(CHICAGO, IL – November 17, 2008) This past Saturday, Jess Jackson confirmed what everyone expected. Curlin, the 2007 Horse of the Year, would be leaving the racetrack. He would retire as the first star of the sport in over a decade to remain in competition past his 3-year-old year.

The handsome chestnut son of Smart Strike, soon to become a 5-year-old, will begin the routine of servicing mares at one of Kentucky’s brand name stud farms. In addition, Jackson indicated that Stonestreet Farms, where the California wine maker has 20 mares awaiting fermentation, was a possible future domicile for his star.

“I really am eager to see his colts and fillies race and see what he produces,” said Jackson, who earlier this week submitted a sealed bid to the court for the 20 percent ownership in Curlin that was left vacant by a judgment against former partners. Technically, Curlin raced the second half of his career as the part property of a “court-appointed receiver.” The circumstances of his connections never worked to the champion’s advantage.

Jackson came to be majority owner the way many owners latch on to a top runner – by buying into it. Prior to February 2007, the Midnight Cry Stables of prison mates William Gallion and Shirley Cunningham, Jr., who were then free and awaiting a court date, owned the colt entirely. As a matter of fact, it was Cunningham who named Curlin after his great, great grandfather. Charles Curlin was a slave that fought in the Civil War for the Confederate forces.

Midnight Cry’s find didn’t race as a 2-year-old. But he broke his maiden at Gulfstream Park at first asking, prompting Jackson to assemble a group that paid the stable $3.5 million for an 80 percent interest. The purchasing group included Florida software developer Satish Sanan’s Padua Stables and George Bolton, an investment banker from San Francisco. For a brief time, the way these men selected whose silks the horse would race in was an amusement. But just for a brief time.

With four sets of owners, “musical silks” was their process. Curlin’s jockey wore different colors in the colt’s maiden win, in his follow-up Rebel Stakes victory, in his Arkansas Derby triumph and in the Kentucky Derby. But, then, step by step, the partnership disintegrated and Jackson’s gold and maroon silks became vogue. When Gallion and Cunningham went to jail for defrauding their clients, the court ordered that their share in the colt belonged to the 400 people they cheated. Coincidentally, Jackson bought Sanan and Bolton out; sidereal expectations notwithstanding.

None of these ownership upheavals, by the way, played well in the public forum. Curlin, in effect, became trainer Steve Asmussen’s horse. After his Breeders’ Cup Classic victory, there were no cuddly characters to embrace him. Jackson, the sole survivor with ownership papers, was persona non gratis in many places. The events created a situation that was void of a charismatic personality.

Except for Big Brown, it is difficult to recall any other recent equine hero that wasn’t connected to people who fascinated the public. The true crowd pleasers of the last decade were Smarty Jones and Funny Cide. Smarty Jones, a Rocky Balboa speedball with a catchy name, was owned by a Philadelphia Ford dealer in a wheel chair, and the public related to his modest upbringing. Likewise, Funny Cide owed his fashion to external forces. It’s hard to tell if the Sackatoga Stable boys were blue-collar or marketing-savvy. But in personifying small-town America like hayseeds, they became stars on the level of the Partridges, and so did their New York-bred gelding.

Big Brown caused crowds to gather for his races despite a general disdain for his exaggerative owner and loud-mouthed trainer as well as a grudging acceptance of his charm-challenged jockey. He boosted attendance in New Jersey for a meaningless turf stakes and drew 100,000 fans in 90-degree heat on Belmont Stakes day. Undoubtedly, he would have filled those empty $200 seats at Santa Anita on Breeders’ Cup Saturday, had the opportunity presented itself.

On the other hand, Curlin, drew headlines. His failure to mature quickly probably caused him to fall short in America’s only significant race, thereby blunting his stature. His defeat by a filly turned his brief Preakness spotlight in an opposite direction. He became the ultimate Eclipse Award champion under the worst of conditions, flashing by horses that couldn’t handle the muck and one that died trying. Ironically, through this all, he was best of the best. His class was unusually strong.

Curlin caught on because of accomplishment, instead of charisma. A lot of the credit for this development, of course, adduces to Dubai. When the Horse of the Year traveled 6000 miles to win a race against the world’s best competition for a prize of $6 million, he demanded admiration and got it. Topping the $10 million earnings mark in the Jockey Club Gold Cup, he earned legendary status.

In the end, when the horse finished fourth in his finale, the crowd cheered him more than the winner – a bona fide international star that can put more on his resume for his Breeders’ Cup Classic victory than Curlin can. Raven’s Pass traveled from the cool climes of England to win in the heat of Santa Anita on a surface he never faced before and at a distance that was supposed to be beyond his lineage. The applause into which Robby Albarado rode after the Classic proves that stardom is, if nothing else, unscripted.

Granted, Curlin’s adoring Breeders’ Cup crowd was a sport-knowledgeable assemblage, and that mattered. But grant this rare, all-time great full acknowledgment, despite the lack of Main Street’s recognition. Those enabled to segregate substance from style are sure to miss him.