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My all-time SI lineup is Frank Deford, Mark Kram, Franz Lidz, Richard Hoffer, Leigh Montville, Rick Reilly, Gary Smith and S.L.

When my first book was excerpted in its pages on March 23, 2003, it was one of the best days of my life. From the age of 8, I have been a faithful reader of SI. Looking back on those days, there were many torn tickets, hurled programs, broken dates and heartbreaking photo finishes. At least the beer was always cold.īack then, whenever I saw Nack’s byline in Sports Illustrated, I knew what followed would be special, maybe even monumental. I was chasing what then seemed to be a mid-sized fortune, a cashed trifecta ticket that’d pay a few hundred bucks. In a manic manner with a few equally manic pals, I blew too many paychecks and sun-washed weekend afternoons at Gulfstream Park and Calder Race Course, pushing the few dollars I had through tellers’ betting windows. Back then, I was a weekend horseplayer or, more precisely, a fool that the horses usually played. William Nack’s remarkable story affirmed not only my career choice but also, at the time, my favorite hobby. And I wanted to spend the rest of my life trying. After reading that opening paragraph-and the entire piece, “ Pure Heart,” published in the June 4, 1990, edition of Sports Illustrated-I knew two things: I’d never in my life write anything that spectacular. All of the horse’s vital organs were normal in size except for the heart. Thomas Swerczek, a professor of veterinary science at the University of Kentucky, performed the necropsy. His body was trucked immediately to Lexington, Kentucky, where Dr. ….Forty-five seconds later there was a crash as the stallion collapsed.

At the time, I was a 25-year-old reporter doing grunt work for little pay in the Broward bureau of the Miami Herald, writing about fires, Medicare scams and city commission meetings. Just before noon the horse was led haltingly into a van next to the stallion barn, and there a concentrated barbiturate was injected into his jugular….Īnd I still remember how I felt as I read the words-exhilarated and chastened. I still remember where I was-sitting in a dive bar in Fort Lauderdale, Fla., trying to tune out the noise from the beach bums and a jukebox blaring Madonna and the Bangles-when I read these words: