Victory Or Consequences

So I see that yet again, horse racing’s Triple Crown will remain vacant. Thirty-two years have elapsed since Affirmed won the Triple Crown. It has not happened in my lifetime; the last time it did, my mother was into her second trimester with me. I was thinking that maybe it’s time to retire this Triple Crown bullshit, because for one thing, horses like Secretariat, Citation and War Admiral do not come in bunches. God alone knows we’ve come close in my lifetime, but the cigar always seems to explode in our face. But I guess I don’t get a vote; among other things, horse racing needs a little drama attached to it, without which it wouldn’t make very compelling television. It would be little more than big animals owned by very, very wealthy men and ridden by very, very short men.

In the alternative, I propose that we raise the stakes of the Kentucky Derby, the Preakness and the Belmont Stakes.

Here’s what we do: for the laypeople, we give one lucky spectator at Churchill Downs one million dollars if his horse wins. That fellow would go to Baltimore and get a chance at five million dollars if his chosen steed wins the Preakness. If his horse goes the mile-and-a-half around Belmont Park and wins the Belmont Stakes, that lucky, lucky son of a bitch wins fifty million dollars. And not only does Lucky keep every red cent, it’s all tax-free. You won’t find those odds with a scratch-off card at your local 7-Eleven. Now, for the owners of these gallant racehorses, if they believe so much in the odds and the hooves of those horses, they will be required to bet their entire fortune on the race. I don’t know about you, but there is an almost orgasmic satisfaction in thinking about some 76-year old man named Galen wandering the streets of Louisville in a dirty white seersucker jacket and matching handkerchief asking for spare change and having to explain to people that he lost his gin business over a horse that lost the Derby.

See how much more exciting sports would be if the results had consequences in the real world? In fact, this idea could spread. Admittedly, it would not and could not go too far. But over time, I have had a few more ideas:

In tennis: Not only must the tennis player serve the ball over the net, but through a ring of fire. Just once, I’d like to see Anna Kournikova feel heat other than her own.

How about the Final Four in college basketball, or the mythical, farcical national championship in college football? The winning school in the championship game gets more money for lab equipment and school texts, up to, let’s say, about ten million dollars. The losing school gets its funding cut off for one year, and all of its professors get immediately arrested and interred at a detention center in someplace like southeastern Nebraska for the same length of time. The higher the stakes, the more motivation and incentive the student athletes have. (Side note: I think the only reason there is a national championship game is that ESPN, in its never-ending quest for absolute world domination, desperately needs there to be. But that’s another dance for another girl.)

Methinks I’ve saved my best for last: The Super Bowl. About a year or so ago, I had an idea for a play that wrapped around this idea, but I never got it off the ground. Instead of the mayors of the cities of the teams betting lobsters, sushi and cheesesteaks, I’d like to see some real ramifications. The city whose team wins the Super Bowl should get enhanced Homeland Security protection for one year—more police, more and better emergency services, things along those lines, again for one year. As for the losing city, you know what I have in mind? Seventy-two hours of martial law. I mean, if the whole world’s going to be watching, wouldn’t you think that The National Football League would want you to enjoy the rough and tumble both on and off the field? After all, like ESPN, they’re launching a bid to take over the civilized world.

I guess all I’m doing with these flights of paranoid fantasy is pointing up how much I love baseball. Now that’s a sport. It’s not unpleasant, it’s romantic, you can exhale and enjoy it, knowing there’s almost always a tomorrow. Besides which, no civilized society ever crumbled because the Yankees lost.