What California Chrome teaches us about race relations

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It dismays me once again to be the one to correct the national sporting press for misleading the American public into thinking we’re in the midst of another crisis of bad behavior.

Happened again this weekend when sports pundits declared California Chrome owner Steve Coburn, 61, a sore loser for his post-race explosion after the horse failed to win the Triple Crown.

Coburn didn’t lose. 

The horse did.

Coburn wasn’t even riding the horse!

He’s sore, sure. Who isn’t?

This was looking like the best chance we’ll ever have again for a Triple Crown winner.

One of my greatest boyhood memories was in 1973 with my old man watching the immortal Secretariat race to Belmont Park victory for what remains the most spectacular Triple Crown win in history. 

I’ve been dreaming I’d bestow that same sort of memory to our daughters.

We make a big deal out of the Triple Crown races. The night before we watch a movie about a horse, usually either “Secretariat” or “Seabiscuit.” 

(True fun fact: California Chrome was nearly named Seabisquick.)

Then as post time nears we enjoy the pageantry, handicap the horses — the girls favor the fillies — and make ridiculous wagers involving things like world domination. And as the horses come down the stretch we’re all roaring cheers urging our favorites to get their butts in gear. 

I love horse racing for the way it unites America where sports like football divide it by creating hooligan tribes of drunken fans eager to assault one another for daring to wear different colored overpriced jerseys.

Being progressive on race relations, I also appreciate horse racing because it’s the one sport that doesn’t rile the racists. They heartily cheer the black or brown horse in ways they’d never cheer for, say, LeBron James or dred-headed safety Richard Sherman of the Seattle Seahawks.

I know many racists who hate NBA basketball because it’s dominated by people of color, and as we recently learned this prejudice includes people who actually own NBA teams. Where, they ask, are all the white dudes?

It’s very offensive to enlightened souls like myself.

But even bitter racists love horse racing. This is surprising because I can’t recall ever seeing a single white dude rounding the track — and I’m talking here about white dudes with four legs.

It’s a sport that’s so joyfully colorblind even top race historians would be stumped, I’m sure, when asked to name which horse was the Jackie Robinson of thoroughbred racing.

It seemed with Chrome we were seeing something special.

In everything I’ve read for the past six weeks has said he’s a really great horse, which I’m assuming means he visits the children’s hospitals, signs autographs and makes the sweet old ladies blush when he flirts with them.

To me, those are the hallmarks of a truly great horse.

People are calling Coburn classless for saying entering a horse in the Belmont without previously giving it a go in the Derby or at the Preakness is “cowardly” and “classless.”

I agreed before learning that’s the way it’s always been. It happened to Secretariat, Seattle Slew and Affirmed when they won. Winning the crown is just very difficult.

But I’m giving the old guy a pass here.

His fairytale vaporized down the home stretch and caused him to launch into a memorable meltdown.

Did you see it?

He raged at the other owners and said they’d denied America a dream we all shared. My favorite part was near the end when his nervous looking wife whispered he ought to cool it, a remark that caused him to turn and tell her to buzz off.

Yes, behind every great man is a nervous woman telling him when it’s time to just shut the hell up.

To me, the rant was a perfectly reasonable reaction by a man who’d been thrust into the limelight for which he was unprepared at the very instant his life’s dream was destroyed.

I hope Coburn’s forgiven his graceless lapse and that he comes to appreciate the sweet side of what’s been a really great run.

Me, I’m just happy an angry, begrudged white man didn’t stoop to playing the race card in the one sport where everyone who walks through the front gate is handed a race card.

Related . . .

Donald Sterling & the Bonfire of the NBA Vanities

Black men can’t kick

Scattered thoughts on Derby Day Weekend

Horsin’ ‘round in the ol’ breed barn

I suspect Ann Romney’s horse is gay

The Bonfire of the NBA Vanities

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Well, it looks like I actually do have something in common with billionaire racist Donald Sterling: neither of us will ever attend an NBA game for as long as we live.

We’re both prejudiced.

He shuns minorities. I shun expensive sporting events sure to bore me.

