JC / Railbird

Dear Nancy,

Well, I appreciate your patience as I sift through these bags full of mail from all my supporters. Know that your letter meant a lot to me.

You know, I’m not exactly sure what life has in store for me now. Racing is all I’ve ever known, really. I guess I’ll just have to get used to taking it easy. One day at a time, etc. etc.

From all I’ve heard, though, retirement doesn’t sound so bad. The life of a stud is pretty sweet. And they’re setting me up with a Roth IRA, which should yield a solid annual return.

But don’t expect Barbaro to disappear into the sunset! I can command a pretty hefty speaker’s fee. I’m actually already in discussions to host a Dr. Phil-style talk show, and I’ve been invited to speak at the Women’s Health Forum at the Chicago Convention Center later this summer. But as for everything else, your guess is as good as mine.

I’m looking into some disability insurance, but frankly, I’m confused. Some days I don’t know what to do; I stare blankly at the medical forms. And other days I say, “Forget it. That stuff’s complicated and, I mean, after all: I am a horse.”

All my best, always,
Barbaro

Americans have historically become preoccupied with horseracing in times of national strain. The last time we saw this much interest in the sport, my father recently pointed out to me, was during the Watergate era, when two horses, Ruffian and Secretariat, seized the public imagination. Ruffian was the game front-running 3-year-old filly who broke down in a match race with Foolish Pleasure near the finish line and had to be put down. The year was 1975. Patty Hearst had been kidnapped the previous summer. The fall of Saigon took place in April. Only a few years earlier, the Watergate scandal had begun; America had pulled out of Vietnam; and Palestinian terrorists had attacked and killed 11 Israeli athletes at the Olympics in Munich.