I’m not even sure I won this fake money.
When the Kentucky Derby horses stormed out of the gates, I threw my neck back to see the whole television screen from under my blue floppy hat. I hadn’t bet real money, I’m not even sure I correctly entered my bid in the play money pool, but I was nervous. The horses looked pained by their own limits. Each muscle was lean, strong, moving with the grace of natural power, but every pair of eyes wanted more from the rest of the body that carried them. I’d never seen a horse race and I’m not emotional, so I was surprised by sudden compassion.
In slightly over two minutes, there was one reported winner over however many others. Nyquil! I heard someone else say “Nyquist!” and tried really hard to remember that. Nyquist’s jockey celebrated while still riding the horse by pulling up a blanket of roses over himself. The camera spanned to and from an older elated couple, who I assumed owned Nyquist. The rich man had bouncy cheeks and his wife was somewhere beneath brown shiny hair and a shallow layer of happiness that threatened to break through the crust of botulism on her face. Interviews, popped champagne, trophies. The least visible celebrant was Nyquist. Because Nyquist was, yes, the winner but he could not carry out the business he carried on his back. He was after all, just a horse. Besides, he needed to keep his head because the Preakness Stakes was only two weeks away.
A few hours later, I took off my proper hat and shoes and ate KFC as Saul “Canelo” Alvarez and Amir Khan entered the Vegas boxing ring live during a ransom-priced HBO pay-per-view offering. “As early as the 6th, no later than the 8th,” I answered my husband when he asked when Canelo would knock Khan out. Electricity ran from the ropes to my brain during the first two rounds. Khan was fast and landing shots. Canelo fought back but patiently. The third, fourth, and fifth rounds were more even, Khan landing consistently and Canelo landing harder. With less than thirty seconds left in the sixth round, Canelo’s right fist drove through Khan’s lowered defense and his will. He hit with a force that shot the snot out of Khan’s face and ripples waved down and out to Khan’s ears and neck visibly. Khan fell back like a plank of wood, the back of his head thudding hard against the floor. He stared straight up. After a few seconds, Canelo dropped to his knees and looked worriedly into Khan’s blank face.
Again, there was just one official winner, and it was of little import who else competed. Someone crowned Canelo with a flat-rimmed red cap, “Champ” embroidered in white on the side. As is usually the case, the hollow, hallow ring was instantly flooded with people. Interviews, fists popped up, trophy belts. Unlike Nyquil, Canelo was a visible albeit distracted celebrant. Reporters immediately drew his attention to the much more hotly anticipated fight he must take next to maintain his middleweight title. At the suggestion that he was too scared to fight Gennady “GGG” Golovkin, Canelo brazenly offered to put his gloves back on right then and there if GGG moved forward into the ring from being a spectator standing behind him.
Khan and his camp deflected the loss as an ambition that righted the trajectory of the sport. It was time other fighters, like Canelo, follow Khan’s lead, move beyond smack talk and actually “step up” to harder, riskier fights—fights that were calculated to benefit of the sport rather than the fighter’s business. Khan’s trainer hijacked Khan’s interview to demand more clearly that Canelo stop hiding from GGG, that Canelo follow Khan’s lead and be a true fighter rather than a cowardly businessman.
This left me wondering, which winner am I? Why or what do I want to win exactly? Am I the heart-bursting horse who runs cash into pockets race after race because it’s my dumb, inescapable nature? Am I the jockey who hoards the glory like its mine alone? Am I the superficial horse owner who moves nonchalantly from safe bet to safer bet? Am I a fighter with a glass chin and an iron heart who rises to any challenge that will better me? Am I that fighter’s trainer who will sacrifice a pawn to move bigger pieces ahead? Am I Canelo, a finally risen star with a reputation and business to protect? Am I the middleweight who sits out this fight for a super “drama show” the next time? Am I none of them? Who are you? You win for knowing.