From Tim Layden - SI.com



For journalists, Kentucky Derby chaos begins in earnest when the race ends. We watch the race from some less-than-ideal location (we are given sensational viewing spots on the balcony at the front of the press box, but it is nearly impossible to report quickly after the race from that perch, because of the crush of humanity between the sixth-floor balcony and racetrack-level winner's circle). Then we scramble to find quick and genuine reaction, before time dulls emotions.



I have viewed past Derbies on a tiny television in a small room off the entrance tunnel, on a slightly larger TV in the tunnel itself, on a big screen in the paddock. Last Saturday, I watched from a trackside railing across from the sixteenth pole, 100 yards short of the finish line, as Big Brown exploded at the head of the stretch. When he passed in front of me, the storyline was clear and singular: Super Horse. How quickly that changed.



I ducked under the outside rail and onto the track and began snagging quick comments. Winning trainer Rick Dutrow ran past and embraced friends en route to the televised trophy presentation on the infield. Another writer stopped me and said, "There's a horse down on the backside."



The next five minutes are a blur. I see veterinarian Dr. Larry Bramlage being interviewed by NBC's Kenny Rice. I don't know it then, but he's delivering the news that Eight Belles has been humanely destroyed. I hear this moments later from another source. Then I'm standing on the infield with four other writers, Pat Forde of ESPN.com, Steve Haskin of the Blood-Horse and Rick Bozich and Eric Crawford of the Lousiville Courier-Journal. Everybody looks a step off. When the Derby ends, you throw yourself into report-the-race mode. Now the story is unclear. Super Horse. Dead Horse. Two stories, intruding on each other.



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