I am so far removed from the racing scene that I could not tell you a sire or dam of any horse. Not even of the great or near great, thoroughbred or standardbred. I still follow but more from the periphery.

It has been more than a generation since we have seen a super horse win all three legs of the Triple Crown and Saturday afternoon we may have witnessed a legitimate threat to that drought in just his fourth race.

Big Brown came from as far away as a colt can get to win leg one of the famous trifecta going away. Just about the time a buzz would start about the next great one, a pall was cast over the day's event.

In a past life I was lucky to have worked within the harness industry and for some of the biggest names in it. I traveled around the country to race on the Grand Circuit, moving from track to track like a vagabond on a train, only my travel was in the back of an 18-wheel horse trailer.

I was based out of Pompano Park on the East Coast of Florida and when the Circuit's schedule concluded we would wrap things up in Lexington, Kentucky for the yearling sales.

It was an experience I would not trade for anything in the world.

A horseman's life is not a glamorous one, getting up at five in the morning to muck out stalls, jogging a horse in all kinds of weather, bathing and cooling them out before putting them away for the day. That was before moving on to your second one who might have been on a training schedule and the process was repeated, only it took longer than the first one.

With number two finally bedded down with fresh straw and his stall cage full of hay, their day was done but yours was not. You got a few hours to relax before having to come back and feed them dinner of grain or a mush you swear was gruel. Fresh water and you could finally say your day was at an end.

The routine is repeated Monday through Saturday with Sunday a day of rest - for the horse. The stall still needed cleaning, medications given, morning and evening feedings and in a blink, it was 5:00 am Monday.

So why would someone subject themselves to that kind of life?

Once you work with those magnificent animals you never get it out of your system. You do what you do for them.

They tell you not to get attached. You are told they will break your heart someday. You do anyway. Your life becomes a marriage of sorts as you spend so much time in the shedrow a bond is created, especially if you are lucky to have one for a few years.

Colt or filly, stud, gelding or mare, it doesn't matter. If you ever saw the M*A*S*H episode where Colonel Potter just arrives at the 4077 and everyone was trying to ingratiate themselves to the new commanding officer, it wasn't until Radar came in and on the end of a rope there was a horse.

It made no matter that it was an undernourished, very average looking equine, Potter's eyes welled when he saw it. That's how it is when you come in contact with one, much less have the privilege of being their caretaker.

Back in those days I saw some great ones and even as common a horse you will ever see. His name was Randy O'Brien and could cut a half-mile faster than anyone had ever seen. Problem was, there were no races that length. If there were he would be in the Hall of Fame.

He was racing's version of the boxer Butterbean, the King of the Four Rounders.

In my travels on the Circuit I had my share of joys, nothing like "your" horse winning and getting your picture taken in the Winner's Circle, and I also found out why they tell you not to get attached.

When one dies it tears you at your very being.

There are those people remember because they are involved in the great races. Ruffian still sticks in my mind. A filly against a colt, the great match race. She did not finish and was euthanized after surgery in an attempt to save her life.

We all remember Barbaro and his courageous fight after breaking a leg in the 2006 Preakness. Try as they might, the doctors and owner put an end to his misery eight months later.

Saturday at the Derby, Eight Belles, a strapping filly that made a gallant Run for the Roses just behind winner Big Brown, collapsed on the track after breaking both her front ankles.

There would be no hope for miracles in this case as she was immediately put down where she laid surrounded by a pair of horse ambulances and a paramedic vehicle, just yards from the finish line.

Kentucky Derby day it's all about the millionaires. At a track just down the Interstate, it is about survival of a stable, an owner, even a trainer if a horse is lost.

Joe Blow's Racing won't get the headlines when an AC's Caprice succumbs to an injury. Harry Who's Stable could go under if Buttonwood Ann doesn't finish in a money spot or worse yet, snaps a leg.

Some people come away from the Derby, Preakness, Belmont or other high-profile televised events thinking the Ruffians, Barbaros or Eight Belles are anomalies. They are not. It happens more than anyone cares to count.

I recently read the following:

"Horses are smart, funny and compassionate animals. Their size and strength demands respect, not fear. They are the best pet a person can ever have. Horses are loyal in a completely different way than dogs and cats are. It never ceases to amaze me that horses choose to live with us, when they could just as easily choose not to."

It should have been a grand and glorious day for Big Brown. Instead, Eight Belles fades into racing lore.

She paid $10.60 and 6.40.