It's Derby time once again. The best weekend of the year (besides the opening weekend of March Madness-- but it's close.) After going the last three years, this year was the first year that the thought of not going crept into my head. Then in February I saw some NBC sports commercial that showed about a three-second clip of the Derby, and right then I knew there was no way I was going to skip it this year. It's just too much fun. (I also realized, when I added the above picture right before I posted this, that a simple google image search of Churchill Downs would also ensure that I attended the Derby. Just looking at that picture gives me a mild case of the R.L. Stines.) I think it's safe to say I will be in attendance every year until something stops me....marriage; kids; a freeze on my bank accounts due to gambling debts; being called on to lead a team of roughneck oil drillers on an emergency NASA mission to insert and detonate a nuclear bomb into an incoming asteroid.....you get the idea.
Based upon my three years of experience (I'm practically a Derby vet now- where's my pension?) here are the different types of people you will see at the Kentucky Derby.
Type #1: Douchebags
In the interest of full disclosure, let's just start off with the category that I reside in. These guys love that breast cancer awareness is in effect on Friday, since it gives them an excuse to wear pink. They sneak booze onto the grounds not because they can't afford to buy it there, but because it gives them a thrill. They either know a) next to nothing about horse racing and just throw money around blindly; or b) know an annoying amount, and any time they overhear a stranger musing about the next race, they decide to jump in and provide their two cents, whether it's wanted or not. They sometimes find themselves in decent seats, and upon finding that they're sitting across the aisle from Joey Fatone, proceed to make Backstreet Boys jokes for the next four hours.
Type #2: First-time Drinkers
Don't get me wrong, the infield on Derby day is a ton of fun, and I went to college once too, and so probably don't have too much room to talk....but seriously. Running across the tops of port-a-potties while dozens of people fire bottles and cans (just clap your hands, just clap your hands) at your head? Starting a gigantic mud-wrestling pit and half-heartedly fighting your sorority sister while 100 drunk guys leer at you-- and boo you when you inevitably collapse into giggles and stop wrestling each other? Getting completely bombed, provoking a security guard, and getting thrown into the drunk tank before 1 pm? C'mon. Act like you've been there before. Game face, bro.
Type #3: Celebs
The population of Millionaires' Row: Hollywood stars, famous athletes, musicians, other miscellaneous heavy hitters....and Nick Lachey. They don't have to bother with mingling among the common folk. With a few exceptions, they don't even like horse racing that much; they're just there to be seen.
Type #4: Half-Assed Celebs
Not quite rich or famous enough to land in Millionaires' Row, and thus have to put up with four hours worth of Backstreet Boys jokes from the douchebags sitting across the aisle.
Type #5: White Trash
These guys (or gals) spend upwards of 10-15 minutes at the betting window, because they're placing 17 individual 2 dollar bets. They sneak booze in because their entire budget for the whole weekend is $71, and spending $10 on a mint julep means they're gonna have to short their baby mama on child support that month. They exclusively wear tank tops, or shirts with huge animal faces on them, or tank tops with huge animal faces on them-- which go well with their jean shorts and Nascar visor. When the horses they wagered on struggle (and they ALWAYS do) they make sure that everyone within a 75-yard radius knows about it. Their betting tickets always end up torn into pieces and laying at their feet. They will be incredibly sunburned at the end of the day.
Type #6: Old Money
These folks are, in a word, awesome. They're usually winning money on races, but you'll never tell by looking at their face. Maybe a quick, wry smile immediately after the finish, maybe a slight frown, and then it's on to the next race. They're quick to buy you a drink if you're next to them in line, and if they happen to overhear you complaining that you haven't seen a cigar vendor in hours, they'll quietly slide you a Cuban and some matches, and not accept any money in return. If they catch you staring at their (always hot and usually younger) wife's cleavage, they'll hit you not with an overhand right, but with a smile and a knowing wink.
We leave tomorrow morning. Excitement level is high.