There are many questions. The one I would most like to hear Sterling answer is, “Sir, you dislike associating with blacks. What was it about owning a professional basketball team that seemed like a good idea? Was hockey too complicated?”

Really, I imagine owning the LA Clippers was his runner-up choice after his lawyers told the incredulous bigot he was not allowed to own slaves.

I’m always pleased when people note the homepage sidebar that details which books I’ve been reading. Lately, I’ve been re-reading some of the classics. They enrich my soul.

One you won’t soon see on the list is “The Bonfire of the Vanities.” It’s the 1987 Tom Wolfe bestseller about race, greed, ambition, lust, status and the petty emotions that fuel any great national scandal.

I remember enjoying it, but can’t now recall just why. I think it’s because all the miserable characters behaved in ways that would have prevented me from ever wanting to be friendly.

And there’s no need to re-read Wolfe’s book when we’ve for the past week been witnessing The Bonfire of the NBA Vanities.

Almost anyone with anything to say is despicable.

There’s ample reason to despise V. Sivano, the woman who goaded the 81-year-old Sterling into his racist rant. Heck, she’s hate-worthy if for no other reason than she’s getting away with referring to herself with the initial V.

People say what she did was wrong, that it’s reasonable to assume a right to privacy in one’s own home. Ideally, yes.

Me, I go through life under the wise assumption that everything I say is being taped and I’m under constant video surveillance.

It doesn’t bother me at all, really. My behavior is much better, my posture’s improved and I often walk down the streets wearing a nicer shirt than the ones I wore before the NSA began its eternal snoop.

NBA greed-meisters should be ashamed of themselves for allowing Sterling to for 30 years fester in their midst knowing he was a bitter bigot in a game dominated by African-Americans athletes in a world desperate for athletic African-American role models.

That we could use even just a few more white role models, too, goes without saying. 

I despise the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People for being repeatedly honoring a known slumlord who in 2009 agreed to pay a $2.73 million fine for discriminating against colored people.

I hate every opinionated poser that gets on TV and says he or she is certain of the moral and legal implications of the NBA stripping an owner of his private property.

How dare they? Who do they think they are?

Underemployed bloggers?

I’m disdainful of every talk show host, caller and barstool bigot who says this is a First Amendment issue and that one of America’s bedrock principles is the right to free speech.

That’s true.

But what is also true, as every married man instinctively knows, there are consequences to saying controversial or stupid things.

So if you own a business enjoyed by black people or white people who don’t mind black people and think everyone deserves a fair shake, then you’d better hope another demographic will rise up to compensate for the revenue you’re bound to lose when it is learned you don’t like black people. 

So, yes, you can say you don’t want your tarty little girlfriend to post social media pictures of her cuddling with Magic Johnson, but if someone hears you say that — someone like, say, Magic Johnson — there will be consequences and they may be dire.

That’s where we’re at now. The NBA, rightly fearing a player/fan mutiny, took decisive action and new commissioner Adam Silver deserves credit. The bigot is banned for life.

So I guess me saying there’s no one coming out of this looking good was a bit of an overstatement.

And there is one group of that is coming out of this standing head and shoulders above the rest.

And that’s the players — and they’re doing so for reasons that have nothing to do with freakish height.

Their reaction has been exemplary. They didn’t threaten. They didn’t fume or incite. In fact, for men so prone to preening and bombast, they’ve been most eloquent when they’ve said nothing at all.

These giant and wealthy men looked like their feelings had been hurt. They were sad. It was very poignant and a very adult reaction in response to hate.

I found it admirable.

Who knew I’d enjoy watching professional basketball players as long as they weren’t playing professional basketball?

The fans, too, deserve credit. They didn’t riot. They didn’t vandalize.

They just cheered the Clippers.

It’s nice to know at a time when we needed good men to stand tall in the face of ignorance and bigotry, heroes perfectly built for the task were right there at center court when we needed them most. 

Related . . .

How to win a race war

Mandela, “Marshmallow World” and humans who love to hate

Black men can’t kick

A tough day for racists

I have no black friends