Poor Man's Derby

I think William C. Rhoden is right: the outpouring of grief for Barbaro is a little bit much considering that less valuable track horses get euthanized every day without the American public batting an eyelid. In consideration of that injustice, I’m not going to be sending Barbaro a get well soon card. But I would like to dedicate to him this post about my trip to Louisvile for the Derby, which will hopefully remind him of happier days when he reads it on his laptop.

Barbaro, the line between Triple Crown stud and shot in the head trackside is disturbingly thin. Thank you for reminding me to live my life to the fullest...

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I went down to Louisville for my first Derby Day this year. I didn't have a grandstand seat, so I ended up with 40,000 other low rollers in the infield. When the bugle called, I and everyone else in the infield, ignored the glares of the early risers who’d marked territory with tarps and lawn chairs, and pressed my way to the fence to watch the horses blur past. It’s hard to make sense of the racing unless you can see the video screens on the straight-aways.

Luckily, if you’re in the infield chances are good that you aren’t at Churchill Downs to make sense of anything. You are in the infield to get fucked up and look for titties. Thus, nine dollar Mint Juleps are an obstacle. Coolers and bottles are contraband, but take note; this is no place for suckers.

If you like your early afternoon bourbon hot, pour it in a zip lock bag and tape it to a pretty girls thigh. Or inject it into a watermelon and freeze it. If you like blue grass, roll your jay in saran wrap and stash it in your peanut butter sandwich.

My bourbon connections unloaded under a tree next to a man in wrap around Blu-Blockers who seemed mostly interested in scanning the bathroom line for women in bikini’s so he could yell, “Hey bikini girl, what’s wrong with you?” Hey bikini girl, what is wrong with you?

Even if you don’t have pockets deep enough to climb the social ladder and buy a $200 dollar seat in the grandstand, you can still mix with the linen and cigar crowd. General admission includes the right to a close look at the horses in the paddock. Make sure your horse looks live. Or be pleasantly surprised by how good women look in sundresses and silly hats.

* Thanks to everyone at the Douglas Mansion for their hospitality.



Behind the wagering window



Living larger than me.



If you live next to Churchill Downs, your front yard is prime real estate on Derby Day. Parking ran $20 for compacts, probably more for limos.



Don't you need some kind of certificate for this?