What was the biggest sporting event of the weekend? Definitely the REAL Kentucky Derby, and I've got the first-hand account to prove it.
The saga began at 1:30 p.m. on Thursday afternoon with a 920-mile, 16-hour journey from Hanover to Louisville, Ky. You read right -- 16 hours of road-tripping across Vermont, upstate New York, all the way through Ohio and on to Kentucky.
After recharging on Friday, our group headed down to the track on Saturday for Derby. Churchill Downs is divided up into two crowds. The first group is comprised of the people in the grandstands overlooking the finish line of the racetrack, where you'll find men in sharp suits and women in big, fancy hats.
In stark contrast to the first group is the infield crowd. The infield is home to thousands of rowdy patrons who might be wearing anything from the aforementioned suits and hats, to just a pair of shorts and an undershirt. I saw a game of limbo run by two guys wearing presidential masks, and one girl in just a bikini covered in mud. Seating is not reserved, but is first-come, first-serve. The police and military police (who knew?) were everywhere. We saw some things that shouldn't be repeated in print. No pageantry -- it's a giant party.
Naturally, being college kids, we turned to the infield as our destination for the 135th running of the Derby. The big race that we're all used to watching on TV was actually the 11th race out of 13 that ran all throughout the afternoon. You can bet on any of those races if you want, but pretty much everyone in my group focused their efforts in the horses in the main event.
I had a few things to consider while I waited in line to throw down my hard-earned money on some thoroughbreds that I've never seen in my life. What are the odds? What are the lane positions? What are the track conditions? What are the experts saying? Will the mint julep I've been drinking affect any rational thought processes I should be using in betting?
When it came down to the moment of truth, I bet 10 bucks on Friesen Fire, the No. 6 horse with 7-2 odds. I didn't want to go with the dead-on favorite, (what's the fun in that?) and I had heard that Friesen did well on muddy tracks.
I settled into our tent in the infield while I waited for the 6:24 p.m. post time. In the interim I witnessed the gauntlet run across the roofs of the port-o-potties, a great infield tradition. The goal here is for a lucky athlete (usually under the influence) to climb up on top of the bathrooms and sprint across it while the people below throw whatever they can find at the said runner. It usually ends with the runner falling to the ground, or the cops escorting the runner off the premise.
Finally post time rolled around, and I went toward the fence to watch the horses make the third turn (the spot also had a great view of the Jumbotron.) People crammed in, some sitting on others' shoulders, to see if their horse would make them proud (and rich).
Although my mind was a bit fuzzy, right from the start I saw that Friesan Fire was not doing well. I could only keep my fingers crossed that he would make a strong kick at the end (he didn't, and finished second to last). To everyone's surprise, 50-1 Mine That Bird took the race down the stretch. My dad, who asked me to place a bet for him, texted me shortly after the finish: "50-1! How come you didn't make that bet ... #6 finished 18th. Keep your day job."
Probably not a bad call.
