right arm underneath his neck, patting the opposite side, as the boy refused to give up. Refused to lie down. Refused to be anything but the winner. Not believing that somehow his leg didn't work anymore.
I don't care if he runs in Portland. I don't care that it was a 3200N3L race. I don't care that he bankrolled only 13k in his career. I care that he gave me something to be excited about. I care that he gave every ounce every time. Gamely. I care that he was a beautiful animal and a beautiful racehorse and that meant something to me. I care that every time I knew he was running I would find a way to get to the track to see him, it was a dream come true that he came to Portland to run in front of me, instead of on TV.
He was the 8-5 favorite.
So at least, if anything today, he was loved.
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