On Eight Belles and the gnashing of teeth
Despite my inclination as a lover of animals (in a strictly platonic sense, of course), I find it hard to get worked up about Eight Belles getting shipped off to the glue factory.
In fact, it’s surprising that this kind of thing doesn’t happen more often. What do you expect when an animal that weighs 1000 pounds or more is forced to run at top speed on little spindly-ass legs? If you mess with the bull, you’ll get the horns, as the saying goes.
But of course, the frenzied hordes at PETA have made Eight Belles a martyr for its cause (even though its spokesman cannot defend her position), calling for a ban on racetrack betting, saying the sport is “no better than dogfighting.” They’ve even condemned Hillary Clinton, calling her complicit in the horse’s death.
Yawn. All of that is ridiculous, course. My issue with horse racing is not because it’s allegedly barbaric. I dislike it simply because it’s boring. Watching a bunch of horses run around in a big circle is worse than watching paint dry. The most exciting two minutes in sports? How about the most over-hyped and anti-climactic?
Except when a horse dies, I guess.
