Short But Oh-So-Sweet: Quarter Horse Racing RULES

The universe theoretically began with the Big Bang—a sudden cataclysmic explosion of supreme cosmic significance. Magnificent!

The comet flashes across the night sky, then vanishes. Voila!

The homerun only takes a few sublime moments to electrify the crowd. Ole!

Hooray for the short but sweet. Hooray for the brief moments of glory. By definition, ecstasy´s short-lived. Just ask a melancholy Don Juan.

If you´ve never witnessed a Quarter Horse race—close up, mind you—you haven´t lived.

Weren´t you transfixed by Usain Bolt´s blaze to glory in the Olympic´s 100-yard dash?

Wouldn´t you rather watch an athlete going full blast from start to finish than one carefully reserving his energy? Don´t you expect the Indy Car driver to floor it down the straightaway?

Imagine dynamite—attached to a short fuse. That´s Quarter Horse racing.

Imagine an equine version of top-fuel dragsters. That´s Quarter Horse racing.

Quarter Horse racing is like an Emily Dickinson poem—full of compressed intensity, subtle drama.

Quarter Horse racing is not the three-act play with rising action, a climax, and falling action. It violates dramatic structure, rebels against conventions. It is the unexpected touchdown pass, the unforeseen slam dunk.

Poor Usain Bolt.

He can motor, but the American Quarter Horse, a superb athlete, would leave him in the dust. Not even close. Never ever a doubt. The equine Ferraris would wipe the smirk off his face.

These animals would not tolerate being hobbled by gruesome straps around their legs, like Standardbreds in harness racing. They would not allow themselves to be restrained or rated, like Thoroughbreds. And they don't need fake prey to make them run fast.

Running free. Running fast. Throwing caution to the wind. Competing against each other.

This diamond-like purity of purpose and execution makes Quarter Horse racing a very special sport.