Derby Road Less Traveled

Well now, listen here, y’all. We are livin’ in a time where common sense done packed up its bags, kissed us on the forehead, and moved to a cabin in the Smoky Mountains. Everything’s performative now. Folks ain’t tryin’ to be smart — they’re tryin’ to look smart. It’s a mad, mad, mad, mad world, and if it ain’t a reality show yet, it’s ‘cause the producers can’t keep up.

But thank the good Lord above, there’s still one thing we can count on every spring: the road to the Triple Crown goin’ absolutely sideways.

Every year we get them Derby hot lists. “This is the one.” “Generational talent.” “Best crop in years.” or "worse crop in years", Shoot, by January we got more “next American Pharoahs” than Dollar Generals in Tennessee. And I ain’t addin’ to that noise. Because I ain’t seen one yet stand up, square his shoulders, and say, “I am the man.” Yet!

And odds are, we ain’t gonna see him until March.

Why March? I’ll tell you why. The first Saturday in May is the most brilliant piece of horsemanship timing ever devised by mankind. It sits right there at the crossroads of maturity. That two-year-old brilliance — that precocious little overachiever that hit puberty early and was dunkin’ on everybody in November — well now he’s got company. Because sixty days in a young horse’s life ain’t nothin’ but an eternity.

That flashy two-year-old? He might plateau.That late bloomer? He catches up.And all of a sudden, the bully on the playground ain’t the biggest kid no more.

Maturity. That’s the word.

But Lord have mercy, patience is in short supply. Some of these connections get that Derby fever and start runnin’ preps like it’s a punch card at a frozen yogurt shop. Lecomte. Risen Star. Louisiana Derby. Boom boom boom. Push, shove, three works in between, crank ‘em back up again. Every three weeks we’re askin’ a young animal to empty the tank like he’s got a refinery in his belly.

And then — wouldn’t you know it — come mid-March, cracks start showin’. “Needs time.” “Minor setback.” “Just didn’t fire,” "Bone Bruising", you name it.

Well yeah. You done squeezed the toothpaste tube till it’s wheezin’.

The road from the Southwest to the Rebel to the Arkansas Derby? Folks act like it’s automatic. Like Smarty Jones and American Pharoah grow on trees. They don’t. They were outliers. Unicorns with saddle towels.

And let’s talk about that weight jump. Carryin’ 115, 117 pounds in February feels different than packin’ 126 in May. That extra weight don’t care about your hype. It takes its toll. You remember Suddenbreakingnews? Won the Southwest carryin’ 117. Ain’t sniffed that level since. Speed King? Same story. Big early splash, then spent the rest of the year tryin’ to remember who he used to be.

This road to the Derby? It ain’t paved with roses. It’s littered with carcasses. Good horses who got pushed too much, too soon, because somebody couldn’t resist bein’ relevant in February.

And then — Lord help us — Derby week comes. They finally made it. They’re in the field. Dreams achieved. And what do some folks do? They start jetting that horse around Churchill like they’re tryin’ to qualify for NASCAR.

“Let me show you what my horse can do.”Big work. Bigger work. Bullet work.

Why? What’s left for the first Saturday in May?

Most horses ain’t got an unlimited ammo supply. They got a handful of bullets in the holster. And if you keep firin’ ‘em in the morning to impress the masses, don’t be surprised when you’re clickin’ empty in the afternoon.

I saw somebody once say, “I need to be wowed on Derby week.”

Nah. You don’t.

Less is more.

If a trainer’s hammerin’ on a horse in the morning, sometimes it’s ‘cause they’re tryin’ to take the edge off somethin’ that ain’t quite right. If they’re calm, deliberate, lettin’ that horse breathe and grow — that tells you more than any bullet work ever will.

A fast work don’t mean he loves the track. A slow work don’t mean he hates it. But boy, we sure do love flashy times. Flashy stats. Bandwagons fill up quicker than a Buc-ee’s on Memorial Day.

Me? I watch how they look. How they move. How they carry themselves.

Sovereignty in the Derby? Didn’t do much in the mornings compared to others. Folks nitpicked it, like me, Overanalyzed it, like me. Meanwhile, he was savin’ bullets, wish I saw that clearer last year, but I didn't.

You hate to see a long campaign — January to May — capped off with three monster works right into the biggest race of a horse’s life. That’s like runnin’ wind sprints in the parking lot before you go into the Super Bowl.

There is such a thing as overtrained.There is such a thing as too much. And on this mad, mad, mad road to the Triple Crown, sometimes the smartest thing a horseman can do… is nothing at all.

Patience don’t trend on social media. But it still wins races.