Man o'War won 20 of 21 races in his brilliant career but it is his lone defeat that has become his most famous race. The Sanford Stakes, set for its 95th renewal today, was where "Big Red" lost to Upset 90 years ago.
 
The following purple prose  eulogizing Man o'War is from the 1948 American Racing Manual. (I have over 50 volumes of the American Racing Manual on my bookshelf).

                The death of Man o’War on November 1, 1947, at Faraway Farm, Lexington, Ky. at the age of 30 marked the end of an era in American turf and breeding history. The truly great thoroughbred was bred by the late Major August Belmont and was foaled at the latter’s Nursery Stud in the Blue Grass March 29, 1917. The following year he was sold as a yearling to Samuel D. Riddle at Saratoga Springs for $5,000.

                For a quarter of a century Man o’War, in the word of the famous quotation, may be said to have bestridden our thoroughbred world like a colossus. His majestic form, towering high above those of all other living horses, dominated the landscape, much as did the gigantic bronze statue of Apollo at ancient Rhodes, which could be seen , from every direction, long before anything else upon the island had risen out of the deep  to greet the searching eye. Among the Seven Wonders of the World, as it then existed, it was reckoned in many ways the most wonderful.

                So with Man o’War among the thoroughbreds of this century.

                There was something approaching awe in the tones, and the words, applied to him. Even the most ribald and cynical involuntarily, when he came under discussion, adhered to this custom. It was as if either they, too, has succumbed to the feelings of respect and reverence which he universally inspired, or else felt it wise to conform lest they be regarded as too contemptible to make their utterances worthy of a hearing.

                The performance of the son of Fair Play and Mahubah are an oft-told tale and need not here be rehearsed. Suffice it to say that taken in their entirety, not alone in the sum of their results but the manner in which they were accomplished, they defied comparison.

                The old-time fable tells us of a mighty king, who, in order that his power should not too greatly intoxicate him, kept behind his throne a slave whose duty it was, thrice daily, to step forward and whisper in his ear: “Remember that thou, too, art mortal!”

                Similarly, while a true “superhorse” if ever one existed, Man o’War was subject to the freaks and shafts of fate. It was his fortune upon one memorable occasion to taste defeat. That this was an utterly false race is by everybody conceded. But there it stands, a part of the record that cannot be expunged. So he cannot claim the unbeaten certificate of an Ormonde or a St. Simon. Nevertheless he was in effect unbeatable.

                His achievements at stud showed that over a period of 25 seasons (1924 to 1946, inclusive) his get had won a total of 172 officially recognized stake events, not including numerous ones of importance given at hunt and steeplechase meetings.

                This is without parallel in breeding history, here or abroad. No other progenitor, no matter how great or famous, can show its equal. Its quality and character are greatly enhanced by the fact that throughout his entire stud career he was strictly limited to but 25 mares per season. He was also a private stallion, outside mares being mated to him only as a special favor by consent of his owner.

                Had he, like most renowned stallions, been a public sire, serving 40 or more mares per season and receiving to his embrace – a would assuredly have been the case – the cream of America’s matrons, regardless of ownership, his showing, wonderful as it is, must inevitably have been far greater.

                 The galaxy of stars which he sent out included horses of every age, sex, and species of performance. They covered the entire range of effort that the turf provides, from sensational two-year-olds to great all-age stake and handicap winners, and from animals with breathless speed to those which were invincible over the longest routes.

                They have shown the most magnificent class over timber; while over the tanbark their individualities have brought them the blue upon innumerable occasions in the most aristocratic competition. And here, in particular, is one phase of Man o’War that stands out in bold relief. No other of the world’s so-called superhorses – neither Ormonde nor St. Simon, Gladiateur nor Carbine, Sardanapale, Phar Lap nor Gloaming, in modern times, or on back all the way to Eclipse, Herod and Matchem – possessed such a majestic frame or presented to the world so magnificent a front. No other so completely “looked the part,” or, simply in his own personality, enacted it so regally.

                Standing before Man o’War, persons of all ranks, classes, colors, sexes and ages, as well as pursuits, professions and persuasions, instinctively felt this and deferred to it.

                There was that indescribable something about him that compelled homage – and received it – as naturally as instinctively as some great wonder of nature.

                Voices were lowered, hats came off, exaltation and emotional upsurge made themselves felt when he was led out. He was gazed at with the feeling inspired by a Washington or Napoleon among human kind. Children were bidden to remember that they had seen him and tell the tale to their children in the years to come.

                All of these statements are absolute statements of fact. They are simple truths, unembellished, unexaggerated, subject to no deflation. And scores of thousands of persons will so testify.

                The mere presence among us of such an animal is inestimable. It cannot be measured or evaluated in any common terms. It creates an atmosphere, it generates a feeling, which cannot be described, but is universally understood and for which we give thanks as for some unique and priceless gift that glorifies its time and place and that, when in the course of nature, its mission fulfilled, its work accomplished, it is removed from among us, leaves a void that never will be filled, a memory which, in Shakespeare’s phrase, will outlive the marbles and the gilded monuments of princes and of kings.