Derby Day

It’s that time of year again when those who live in, are from, have spent time in or who feel some ethereal connection to Kentucky get all…twitterpated. There’s really no other way to describe the feeling that surrounds the most exciting two minutes in sport, THE Kentucky Derby. Aside from the beginning of University of Kentucky basketball season, Kentucky folk don’t get as excited about any sport as they do for their annual Run for the Roses. The spirit that surrounds the Derby (as it is affectionately known here-abouts) is as close as this part of the Bible Belt gets to a Pagan welcoming of summer. All of the wealthy folk don getups they will never put on again. Women wear hats for which the only explanation could be is homage to the growing season and the bounty that will spring forth come harvest. The common folk take the infield of the track to engage in acts that likely make Dionysus himself blush. As the race approaches the horses and their riders begin the glorious parade to the gates. The Jockey’s silks flash in the sun almost as intensely as the eyes and spirits of the well bred beasts they ride. Reporters and cameras hound them to the gates, trainers and owners watch nervously as their investments prepare to show their wares for the largest audience of the year. This one race means millions of dollars to the business of raising horses. By the time the horses are rattling the gates in the stands the stands, boxes and private party rooms, finely crafted, well aged Kentucky Bourbon fueled anticipation runs thicker than the blood lines that bind many of the thoroughbreds on the track. And then, and then… a bell, a roar, glory, roses and it’s over. There is talk of the elusive Triple Crown and all of us drunks who can’t afford a ticket party into the night, make resolutions and look ahead to a summer that can begin with Kentucky's blessing and its decadent and depraved welcoming ritual.