So, What If It’s Easy for Easy Goer?

It won’t be a race, it’ll be a parade. A recital. A concerto.

Who are these horses, and don’t they know nobody will remember who they were a year from today? A week from today? They came here to be in the chorus. They should have brought a spear to carry. They’re just the posse here.

What are all these trainers who should know better doing in this Kentucky Derby? Can’t they read? Don’t their clocks work?

Let me ask you something. If Man o’ War were in this field, would there be 15 other horses willing to go out there to watch him go by?

The question of the 115th Kentucky Derby is not whether Easy Goer is better than, say, Shy Tom, Clever Trevor, Wind Splitter or Irish Actor. It’s whether he’s better than Sir Barton. Or Secretariat. Or Seattle Slew. Citation. Man o’ War. Pegasus. Trigger. Does he have five legs? Can he read? Count?

If this weren’t a Derby, he’d probably have to carry 140 pounds. And maybe an anvil and a microwave oven. Maybe they should tie two of his legs together. Or just split this year’s Derby into two sections.

Perhaps they should disqualify him altogether. As a monopoly. A combination in restraint of trade. Unconstitutional. Un-American.

Is that all bad? Do you come 2,000 miles to get in on a monologue? Do you hate suspense? Like the old Yankees, did you? Leahy’s and Rockne’s Notre Dame? Root for the iceberg over the Titanic? Like coaches who pour it on? How about Joe Louis’ fights? Mike Tyson’s? A chalk player from way back?

This Derby might be right down your alley.

You may have a point. I can dig it. I mean, what do you want to see, Cannonade winning a Derby? Gato Del Sol? Decidedly? What do you want--history or a longshot?

Delighted, were you, when Native Dancer lost the only race he would ever lose right here in a Derby? It didn’t bother you that the horse who beat him, Dark Star, never won another race? Seeing a classic horse in the winner’s circle make you gnash your teeth?

There have been enough Derbies won by Dust Commanders, Count Turfs, Venetian Ways, horses that will never be statues in anybody’s paddock.

So what if it’s a walk in the park for Easy Goer?

When you go to a golf tournament, do you like to see Arnold Palmer get beat by George Archer? Glad to see Greg Norman hit a ball in the water? Like to see some nobody chip in over Jack Nicklaus’ head on 18? Did you throw a party when Jack Fleck beat Ben Hogan in 1955?

What’s wrong with virtuousity prevailing? Do you root for a guy to get a hit when Nolan Ryan has two out in the ninth without having given up any to then? Like to see Babe Ruth strike out, would you? Want Sandy Koufax to get knocked out of the box in the first inning?

If you went to the Louvre, would you skip the Mona Lisa and ooh and aah over a lot of seascapes? Rather see a chain saw massacre movie than “The Bridge on the River Kwai?” Like to see Caruso choke on a high C? Prefer rock to Beethoven, “Dynasty” to Shakespeare?

We’ve got enough .200 hitters in the world, enough guys who win split decisions, pitch seven innings, shoot 72s, play doubles, punt on fourth down.

You don’t go to a Kentucky Derby to see Proud Clarion or Riva Ridge or Kauai King. You go to see Swaps beat Nashua. You go to see Aristides. Exterminator. Citation. Count Fleet. Secretariat. Affirmed. You go to see Triple Crown winners, royalty. The sport of kings should not belong to clodhoppers.

Like to see Man o’ War beaten by some claimer, would you? Pay money to see Dempsey get clinched to death? Like seeing Muhammad Ali pummeled by a palooka?

We’re drowning in mediocrity as it is, running out of heroes. You might say running out of class. It’s interesting that, in the first 105 runnings of the Kentucky Derby, only one filly ever won it. In this decade alone, two have won it so far. And that was out of only five entered in the nine years.

You remember Derbies by the renown of winners. Horsemen will talk of Gallant Fox’s Derby, or Whirlaway’s, or Citation’s, Secretariat’s. People have trouble remembering what year Pleasant Colony won. Or even if he did.

So, Easy Goer has a chance to be a horse for the ages. He’s been beaten. But so was Secretariat. So, in fact, was Man o’ War.

You might wish he had a better name--Red Gold, or Diamond Jim. Easy Goer is kind of tacky for a great performer. Hollywood would change it. It’s not a name to sell tickets.

We don’t even have names anymore. Back when the movies had Greta Garbo (for Gustaffson), Theda Bara (for Theodosia Goodman) and Robert Taylor (for Spangler Brugh), horses were named Twenty Grand, Cavalcade, Reigh Count, Discovery and War Admiral.

Now, they’re named Easy Goer. Or Spend a Buck. Even the female horses don’t escape. No Lady Godiva or Miss America but Genuine Risk. What kind of handle is that for a great lady?

By any other name, Easy Goer can run. Beaten by a nose as a maiden and by a length in the Breeder’s Cup on a track that had the consistency of ground glass, he has the longest stride and prettiest action of any horse of the decade.

He’s as royally bred as the Hapsburgs. He traces his ancestry back to Native Dancer, who lost this race in the greatest mistake of the century in racing.

So, the proposition is simple: Do you hope for a horse race? Or do you want to say, “I was there Easy Goer’s year”?

Would you want to have seen the World Series in which Ruth called his shot? Or kept hitting grounders to second?

You want to see history--or the eighth race? Do you want an exacta--or a memory?

If Shy Tom or Clever Trevor beats him, it’s just another stake. If he goes on to win a Triple Crown, it becomes an I-was-there Derby.

In the meantime, they could think about changing that name. Garbo would be nice.