How some of the country's top horse racing writers and sports columnists viewed American Pharoah's Triple Crown victory:
Pharoah rolled through the homestretch, each of his graceful strides a scream of atonement for the past failures of others, failures that had been shared and mourned by the entire sport—here for Spectacular Bid (1979) and his safety pin and overmatched jockey, here for Real Quiet ('98) and his nose-length loss to Victory Gallop, here for Smarty Jones (2004), run down in the homestretch by Birdstone. With every stride, the Belmont grandstand quaked, engulfed by a primal roar of exorcism, desperation given sound.
In the presence of greatness, I couldn't help but think this horse deserved to be written up on Steinbeck's laptop, or Hemingway's, and certainly not mine.
Over these many years and 13 failed Triple Crown attempts, it has seemed like the gods -- call them the gods of the Triple Crown -- would not allow the pretenders to cross the wire first in the Belmont Stakes.
There had been only 11 of them in history, and America had elected five presidents, fought three wars and lived through at least three economic downturns since Affirmed had last completed the feat in 1978.
The first Triple Crown winner in 37 years will be remembered for that signature sense of supple ease, the limber mobility that made something so difficult seem so natural.
American Pharoah's name may be misspelled, but his mission and his magnificence can never be misstated. This one was for more than just racing fans, or sports fans. It was one of those moments that, if only for a short time, transcends our daily lives.
If you're going to have to wait 37 years for a piece of sports history, this is exactly the way it should happen: with a majestic and unforgettable performance that even a nervous trainer could allow himself to sit back and enjoy.