Derby Dreams

This week I thought I’d write about Journalism. While I’ve written before about my thoughts on freedom of the press and the importance of fact-based reporting, that’s not the kind of journalism I’m talking about right now. I’m talking about Journalism with a capital J—the Journalism that is the 3-1 favorite among the 2025 Kentucky Derby horses set to make the Run For the Roses on Saturday.

Attending the Kentucky Derby has been on my bucket list for many years. And not because I’m a seasoned aficionado of horse-racing, or Thoroughbred bloodlines, or because I follow who all the best trainers and jockeys are of the time. And I don’t particularly know my way around the various tracks— in fact the only one I’ve ever been to is the Santa Anita, that used to be fairly close to where I lived in California—and I don’t really have any penchant for betting the ponies. (Truth be told, I don’t even really understand all the language and calculations around playing the odds—there’s way too much math involved for me, and I’ve always been a word person, not a number person.) But there is something about watching the horses run that has a profound effect on me. I’m not sure if there’s a name for this affliction, but it does seem to be a sickness of a sort. I even have a few favorite movies that I like only because there are certain chase scenes on horseback. Whenever I see a horse—whether in person, or in a movie—open up and stretch out into a flat out run—neck extended, nostrils flaring, mane and tail blazing, it does something to me.

It’s been a day or two since I have been on a horse. But I do know how it feels to have earned the trust and heart of an equine, and experience their unwavering willingness to give you all they’ve got when asked. So my appreciation for watching horses run is less about which one will win, and more about simply witnessing the fluid beauty and amazing power—the sheer heart on full display as they give it all they’ve got.

This year, Derby tickets start at $105 for general admission for the infield, while ground level seating along the homestretch will set you back $3,300. For an event that lasts about 2 minutes, you just about have to be sick in the head to pay that kind of money to attend, if you don’t have an actual financial stake in any of the horses. And yet, I’d still like to go one day—don a flouncy hat and fancy dress and head for Churchill Downs. Take a dainty little pair of binoculars, sip on mint juleps and be part of the 150 thousand-person chorus that stands and belts out “My Old Kentucky Home” to kick off the race. After all, the fanfare and extravagance are all part of the tradition.

This year marks the 151st year for the Kentucky Derby. Journalism—a 3-year old bay colt with a white star on his forehead—is a multiple Grade 1 winner, stealing three consecutive graded stakes races so far, and is the favorite to win this year.

I won’t be there to see him run, or any of the other remarkable specimens of horseflesh—like Sandman, the 16-plus hands, elegant-looking, bald-faced gray that’s another prominent contender with 6-1 odds. But one of these years I will be there.
You can bet on it.