I’ve only been to one racetrack in my life. It was Belmont Park, on the edge of New York City, where Queens and Long Island meet. There, on a rainy, windswept Columbus Day, I and a friend took in feats of equine prowess, placing trivial bets to keep things interesting. That’s when it hit me – horseshoes are not horse shoes. They are torture devices.
Where’s the outcry from the likes of Nike, Asics or Saucony? Horses deserve real running shoes, not hunks of metal driven into their hooves by the force of an ornery blacksmith. What century is this? You’re telling me the boys in Beaverton can’t figure out a better way for our noble steeds?
The saddles are for the jockeys, the shoes are for the horses.
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