Ghost of Barbaro: ‘I was a horse, get over it’

barbaroYes it’s me, Barbaro, coming to you from the great stable in the sky. I didn’t want to take time out of my eternal schedule of eating oats, grazing on a never ending plain of Kentucky Bluegrass, and letting flies walk over my huge eyeballs without nary a care, but I need to get something off of my horse chest.

10 years ago I won the Kentucky Derby. One year late I died. I had a bad wheel, typically doesn’t go to well for us horses, as we prefer to have four functional legs. But what are you doing to do? I had a nice run and you know the risks when you get into the racing game. The dizzying highs, the terrifying lows…perhaps I trotted too close to the sun on hooves of sugar cubes, I don’t know. I’m a horse, and a dead one at that, what do I know about metaphors?

It’s been 9 years and people in Philadelphia are still talking about me. Hell, the 6th Mr. Ed showed me a copy of a column Dick Jerardi wrote about me in yesterday’s Daily News. It went on and on about how I was a great champion, my legacy, and my connection to Philadelphia.

But let me tell you something….something I think everyone needs to know.

You need to get over it. I’m dead. I was a horse. Good god.

Can you even name who won the Kentucky Derby two years ago? So why me?! I’m not even from Philadelphia, I never stepped hoof in that town. Frankly, I didn’t even enjoy the smell when I was nearby, it spooked me something awful. Smelled like fried onions and body odor 24-hours a day.

I was trained at Fair Hill Training Center. It’s in Maryland, people. Sure I ran a few races in Philadelphia, but I was not from here. Why did this city glomb onto me and thrust their championship hopes on me? I’m a horse.

I remember there was talk of throwing me a championship parade after the Kentucky Derby if I won the Triple Crown. Didn’t you people learn anything from Smarty Jones? You jinxed him and then you jinxed me.

In fact, yes, I now know that Philadelphia jinxed me so much that I broke my foot. I was even getting better but decided to give up to teach everyone in this city a lesson.

Lesson #1 and #1A: I was a horse and I didn’t care about any of you.

If I had won the Preakness and the Belmont, do you think I would have ENJOYED a parade down Broad Street? Of course I wouldn’t have. I’m a horse. A horse, people! I don’t even know what a parade is? Is it oats? Is it an apple? If it isn’t one of those two things than I don’t want it.

A parade. You’re kidding me…did people in Philadelphia really need another reason to drink on a weekday? Neigh, they do not.

Do you know what I got after I won the Derby? I got an extra carrot at dinner and thanked my lucky stars that my trailer didn’t turn into the glue factory as we left Kentucky the next day.

So that’s it. Stop writing about me, Philadelphia sports journalists, when you’re stumped for ideas come Derby time.

I don’t care about Philadelphia, I don’t care about the city, and I certainly don’t care about what Dick Jerardi thinks about me.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go aimlessly paw at some dirt and flick my tail across my flanks for the rest of my existence on this ethereal plane.


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