Here's how it works in the infield at Derby: since you're in a big field with about 100,000 other people, you're only watching the horses up close for about 10 seconds as they run past you, and the rest the time you're staring at one of many jumbotrons they have set up. Depending on your angle, and the color/number combination of the horse, it's really tough to tell who is in what place sometimes. This is how it came to pass that everybody within a 50-yard radius of our group thought that #15 had won the race (I'll Have Another was #19.) There was one dude holding out, who swore up and down that #19 won. We had put fake tattoos of our horses on our forearms earlier that week, and now I was flashing mine at this guy, playing the whole "Dude, I would know if it was 19. I have a lot of money on 19. I have a fake tattoo of 19 on my arm. I WISH it was 19....trust me. It's not fucking 19 that won that race" card. If you've got drunk with me and we've had a sports argument, you know the face I was making the whole time, too. We started polling people retreating from the frontline back to their camps...EVERYBODY but this one random guy was saying the winner was #15. Then, all of a sudden, they updated the jumbotron with a different view, one that clearly listed the win, place, and show in a more prominent font size. And that's when I realized that it was indeed a 19. And that I had indeed won over a grand. And that I am indeed a douche. Although that random guy and I shared a gigantic hug right at that moment, so I'd like to think he forgave me. If not, then the 50 bucks that I gave him did the trick.
Then Tony (who had jumped on my bandwagon hard and bet even more than I did on I'll Have Another) and I spotted each other, did a running flying shoulder bump, and proceeded to act like the black people receiving reparations in the Chappelle Show sketch for the next couple hours.
And because this has been the busiest week of work in my life (maybe even worse than tax season) and all my lunch breaks have been about 12 minutes long, and because of my unwillingness to spend much time blogging at home anymore, that's about all I have time for. (I know, Easy E, it's weak sauce. Blogging, like pimpin', ain't easy.) But don't misconstrue that as nothing funny happening this year; on the contrary, this may have been my favorite year yet. Great crew, great hustle, great stories, great inside jokes, great time.
I was literally crying laughing at least five times throughout the weekend-- and almost literally crying, period, when some girl with a nose ring tore me apart during the Thursday bar crawl, when I inadvertantly walked behind the bar on my way through to the other section.
Nose ring girl: That's not the walkway, BRO.
Me: I know, that's a confusing setup...wait, wait, wait. I'm not your bro, BRO. (thanks Harold & Kumar for that comeback.)
Nose ring girl: Ohhhh....~pause to gather up her most disgusted facial expression~...YOU'RE A BRO. With your POLO, and your HAIR GEL, and your WATCH!
Me, with no absolutely no comeback, and my eyes almost welling up with tears: Ummmm, I'm gonna go back to my friends now?
The worst part is my hair is pretty short right now, my polo cost like $6 at Old Navy, and though my watch is kinda baller, I found it in a parking lot in Iowa, so what the hell? Actually that's the second worst part. The worst part is that she used one of my favorite sarcastic insults and turned it on me hard. I'm lucky Nose Ring Girl didn't see me the next day at Oaks-- now THAT'S a bro:
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Kentucky Derby weekend is always insane amounts of fun...it just managed to be fun AND extremely profitable in 2012.
