I had to watch the replay on Sunday to see Journalism win the Preakness. The horse was well behind for most of the race. At the top of the stretch a clump of horses hemmed him in.

When he began to accelerate, a colt named Goal Oriented blocked him. There was a tussle, a bump, and then Journalism was free, streaking toward the frontrunner, Gosger. There seemed no way that Journalism could make up the difference before the finish line after the jostling he’d just endured. But somehow, he did.

He moved like the great ones did, with seemingly supernatural power, as if distances were meant to be gobbled up, as if he was born to run on this track, at Pimlico, in the last race before it closes for more than a year of renovation.

“Journalism has won the Preakness Stakes in a performance like you read about,” the announcer shouted, hoarse from calling the race. Later, he said, “A remarkable recovery by Journalism” and “Journalism has its day.”

It’s hard not to see a metaphor in all of this.