Permanently perfect: The transcendent power of Black Caviar

On Saturday we bid farewell to a figure of folklore and legend.

And experienced anew the transcendent power of Black Caviar.

Her passing led every news service and stirred the phenomenon that lit our sporting imaginations.

What was it about Black Caviar?

The qualities were three-fold.

The first was raw speed. Which goes to the very purpose of racing – be it horses or humans, bikes or cars – to find the fastest.

Black Caviar proved herself to be the fastest of them all.

The second was invincibility – long thought fleeting in sport. Yet made to be enduring and ultimately permanent in this case.

The third was the intangible. Black Caviar captured the collective heart and mind of the people – from the hard-bitten punters in the soulless TABs to the racing agnostics. We were given an emotional stake whenever she raced.

Could she defy the one inescapable truism of sport… they all get beaten.

She became the touchstone by which we came to measure sporting success.

Think back to the two iconic gold medals from the London Olympic Games. Anna Meares' family draped a banner over the barricades of the velodrome that read “Black Caviar on Wheels”.

And Sally Pearson had long since been handed the moniker befitting the fastest Australian on two legs - Blonde Caviar.

So there is more to the story than the chalk outline of the most glorious statistic in the history of the Australian turf - 25 starts for 25 wins.

Pick any day down the Flemington straight. For this was Black Caviar’s playground.

The first day when a baby-faced teenager (Jarrad Noske) from Western Australia wore the silks for the first time. He asked of his new master what to do. Peter Moody replied ‘hang on’.

The historic run to history at the climax of the Newmarket Handicap as the wave of applause carried Black Caviar into folklore.

The sub-10 second 200-metre sectional in the Lightning Stakes battle with Hay List. The likes of which had never been registered before.

On the rise at Randwick when all associated felt the proverbial blow to the stomach as Hay List shot five lengths clear before the exhilaration of the most concentrated burst of her career.

In a suffocating hotel room in Brisbane as Moody felt the walls closing in from the world outside that he had created for the homecoming for a country Queenslander and his great horse. So intense was the feeling, the trainer coveted defeat as a release valve. For as long as it took to see the look on his wife’s face at the thought.

At Caulfield on C.F. Orr Stakes Day when racing was transported half a century back in time as the stands filled in February not for eight races, but for one horse.

To Morphettville where the 'House Full' signs had been dusted off and a grateful public raided the merchandise stands like teenagers at a rock concert buying t-shirts, ties and caps. No one ever paused to ask is salmon was really my colour.

Behind the gates of Abington Place at Newmarket. So far from home. So close to the culmination of her career. Black Caviar was coming apart.

Assistant trainer Tony Haydon worked with everything from the most sophisticated laser equipment to buckets of ice tending to an active suspensory ligament, an aching quadriceps and bad feet.

Moody diagnosed her as “dead set rooted” but backed her great capacity to run through the pain barrier. As he walked her onto the most famous racetrack in the world he slapped her fondly down the shoulder and offered “you’ve done us proud old girl, now come back in one piece”.

In the saddle Luke Nolen knew none of this. He felt things weren’t right. It was an uneasy ride. As they got past Soul, Nolen assessed she had just done enough, though it had been a struggle. Then he saw out of the corner of his left eye a charging French filly and estimated the post was just a fraction too far off. Half a world away in the dead of night a nation held its breath as they lunged for the line.

And finally the audience with the Queen – the ultimate commendation for gallantry. Black Caviar took a step forward toward her Majesty and lowered her head. The Queen patted her with a gloved hand. Royal observers noted it had never happened before.

All who witnessed it remembered it the same way. Moody’s explanation was less misty eyed. They asked Black Caviar to take one more step and she nearly collapsed. “I thought she was going to lay down, she was that tired, and put her head in the Queen’s lap”.

Against all expectation she made it back. And like the greats, Dame Nelly soared in encore.

And when it ended, 10,000 people came to say goodbye and thank you. From the Premier of the state to the faithful strapper, people openly wept.

As the most captivating sight in sport as Black Caviar lowered and lengthened into her annihilating stride was consigned to memory, to archive, to folklore. Permanently perfect.

The horse that could not be beaten.

Vale, Black Caviar.