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I have always said that writers of Thoroughbred biography have to be more than just reporters of brute facts and figures. The best are also poets because at times the poetic image is the only medium ca

I have always said that writers of Thoroughbred biography have to be more than just reporters of brute facts and figures. The best are also poets because at times the poetic image is the only medium capable of describing what horses do. To give sense and image to the motion of a horse requires strokes of words that weave and paint the drama of action and outcome: from the simple materials of walking and trotting to the more complex dangers involved in the midst of racing, from the wrenching experience of defeat to the elation of victory. Mary Walsh has just that talent. From her descriptions of Sham in flight, when he made his moves I could feel the sting of the wind and dirt as it pelted the skin; I could sense the adrenaline rushing through the veins of his riders as they made split second decisions that proved either decisive in victory or critical in defeat. I could experience the sudden bursts of acceleration and the ground swallowing power of Sham’s stride as he closed on opponents in the decisive stretches and moments of races. I participated in the joy of his connections in his victories and sympathized with them in his losses, particularly those against Secretariat. And when Sham broke down in the early part of his first workout 4 weeks following the Belmont Stakes, one could comprehend the loss his administrators and trainers endured as his streak of misfortunes appeared never to end. Miss Walsh’s representation seemed to treat it as the final outcome of that fateful race. It was a day that almost cost him his life. Instead of returning to the call of the track, his owners syndicated him to a productive stud career at Spendthrift Farm where 70 percent of his starters won races which included close to 50 winners at the stakes level. The cumulative earnings of all his runners summed well into the millions. Sham was destined to pass away almost unnoticed some twenty years and three days after his remarkable performance in the Santa Anita Derby in 1973. It was the race that gave his trainer Frank Martin such hope in his future. That victory in the blush of youth is how he should be remembered. His descent into obscurity in the wake of his defeats to Secretariat has not been warranted. One is left with a sense of injustice at the simplicity of his Walmac gravestone, but moved that someone there has seen it fit to continuously honor his remains with vases of flowers. Mary Walsh’s account of his final moments at the age of 23 is heartfelt. Here I add a personal but smaller version: "Perhaps in the fog of sleep, the Big Red Tormentor appeared and challenged him once again, but this time on a different track, in a different place, and in a different space. Sham being Sham, always courageous and full of heart, jumped as if something deep within him had awakened, and then pawed high into the early morning sky. In less than an instant, he accepted the challenge." This work on Sham is long overdue simply because without this powerful challenger, we would not know the Secretariat we know today. Both Sham and Secretariat broke the Kentucky Derby and Preakness records in their duels that season, an unprecedented feat in the history of the Triple Crown. It is the belief of many that but for 1973, Sham could have won most if not all other attempts at the laurel. Certainly, he had the potential to grace the Hall of Fame and may have achieved that end had his career not been cut short. We give thanks to Mary Walsh for her hard work and for bringing back memories of this wonderful and courageous champion, an honor long deserved. Thank you Mary.