NEW YORK -- Bob Baffert knew he would cry over his third try for the Triple Crown.

He just didn't know exactly why and how much, whether it would be in celebration or in suffering. He found out when War Emblem buckled to his knees bolting from the gate in Saturday's Belmont Stakes, got sand kicked in his face, and lost a chance to make history in the first few strides.

Bob Baffert falls short in another attempt to win the Triple Crown. (AP)

"This hurt," he said. "From the start, I knew we were doomed. It was gut-wrenching to watch. ... It's a tough loss because I really expected this horse to do it."

Along with a record crowd of 103,222 that made War Emblem a 6-5 favorite, Baffert had to endure a race that his horse never really had a chance to win, even with a courageous effort.

For a few moments, War Emblem looked as if he might overcome his early stumble. He charged up from ninth in the field of 11 to third at the first quarter-mile, then slipped to second at the mile pole. But the effort exhausted him. He got boxed in and had nothing left to break through again.

When War Emblem straggled home eighth under Victor Espinoza, nearly 31 lengths behind 70-1 shot Sarava, Baffert was just relieved that his horse didn't look injured.

"Victor did the best he could," Baffert said. "If I had a walkie-talkie, I'd have told him to just pull him up right there. I didn't want him running a mile and a half like that."

Baffert isn't the most beloved of trainers in racing. He's a bit too brash for some of his peers, a little too cocky. Maybe it's his wisecracks, maybe it's his Hollywood-star image in those sunglasses and his raffish white hair. But if they don't love him and are happy to beat him, they have to respect him.

No trainer had ever lost the Belmont three times with horses that had won the Kentucky Derby and Preakness. It is the kind of dubious distinction that Marv Levy, coach of the four-time Super Bowl-losing Buffalo Bills, could appreciate. An exquisite, excruciating tease.

Then again, there's far more pride in getting into position to win a Triple Crown or a Super Bowl than there is shame in losing either one. Baffert didn't even have this horse two months ago, but he saw in War Emblem a lanky black colt that had potential and was worth a $900,000 investment by the Saudi prince for whom Baffert worked.

Whether it was the peppermints and carrots that Baffert's fiancee, Jill Moss, gave War Emblem to make him less ornery, or anything else Baffert did to calm him down and get his attention, he found a way to turn him into a Kentucky Derby and Preakness champion.

And that set Baffert up for the grand fall.

Baffert's Real Quiet lost by a nose in 1998. His Silver Charm came up a few strides short the year before. War Emblem barely challenged.

The full-throated roar of the largest crowd in the history of New York racing turned into a gasp and then a long, sad moan as War Emblem faded. Everyone had come for a party, a date with history -- the first Triple Crown winner since Affirmed in 1978.

Plenty of fans bet $2 on War Emblem, not for the money they could win, but for a winning ticket that would become a cherished souvenir. Suddenly, those tickets became worthless scraps of paper, tossed aside in a dash for the exits.

"I feel empty," Baffert said. "I feel I let the fans down. The fans didn't get a chance to see the real War Emblem. That's just bad racing luck."

Baffert kept saying that the Triple Crown is about the horse, not the trainer, the jockey or the owner. In that he's right. The world knows Secretariat and Seattle Slew. Only racing aficionados remember who saddled them, rode them or profited from them.

But Baffert desperately wanted the distinction of being a Triple Crown trainer, the first since Laz Barrera guided Affirmed through the journey.

"I want to do it," Baffert said, his voice cracking again. "But it's tough."

Baffert paused a moment, trying to think of a joke, as always.

"Next time I win the Derby," he said, "I'm heading home."