Carpe Derby

If anyone ever invites you to the Kentucky Derby, go. This is the lesson I learned from the past weekend. Although I lost $11 at the tracks — Twinspired and Little Mike really let me down —, the Derby was a blast.

As a Hoosier, I’m as proud of my state as the next guy. But damn, Louisville, Ky. can really throw a party.

Thousands and thousands of people — inebriated by noon — made their way to Churchill Downs this past Friday to see the mares race. Entire streets were blocked off as parades of race-goers trudged to the tracks in the May sunshine. You could taste the excitement in every mint julep and see it in every enormous Derby hat. I have never so much as bought a lottery ticket, and suddenly I found myself placing bets on horses to “place,” to “show” and daring myself to bet on an “exacta box.”

“Good luck!” the ticket seller would shout after every purchase — well, I had none. Even so, sitting in the sun, drinking a $7 beer and shouting as my horse fell farther and farther back in the pack was the perfect cure for the exhaustion and anxiety of finals week.

Saturday was the big day: Derby. We all know that Christmas Eve is more fun than Christmas Day because of the anticipation and excitement for what is to come. This was the exact atmosphere of the Derby party I went to that Saturday afternoon: Christmas Eve with a keg, brats, pulled pork, Derby pie and ice cream. There were neighbors, family, friends and even Derby party crashers in attendance. Everyone was in high spirits, dancing around the house and yard, singing, drinking and eating.

The word “perfect” is thrown around a lot, but here it is not misused. Six o’clock rolled around and 40 or so people gathered in the kitchen to scream at the television — finally, the race! But first, a great, rowdy chorus of Kentucky’s state song, “My Old Kentucky Home,” was shouted by everyone present. We all swayed together and were proud of Kentucky and of the Midwest.

Then followed the two most exciting minutes in sports. Animal Kingdom won. Nobody saw it coming. There was only one course of action: tear your betting ticket in half and return to the keg and to the lawn chairs in the evening sun.

More than fine by me.

The next day we drove back to Bloomington, sunburned and exhausted, but happy.

I write this back in South Bend, Ind. where I grew up and went to school. But I still yearn for my new Kentucky home.

­—Mthomas5@indiana.edu