Gunslingers
- Bruno@Racingwithbruno
- 5 days ago
- 7 min read
Updated: 3 days ago
Ah, yes... the Derby-Preakness double. Such a storied pairing—glorious, brutal, unrelenting in its historical significance. And yet, every year, like clockwork, someone comes trotting out the same tired line: “Change the Triple Crown.” Move the dates. Coddle the colts.
But let’s—just for a moment—set sentiment aside and do what, frankly, too few are willing to do these days: examine the facts and nothing but the facts.
You see, the Kentucky Derby and the Preakness Stakes have been separated by exactly two weeks — 147 times, to be precise. And this cadence? It isn’t an accident. It’s a crucible. A proving ground. It’s meant to test not just speed, but stamina... grit... the ability to recover and come back gunslingin'.
And here’s where it gets deliciously statistical:
Since 1932, when the current Triple Crown order was solidified:
23 horses have won both the Derby and the Preakness.
Of those, 13 went on to win the Triple Crown.
The Derby-Preakness double happens roughly once every 4 years—a solid 25% clip.
Let me ask you: is that the hallmark of an impossible task? Or simply the mark of greatness? Because history doesn’t remember the pampered... it remembers the powerful.
Take American Pharoah in 2015, or Justify in 2018—two horses, three years apart, proving the challenge isn’t outdated. It’s just difficult. As it should be.
Ah… the Derby-Preakness double winners. The true heavyweights. Horses that didn’t just flirt with greatness—they took it by the throat, two weeks apart, under the blinding pressure of history and expectation. Since 1973, these 17 remarkable thoroughbreds have done what so many could not: backed up their Churchill Downs triumph with a statement at Pimlico.
Let’s take a walk through the gallery of greatness, shall we?
1. Secretariat (1973)The gold standard. The legend. His Belmont win was so dominant it made grown men weep. Of course he won the Preakness—he had to.
2. Seattle Slew (1977)Undefeated. Untouched. Unbothered. A machine in black silk. Another eventual Triple Crown titan.
3. Affirmed (1978)Grit personified. Took on Alydar in three epic duels. Won them all. Another crown.
4. Pleasant Colony (1981)A prince who nearly wore the crown. Won the first two legs, came up short in New York.
5. Alysheba (1987)The “gutsy grinder.” Held off Bet Twice in Baltimore. The Belmont? Not so kind.
6. Sunday Silence (1989)Ah, the rivalries of lore—his war with Easy Goer was the stuff of poetry and blood. Won the Derby. Won the Preakness. Lost the war in the Belmont.
7. Silver Charm (1997)Heart of a lion. Gary Stevens aboard. Came within inches—inches!—of immortality in the Belmont.
8. Real Quiet (1998)“Real Quiet” by name, but nearly deafening in his Belmont heartbreak. Lost the Triple Crown by a head. Still, a mighty double.
9. Charismatic (1999)A rags-to-riches tale. The horse that wasn't supposed to matter… until he did. Derby. Preakness. And then—tragedy at the Belmont.
10. War Emblem (2002)Spirited, unpredictable, brilliant when focused. The Derby-Preakness double was his peak. Stumbled at Belmont’s gate—literally.
11. Funny Cide (2003)The “gutsy gelding.” A New York working-class hero. Made millions believe. Fell short in the end, but oh, what a run.
12.Smarty Jones (2004) - the little engine that could and it took a double team effort to defeat him.
13. Big Brown (2008) A beast in the Derby. Dominant in the Preakness. Then inexplicably... nothing in the Belmont. The mystery lingers.
14. I'll Have Another (2012) Derby and Preakness? Done. Belmont? Never ran. Scratched the day before. Dreams evaporated.
15. California Chrome (2014) “Chrome” had the look of destiny. America’s horse. Fell short in New York, but for two races, he owned the spring.
16. American Pharoah (2015) Ah, the drought-breaker. The crown-restorer. The king. Derby. Preakness. Belmont. All of it. Flawless. The Wait was over.
17. Justify (2018) Undefeated Triple Crown. No juvenile prep. No problem. A freight train in a foggy Preakness. History’s echo.
So there you have it. 17 horses, each one brave enough to return, bold enough to conquer… and just a few breaths away from legend, for some.
Ah… 1973. The year Secretariat redefined what it meant to be a racehorse—and, perhaps, what it meant to be immortal. That chestnut comet didn’t just win; he obliterated. And from that moment on, every springtime whisper of hooves on Churchill Downs’ dirt has carried the ghost of his greatness.
But let’s set aside sentiment, shall we? Let’s talk facts—cold, unapologetic, inconvenient facts.
