Remembering Barbaro: A Book Excerpt

A jockey recalls the fight to the finish of America's favorite horse.

Built to Run

The first time I ever laid eyes on Barbaro, I finished what seemed like half a mile behind him in the Laurel Futurity, a turf race for two-year-old thoroughbreds at Laurel Park in Maryland. Barbaro had raced just once before. He was still so unknown that the track announcer mispronounced his name as "Bar-BEAR-oh."
But boy, on that November day in 2005, he was already a rocket. He finished so far ahead of my horse and the others that I didn't see much of him, except for his rear getting smaller and smaller in the distance. The other jockeys and I needed binoculars.

A brown bay with a splash of white between his eyes, Barbaro was a towering 17 hands tall -- almost six feet -- and bulged with muscles. Most of the other horses in the race were a foot shorter and noticeably thinner; they were equine teenagers, all legs and painfully gawky. Barbaro was the same age but with sturdy legs, a broad rear and a bodybuilder's physique, naturally built to run hard. The colt, owned by Roy and Gretchen Jackson, wasn't sleek and slender. He was all jock.

I said to his jockey that day, Jose Caraballo, "Wow, Jose, that's a nice horse. A really nice horse." Caraballo smiled. "He did all that by himself. I never touched him."

That night, I called my agent, Bob Frieze. If Barbaro's trainer, Michael Matz, ever wanted to change jockeys, I said, I would love to ride him.

On New Year's Day, 2006, I finally got my chance, at the Tropical Park Derby in Miami. Before the race, I put on my silks and went to the paddock to see Barbaro. He was larger and even more fearsome than I had recalled. I looked him in the eye before I got on him. He gave me a level gaze in return. He seemed to be saying, Come on! Let's do it. Even before we went into the starting gate, I liked him. Horses can sense affection. They read how you look at them, how you hold the reins. I also don't feel I have to be in control of them. I don't think you can ever be in control of a horse. It's a bigger and stronger animal, and if it wants to do something, it does. I respected that. Barbaro relaxed with me.

We won our first race by four lengths. His running style was so smooth that I felt like I was flying. After we crossed the finish line, I reached down and patted his long, muscular flank. I figured I'd just ridden the best turf horse of my career.

Soon after, Michael and the Jacksons decided to switch Barbaro over to dirt. Though his pedigree screamed turf (Barbaro's father, Dynaformer, had set a track record on grass and sired many winning turf horses), dirt racing dominates in the United States. The Triple Crown series of thoroughbred horse racing -- the Kentucky Derby, the Preakness Stakes and the Belmont Stakes -- are all run on dirt.

In early February 2006, Barbaro and I raced together again, in the Holy Bull Stakes at Gulfstream Park, near Miami. He won the race, his fourth straight win, and was barely breathing hard after 11⁄8 miles. I was delighted. I told my agent, "This horse has the potential to be a superstar on dirt."

"You like him that much?"

"I like him that much."

In April we won the Florida Derby together. That's when Gretchen asked me if I wanted to ride Barbaro in the Kentucky Derby. And just one month later, on May 6, 2006, in front of a racetrack audience of about 160,000 people and millions worldwide, I would be riding him in the biggest race in America. Anything was possible.

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