Sourpusses argue that a racehorse, even one as grand as Smarty Jones, is not an athlete.

They say that it (not a he or a she) does not aspire to be a champion, does not consciously train to win and break records.

A racehorse, not being human, therefore lacks the essential qualities of the athlete to achieve something noble of body and spirit. All the beast does is carry out its genetic imperative: It is bred and born to run.

A more felicitous view of the way most people see Smarty Jones is that this is one heck of an athlete by any measure, and a better one than many of the human varieties.

Neither greedy nor arrogant, Smarty Jones has a more endearing personality than a lot of NBA, NFL and baseball players. He -- let us at least give him a friendly pronoun -- doesn't mouth off with stupid opinions, draw attention to himself with staged celebrations, and commit assaults or other crimes.

He displays a sense of the moment, coming up big in the Kentucky Derby and Preakness and preparing now for the Belmont Stakes on Saturday. Ears pricked up, eyes alert, he plays to the crowd. He wins in slop or on dry ground, from the rail or on the outside.

The world loves Smarty Jones for all the reasons people have always embraced certain champions more than others:

-- His story has the great mythic quality of overcoming obstacles -- his own brush with death and the murder of his first trainer.

-- He is pursuing perfection -- 8-0 and trying to become only the second undefeated Triple Crown winner in history. Seattle Slew did it in 1977 and no horse has won racing's three jewels, even with a loss along the way, since Affirmed in 1978.

-- He has the look of an underdog, a red chestnut colt smaller than his rivals, but possesses a regal bearing.

-- He inspires awe. His record 11{-length victory in the Preakness was reminiscent of Secretariat's 31-length rout in the 1973 Belmont.

In picking The Associated Press top 100 athletes of the 20th century as the year 2000 approached, several voters left off Secretariat simply because he was a horse. It was a blatant case of equine discrimination, but Big Red, arguably the greatest Thoroughbred in history, still got enough support to be ranked No. 81.

(The jockey Willie Shoemaker was No. 80 and the modern iron man of baseball, Cal Ripken Jr., was No. 82. The top five were Babe Ruth, Michael Jordan, Jim Thorpe, Muhammad Ali and Wayne Gretzky.)

Man O' War, Seabiscuit, Seattle Slew -- all beloved champions -- got a smattering of votes but didn't make the final cut.

Maybe voters 95 years from now will feel the same reluctance to rank horses among human athletes. But if Smarty Jones captures the Belmont in a manner similar to the way he did the Preakness, chances are that more than a few will cast ballots for him.

This is a horse that has a chance to transcend his sport, as Seabiscuit and Secretariat did for different reasons, and bring it a desperately needed infusion of fans.

Seabiscuit, as recounted in Laura Hillenbrand's best seller and the hit movie it inspired, captured the American imagination by enduring "a remarkable run of bad fortune, conspiracy, and injury" during the late years of the Depression from 1936 to 1940. She called him "one of history's most extraordinary athletes," but, of course, she was biased.

Secretariat was another sort of animal altogether, a majestic colt with an oversized heart, figuratively and literally. He was so beautiful to watch in full, muscle-rippling gallop that some fans by the rail wept with joy as he crossed the finish line at the Belmont, winning by what seemed the length of a football field.

It was one of the most breathtaking moments anyone had ever seen in sports. There, truly, was a phenomenal athlete, but, of course, I'm biased.

Children and adults wrote letters to both of those horses -- and to Seattle Slew, too -- as if they could read them and respond. It was a way to reach out to greatness. Long after the races were done, fans made pilgrimages to see them.

It's happening again with Smarty Jones, bundles of letters arriving each day from all over the country. Young and old, the fans write about their love of this colt and tell how much he means to them.

Smarty Jones' trainer, John Servis, was especially moved by an e-mail from an 11-year-old Florida boy born with a rare skeletal muscle condition. The boy, Beach Cutler, breathes through a ventilator and receives food and liquids through a button attached to his stomach.

"I watched you win the Kentucky Derby and Preakness, and I think you will win the Belmont, too," the boy wrote. "I am so excited. You have inspired me to run like a racehorse while walking with my physical therapist. And when I walk in the pool with my mom, my nurse times me when I'm pretending to race. I even whinny like a horse. You've lifted my spirits."

The sourpusses may go on insisting that Smarty Jones is no athlete, but there are darn few humans out there in sports these days lifting spirits like this intrepid little colt.