Oh, so what? The Breeders' Cup is in Santa Anita for a second year on Amateur-Ride, so what? For a time in the eighties, when fat was the enemy, food scientists worked like mad at a butter alternative and we got margarine.
It tastes just like butter!
And Pro-Ride acts like dirt.
Here's the deal, the French eat lots of butter and are skinny, happier, and speak a much better tongue. We, on the other hand, are a nation more consumed by health and yet are unhealthy to the core.
In this instance, so what if we have the trans-fat-loaded margarine balls at the wedding reception table instead of luscious, savory, creamery butter? This is the Breeders' Cup Championships! So hike up your socks, grab your favorite easy chair and watch. And, hey, if you read a little Vic Zast, you might even make a little bit of money.
So much of the energy since last year's BC has been that in another year, we're going to have to do it all over again. But you're a horse racing fan and you'd root for this sport if they ran over molten lava and took space rockets to Uranus. You'd watch it if they jumped over hurdles and swam the English Channel. You'd watch just to see Todd Pletcher's under bite, Bob Baffert's silver hair, and Helen Pitts shot at redemption for losing Curlin nearly three years ago.
This is the only sport that when you say PP no one looks at you like you're Roman Polanski. That's reason enough! On Friday you can stare at women athletes all day and not draw the stink eye from your partner. Try getting away with that during a beach volleyball tournament.
So take that whip off your wall you pervert and wave it at Calvin Borel, John Velazquez, and Joe Talamo. Break out your most tasteless World War II humor when the French and British clobber your early Pick 4.
This is the Breeders' Cup on Pro-Ride, turn that frown upside down, and to quote one of Bill Murray's sons in "Rushmore", "Get your head out of your ass."
Sure, butter is better, but some Parkay on Zenyatta's curvy butt ain't that bad either.