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Uncorrupted Barbaro is our new hero

Horse was all we wish our human athletes were: silent, brave and brief

BARBARO
Garry Jones / AP
Barbaro is the kind of tragic hero that we all crave in our athletic stars, writes Bernie Lincicome.
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COMMENTARY
By Bernie Lincicome
Rocky Mountain News
updated 1:06 p.m. ET Jan. 29, 2007

Here's the argument. We loved Barbaro, the doomed horse, because he is everything we wish our human athletes were: silent, brave and brief. He came, he conquered, he collapsed. The song almost writes itself.

How much easier it is to let the heart hug the innocent, uncomplicated by greed, by graft or by ego, than it is to suffer the imperfections of free choice. No steroids in this body, or if so, not his fault.

No spite, no malice, no sass, no head butts, no misquotes in Barbaro's autobiography.

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How much more appealing is a tragic victim than an insufferable success.

We can blame Ben Roethlisberger for bad judgment, but we can only weep for Barbaro.

Suitable for framing are photos of the horse, wallet size as well, and both have Barbaro with all four legs off the ground, the first the driving gallop at the wire of the Kentucky Derby, 6 1/2 lengths clear, not another horse in the frame.

The other picture is of some sort of medieval contraption with belts and pulleys and tethers, hoisting the animal into the air, letting him hang helpless, his legs bandaged and splinted.

This is the one that tugs at the tears, while the other could be any winning horse. It reminds us of the famous photo of Babe Ruth, leaning on his bat, at Old Timers Day, a shell of the man that was.

Like the Babe, Barbaro got bigger than his sport, bigger than horse racing, not an unusual achievement these days since paintball and poker are also bigger. Pocket kings cause more gasps than the sport of kings.

Horse racing has been looking for a redeemer for 28 years, that one animal whose name would be on the lips of the world, a hero to clot the common curiosity.

Secretariat did that, more so than Seattle Slew or Affirmed, but none since. The Triple Crown is the demanding measure for immortality, the condition for legend and lasting fame.

Horse racing does set its standard high, but it can design its contenders without them having the least say in it. Breeding and bloodlines do not provide the same comfort in human sports, except for assorted Mannings, Griffeys and Bondses.

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Failure after failure passed by, leaving few tracks beyond hoof marks in the stall. And now the news crawl updates the condition of Barbaro, endless bits indistinguishable from Middle East death counts and weather warnings.

Well, a crippled Tiny Tim thawed the icy heart of Scrooge, after all. And Barbaro has less a chance of ever walking right again. God bless us, every one.


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