Before the tears flooded Pimlico and before the screams raced around the dirt track. Before the mighty champion pulled up in pain and before the ambulance pulled away from the barn. Before we even understood what exactly could be at stake in the Preakness Stakes, there was Michael Matz, and he was all smiles.
His horse Barbaro was in the barn, less than an hour away from the race he was so certain to win. There hadn't been a lock like this in years.
Matz, the Maryland trainer, flashed that toothy smile and shook a few hands. His horse calmly left Barn No. 40 - reserved annually for the Kentucky Derby winner - and made his trek to the starting gates. He strolled with an excited energy, the last race of his life awaiting.
The parade moved to the grass track. Barbaro's entourage would rival that of a hip-hop star. On this day, he was the most loved animal and the important athlete in the world.
"Good luck!" someone screamed, and Matz smiled and waved.
The minutes slowly ticked away, and two, sometimes three grooms held the colt close. Barbaro walked in circles, each twitch and tug a reminder of just how powerful a thoroughbred can be. The sun reflected off his brown coat and an excited energy emanated off the horse. He moved rhythmically, like a boxer minutes away from a big fight.
In the gates, Barbaro was eager, so eager that he busted out early, drawing a brief cheer from the stands and from the infield. A record crowd of 118,402 was on hand, many clutching Barbaro betting slips.
"He actually tried to buck me off a couple of times," his jockey Edgar Prado would say later. "He was feeling that good."
The horse was escorted back into place, and the race began without a hitch. But something happened. Something wasn't right. Only 100 yards along the track and Prado heard a noise. His horse slowed.
Something flashed in the minds of veteran horsemen. When a horse hobbles, the worst-case scenario grabs your thoughts and squeezes tightly.
"It's the most devastating feeling you can have," said Nick Zito, another trainer.
Barbaro hobbled forward, lifting his right hind leg. Breath caught in the throat of even the most grizzled railbird. The shouts and screams that followed would echo from Pimlico to living-room couches, to racetracks, barns and nightmares.
"NOOOO!" a man yelled.
"I can't believe this," a woman said in a softer voice.
