Prospect, Kentucky (May 9, 2009) -- The phone call from New York came last Thursday around the time that the sixth race was ready to go off.
The press pass for the 135th running of the Kentucky Derby was waiting on the sixth floor.
Travis and I left our table immediately.
An editor in the photo department of TIME magazine, Travis had convinced one of the people at his office that since he was at the Derby he might as well get a pass and take some photos. I mean, what if there's riots, right?
Once in the press office, Travis got his pass quickly and then was slick enough to ask for one more for his assistant who had the job of carrying a tripod for a large old camera that uses huge negatives.
My pass arrived shortly thereafter, but I was missing the cool little lapel button that Travis got. "Yeah, I'm gonna need one of those buttons, too," I said. Gotta look the part, that's rule one.
And that's how we managed to treat Churchill Downs as our gigantic oyster filled with pearls. Strange pearls in various stages of sobriety.
“Just pretend you’re visiting a huge outdoor loony bin." -- Hunter S. Thompson on the Kentucky Derby.
Our main perch on Derby Day for monitoring the crazies was on the roof of the little pagoda that sits in front of the rose-encircled winner's circle. From this area on the roof you could, to the front, look up at the well-dressed drunken attendees. To our back was the infield, an area of anarchy filled with the, let's say casually dressed, drunken attendees.
On this roof is where Tavis and I found ourselves when the boozy crowd sang "My Old Kentucky Home," the state's song. We had been drinking all day by this point and my search for a cold Budweiser was a failure as the only thing out there was water. That was probably a good thing.
"What's the correct title I should use -- Mr Governor?" I said to the governor of Kentucky.
"How 'bout Steve?" he replied with a laugh. He was up there with us watching the scene.
My notebook from the weekend is mangled and bent. The last page reads "Gov. is up here. Steve Beshear, gov. of Ky. 8,16,2,7."
Those last numbers tell the story of horse that went off at 50-1, a horse I saw fly by us at the start. He was easy to spot because he was in last place. The next time I saw Mine that Bird, he was storming to the finish line in first place. "An impossible upset," the commentator screams.
Hardly anyone thought this horse had a chance and so very few people won any money. Stories about people getting crapped on by birds and then going and betting on him are quite common. One guy we know put $100 to win on the Derby winner because a bird dropped a load on him. He won about $5,000.
That's Derby for you, kind of pure and simple. Logic plays a minor role and luck reigns supreme.
Take care,
Brett
