DeRbY PrePs TaLk

Alright y’all, let’s talk about this weekend’s Derby preps — and I say this with love, caffeine, and a healthy amount of side-eye.

Because these races showed up prepackaged. I mean everything was included: the bells, the whistles, the propaganda, the bold absolutes, and a big ol’ box of uncut, straight-from-the-factory FUBAR. No assembly required.

We had the Southwest, the Withers, the Robert B. Lewis, and the Sam F. Davis — all featuring hopeful three-year-olds, all allegedly pointing toward Louisville glory. And if you think you saw the Derby winner in one of those races… well bless your heart, that might’ve been a mirage shimmering off the asphalt. Because what I saw was a bunch of fringe runners who still need to figure out who they are and why they’re here.

Let’s start at Tampa.

Renegade won the Sam F. Davis, and don’t get me wrong — that was a solid performance. But this is Todd Pletcher we’re talking about, a man who goes through three-year-old colts the way Costco dads go through a 24-pack of bottled water. Efficiently. Relentlessly. Without emotional attachment.

Pletcher also has the dubious honor of more Derby scratches than Derby winners, but hey — maybe Renegade’s the slump buster. I’m filing this one under wait and see, right next to “maybe this time will be different.”

Now, earlier on that same card, we had a genuinely fun race — Emerging Market versus Powershift. Chad Brown versus Pletcher. Capitalism versus slightly different capitalism. Emerging Market won a thrilling stretch duel, and I’ll say this: he’s a lighter-made colt, but he’s interesting. Real interesting. Powershift’s nice too — but again, same barn, same issue. Blink and there’s a new one.

Moving on to the Southwest Stakes — where speed said “nah” and checked out early.

D’Code was rank, wouldn’t settle, and paid for it late. Beutane? Just kinda… there. Doesn’t finish. Doesn’t threaten. That dog don’t hunt.

The winner, Silent Tactics, made the last run — and like most Mark Casse horses at Oaklawn this meet, he ran like somebody lit an M-80 with a real long fuse and tucked it right up his bum. Effective? Yes. Convincing? Eh. Needs more.

Now let’s mosey up to Aqueduct for the Withers, where we had a paceless field — and I mean paceless. Talk To Me Jimmy, The winner, went wire to wire stretching out to nine furlongs, which tells you more about the race shape than the horse.

Alright y’all, let’s talk about the Withers Stakes — and I don’t mean to be rude, but history is history, and facts don’t care about nostalgia.

The Withers sounds important. It’s got that old-timey, leather-bound, cigar-smoke kind of name that makes you think, “Well hell, this must matter.” But when you actually look at its impact on the Kentucky Derby? Whew. That star power is… let’s call it selectively missing.

I mean, as a Derby prep, the Withers has mostly been out here minding its business, contributing vibes instead of champions. It hasn’t exactly been a launchpad for roses and glory. More like a polite handshake and a “good luck out there, buddy.”

Historically, the Withers has produced some nice horses. Solid horses. Horses that’ll win you a race or two, maybe make you feel good about yourself at Aqueduct in February. But Derby stars? Derby legends? That cupboard’s been pretty bare for a while now.

And that’s not even shade — it’s just reality. The race is usually run over a surface and pace setup that doesn’t translate well to Churchill Downs chaos. Slow fractions, small fields, one-run closers, or wire jobs that scream “situational winner” more than “national menace.”

Every year, somebody wins the Withers and folks start squinting real hard, like, “Well… maybe if everything breaks right…” And sure, maybe. But that’s a lot of maybes stacked on top of each other wearing a Derby hat.

So when people act like the Withers is suddenly gonna redefine the Derby trail, I just have to ask: based on what, exactly? Vibes? Hope? A strong desire to be early on something?

The Withers isn’t useless. It gives us context. It tells us who can stretch out, who can handle winter racing in New York, and who took advantage of a race that unfolded just right.

But if you’re shopping for Derby star power? You might wanna keep walking.

Because history says the Withers is more of a footnote than a headline — and that’s okay. Not every prep needs to be a kingmaker. Some are just there to remind us that February confidence has a very short shelf life.

Rudy Rodriguez won it — a man who went from outhouse to penthouse after being sprung from the HISA gulag like he was doing hard time for unpaid parking tickets. He gets Derby points now. Congrats. But let’s not pretend this was a deep, soul-searching race.

Out west, the Robert B. Lewis at Santa Anita gave us Plutarch, a well-bred sort who ran a mile in 1:37 flat and out-gamed Intrepido. Neither one made me sit up straighter in my chair. They’re fine. Respectable. But if this were a job interview, I’d say, “Thanks for coming in — don't call us, we'll call you.”

Look, I don’t get real serious until March. That’s when the music changes and folks have to dance. But context matters — and this weekend gave me plenty of it.

And the context is simple:Nobody scared me.Nobody stamped themselves.And anybody crowning a Derby winner right now is selling something.

But hey — that’s the Derby preps, baby.

A whole lotta hype, a whole lotta certainty from folks who swear they’ve “seen enough,” and about three weeks from now they’ll be pretending they never said any of it. Everybody’s a genius in February. Everybody’s got a future Derby winner, a sleeper, a lock, and a hot take they’re willing to die on… until the next prep rolls around and we all reset like nothing happened.

These races ain’t about crowning kings — they’re about sorting out the mess. Some horses move forward, some stall out, and some look real good right up until the pace actually matters. One weekend you’re a Derby darling, the next you’re a trivia question.

So yeah, enjoy the opinions, laugh at the absolutes, and take every proclamation with a grain of salt the size of Churchill Downs. Because right now? We’re all just gathering context, drinking bad coffee, and watching kids grow up in public.

That’s the Derby preps, baby.