Saturday morning, before American Pharoah’s attempt at the Triple Crown, I wrote that it felt like I was walking into a sixth grade dance, wishing for a kiss but waiting to be brushed aside by the likes of Amy, Kate and Carolyn (disappointing that none of the three responded, they’re obviously not reading the website). Then Saturday afternoon, the kiss finally came. A crescendo of release, 37 years in the making. It was nothing I had ever experienced in sport, or in life. I wrote a feature for Mid-Atlantic Thoroughbred, finally finishing it Thursday morning. Joe wrote his essay. Is there anything more to say? I’ll try later today. Or tomorrow.