I’ve always had a love for horses. I grew up riding them in Texas. Then while in college, I spent summers in central Florida teaching kids how to ride.

Watching any horse have to be “put down,” no matter how dire the situation, has usually always gotten the best of me because almost any horse I ever rode or cared for seemed to have a way of acting amazingly human.

On Monday, we heard that 2006 Kentucky Derby winner Barbaro was euthanized after a long battle to overcome several ailments following his bizarre injury in the Peakness. I felt like the 5-year-old I was when I was escorted away from a practice arena after watching a beautiful mare in a gentle canter tumble head over heels and suffer a broken foreleg. Fortunately the rider (a teen-aged girl, whose family attended our church) was not seriously injured and I was grateful for that, but I had a difficult time understanding why this graceful, full-of-life mare had to be “put down.” That term did not set well with me then and hasn’t really since.

But since my riding days as a small child, I have learned the necessity of having to do such. I remember the remarkable filly Ruffian suffering a severe leg injury in a celebrated 1975 match race with Foolish Pleasure and how she was put down just hours after the freak occurrence.

Of course, when I saw Barbaro pull up and watched jockey Edgar Prado quickly dismount during the opening sprint of the Preakness, I felt then and there that the horse was going to be gently transported to a Pimlico barn and euthanized that very day.

But that’s not how it was. Barbaro, being a truly amazing athlete, was immediately given the best care possible and hope remained, even through several other setbacks, that this animal could retain his dignity as a survivor.

But by Monday, the medical conditions working against his will became too much. Just like Ruffian, he was laid to rest having never lost a race.

Another tragedy has jolted the world of sports as I believe this was a very special horse, and by winning the Kentucky Derby in overwhelming fashion, he showed that he was among the elite of racing.

Sadly, Barbaro did not get to take it further. Who knows? Maybe he would have ultimately displayed the charisma of a Man O’ War, the heart of a Seabiscuit or the perfection of a Secretariat.

I’VE BEEN ASKED a lot over the past several days about who I like for the Super Bowl. What I really like about Sunday’s big game in Miami is that it involves two franchises who were critical in making the National Football League what it is today.

When I think of the Chicago Bears, the “Monsters of the Midway,” usually always comes to mind. It was a team formed in the 1920s that has always seemed to epitomize the “rough-and-tumble” blue-collar way so often associated with the early days of the Windy City. More Bears -- 26 players and coaches in all - have been enshrined in the Pro Football Hall of Fame than from any other team.

No matter how much longer the Colts remain in Indianapolis (forever, perhaps?), I’m certain the 30 seasons they spent in Baltimore will never be topped.

Butkus, Sayers Payton, Singletary and “The Fridge,” are just a few of the names many associate with the Bears.

Unitas, Ameche, Marchetti, Moore, Berry and Parker come to mind in recalling Colt history.

Since. I’ve always been such a lousy Super Bowl prognosticator, I’ll once again say that I hope it is a great game that won’t be decided until the final minute.

COLTS 32, BEARS 30 ... I feel I may have just put a jinx on the blue horseshoes.