Cerblogus

I want to just say–I’ve wanted desperately to say for almost an entire year–”It’s a fricking horse!” and leave it at that.  But when the headline, along with a picture of the animal in action, makes the front page of the online New York Times, it’s not so easy to dismiss the story.  Astounding as it is to believe, many, many people (and not just the industry types) truly loved last year’s Kentucky Derby Winner horse.  More than that, they were riveted to every twist and turn of fate following the broken leg at Preakness.  Barbaro is fine–the surgery went well, was the word early on, and fans everywhere breathed a sigh of relief.  Then, for the next several months came the updates, none of which I read in any detail.  It was enough to know that they were there, though, not buried on a backpage or confined to the sports section.  Over the past several months, the state of Barbaro’s precarious health became–off and on–a major news story.  And now, as I glance at the front page of the Times, I read the news of Barbaro’s demise.  Right on top, front and center.  Below, a little to the left, there’s news of a suicide bombing in Israel.  I realize that at the time I checked the newspaper site, the report of the tragedy in the Middle East had been filed 25 minutes earlier, while the news of Barbaro’s demise was only a few minutes old.  Still, was or was not Barbaro a fricking horse?  If he were a cow, we would have eaten him and uttered a resounding “ummmm.”

Today, more human beings are dead.  Where were you a half hour ago?  Eating lunch?  Having a coffee break?  These three people in Israel were busy being blown up.  No doubt their blood still flows across the floor of the bakery at which they worked.  They’re in good company too because, across the world, people have been getting blown up everyday.  It happens with such hideous regularity that we don’t even read the articles.  Ten dead here, twenty three there.  Day after day after day…..just part of the pseudo tumultuousness of our overly mediated lives.

Today, though, is different.  Something has touched our hearts.  Today the Great Barbaro is dead. 

We should be ashamed that we care.