This blog is ordinarily about bookish things, but I feel compelled
to stick my neck out and tell you who is going to win the Kentucky Derby
tomorrow. You may or may not know, that American Pharoah is the favorite,
followed closely by undefeated Dortmund. And although I like both these colts,
I don’t believe they will wear the roses. I believe that honor will go to the
son of Line of David, Firing Line, with a strong finish when all others are
You heard it here first, so call your bookie. See what I did there? Brought it back to
something bookish after all.
And some thoughts more lyrical about... The Ghosts of Derbies Past
I confess I love a spectacle. One of my favorites takes
place the first Saturday in May at Churchill Downs in Louisville: The Kentucky
I suppose to very grave souls it may seem rather frivolous.
After all, these are troubled times. But to my way of thinking at least, a bit
of spectacle now and then is more than just an escape, it is a reminder that
all is not lost. A little frivolity won't kill us.
Indeed it may be just what's needed.
So I intend to enjoy the 141st running of the Kentucky Derby without a hint of shame. I will take in as much coverage as the
network offers. Being only a slightly grave soul myself I may roll my eyes a
bit at the garish hats and the opulence of Millionaire's Row. I will wonder
once again, just what a Mint Julep tastes like, but won’t imbibe until I do it
proper at Churchill Downs. More to my liking will be the lesser races of the
day. I love the beautiful beasts; I delight in their fanciful names, and I
exult in every human interest story of the jockey, trainer, and owner.
Throughout the day, I'll make notes as the announcers and
experts analyze the main event. My mind is nearly made up where my wager will
go, but until the post, there's always the chance some tidbit of information
may change my mind; mine and thousands more. There will be studious
handicappers, with PPs and Daily Racing Forms, who care not of human interest.
There will be the novice and movie star that like a colt’s name, or the
jockey's silks, or lucky number 7. Me, I’m too analytical to be swayed by
sentiment, but still, I'm looking for that something unknown.
Late in the day, the trumpeter will announce the champions
arrival, and the din will begin to mount as the crowd sings My Old Kentucky
Home. And then a few interminable minutes, a few last horseback interviews,
until…"They're in the gate."
Followed shortly by…"And they’re off!"
It's all part of the spectacle.
The Colonel would be so proud.
But the real spectacle will last barely two minutes, unless
we are truly privileged. Then it will last a fraction of a second less. The
crowd will cheer from wire to wire, some in agony, some in exultation, most
prematurely, but all with hearts pounding.
But I wonder if there is not another crowd that watches
unseen, just as nervously. Are there not, in some celestial pastures sires
and dams, and grand sires, and great grand sires who stamp and champ and watch?
Shortly after the race, the talk of a triple crown will begin, but the three
equine Kings, the Byerly Turk and the Arabians Darley and Godolphin, so rarely
share their crowns. Time will tell. Do the princes watch? Does Seattle Slew
agonize over his progeny? Does Affirmed have a favorite? Do all hush their
neighs just a bit when Secretariat arrives? Does he watch with feigned
disinterest, but secretly hoping his record will hold yet another year?
My prediction: when it’s over, he will leave head high, a bit
aloof, and still the champ.