The Derby: A Sport of Kings

Saturday saw the annual running of the Kentucky derby, with a field of twenty this year.

We aren't terribly interested in horse racing here, but we felt that the world was waiting with bated breath for our insight into this annual festival at Church Hill Downs, so we felt obligated to oblige the masses.

Our initial impression is that if this is the sport of Kings, we are happy as peasants.

Drink it all in...

A warm spring day in Kentucky. Now, we could almost stop there, as the ideas of Kentucky and sophistication are so mutually exclusive that it becomes completely entertaining to watch the "elite" of society dress up in their Sunday best and stare agape as the women don outrageous head gear that would put Big Momma's Sunday crown to shame, all in an effort to impress the upper crust of Kentucky? What, is West Virginia busy that weekend?

The "elite" feign interest and expertise in the subject at hand, racing. Does anyone believe that these people (and we don't mean the "horse" people, but rather the celebs and such) have any inkling of the intricacies of horse racing? Or that they watch or attend ANY other race each year? No. Of course not. They are just there to be seen. And to get intoxicated on the drink of the day. A shiteous mixture of simple sugar solution, mint and bourbon. The sport of kings, indeed.

And to top it off, the race itself. Muscular million dollar horses racing at break neck speeds. Mounted atop the horses, like organ grinders monkeys for the entertainment of the crowd; Mexicans and white midgets. Or maybe they are dwarfs. We don't know the politically correct term.

All in all. High comedy and purely self important social flatulence.

We just thank the folks that organize the event for not putting the Negro in a position to suffer the same indignities as the Mexicans and the white midgets (or dwarfs). The Negro is left in his rightful state, at least in the mind of the "elite" horse racing fan. He is left holding the light on the front lawn. As a tiny statue with tar black skin. A lawn jockey.

And frankly, that is as close as the Negro cares to get to this abhorrent display of Kentucky high society.

Oh, and some horse ran from 19th to 1st in the last quarter of the race.

If you care.