Since 1973, there have been 52 Kentucky Derby winners. Glorious champions, each of them, if only for a day. Of those 52, 6 chose not to run in the Preakness Stakes. Perhaps they were injured. Perhaps they weren’t ready. Or perhaps their connections, like so many today, feared the unrelenting demands of greatness. It’s a pity, really.
But pity is not what are looking to embrace, Ah, fear… there is the great motivator. It’s what keeps the runners off the track and the trainers up late, staring at the clock. And yet, as with so many things in life, it’s a double-edged sword, isn’t it? You see, in racing, as in anything, you cannot avoid risk without forfeiting reward. And what’s the greatest reward in the world of thoroughbred racing, if not the Triple Crown?
Now, let’s talk about this trainer of Sovereignty—2025’s Kentucky Derby victor, Hall of famer, Bill Mott. Statistically speaking, 3 for 58 in the last five years with horses returning in 14 days. (Stat thanks to my man Tony) That’s a 5% win rate. Ouch indeed. But let’s not be too hasty. Numbers don’t tell the whole story, or do they? They’re a snapshot, a piece of a larger puzzle. But let’s not kid ourselves, those numbers—those are telling us something.
You see, people have this charming habit of rewriting history—massaging the narrative, adjusting the facts just enough to maintain a comfortable illusion. Like a magician with a flair for misdirection, they say, “Bill Mott doesn’t run back in two weeks,” with the confidence of a televangelist selling salvation. And the audience nods, murmurs of agreement ripple through the crowd. Because it sounds right. It feels right. He’s a patient man, isn’t he? An old-school horseman with time as his ally.
But the truth... ah, the truth is far less convenient.
Fifty-eight times. In the last five years alone. That’s not just a casual exception—it’s a pattern. A signature. Twice as many as Baffert. Nearly three times as many as Pletcher. So when someone insists, "That’s not Mott!"—what they really mean is, "That’s not the version of Mott I’ve constructed in my head to serve this moment." Because, of course, facts are boring when they get in the way of a good story.
Now, the Preakness—yes, the convenient fallback. “Well, he doesn’t do it in the Preakness.” Cute. Except he’s had one real shot, and Country House, bless his controversial little heart, was sent straight to the retirement home. What a shame. But let’s not pretend that absence of evidence is evidence of principle.
And that quote from Saratoga? “He came off the van like a tiger.” That’s not the tone of a man listening to his horse whisper a soft no.
So what’s the real story? It’s not that Mott won’t run back in two weeks. It’s that the myth of his conservatism is more comfortable than the facts. And comfort, my friend, is the enemy of truth.
Let’s look at a different picture, shall we? Bob Baffert. The man, the myth, the legend. His record during the same time frame? 7 for 29. That’s a much more respectable 24%. Not just a better figure—a far better one. What’s the difference? Perhaps it’s not just about physical ability or the horse’s constitution. Perhaps it's about the mindset. You see, Baffert doesn't fear the 14-day turnaround. He embraces it. The sprint to greatness. The expectation of perfection, and the drive to chase it. He is a gunslinger, after all, from Nogales, Arizona, no doubt about that, he comes gunning for you, if you got a good one.
Then, we have Todd Pletcher. A respected name. But his numbers—1 for 20—it’s the same 5%. No better than the trainer of Sovereignty, kudos to Pletcher that even though his results at returning in 14 days are grim, he ran both of his Derby winners back in the Preakness, both finshing 8th. That’s a grim comparison, isn't it? "If you don’t run, you can’t lose.”
The irony is exquisite.
Because if you actually look—really look—at the facts, Mott has run horses back in two weeks more than Baffert and Pletcher combined. But facts are boring. Inconvenient. They don’t fit the narrative.
But here’s the rub: in this business, not losing is a recipe for mediocrity. You avoid the possibility of failure, but you also avoid greatness. Baffert’s approach—wild, daring, bold—while it may risk loss, also runs the highest chance of victory. Baffert is a truly a gunslinger.
Ultimately, the question is this: Do you want to play it safe? Or do you want to chase history?
If you don’t run, you can’t get beat… but you can’t win, either.
And that, my friend, is the cruel irony of this sport, but now here’s where it gets… fascinating.
Of the 46 Derby winners who did show up two weeks later at Pimlico, a remarkable 17 of them won. That’s a 37% success rate. Not a fluke. Not an anomaly. A trend. Nearly 4 in 10 came back to win again, with just two weeks’ rest.
And from that pool of excellence? Five went on to conquer the Belmont, seizing the elusive Triple Crown. Let me be blunt: that is not the mark of a broken system. That is the blueprint of legends.
You see, we live in an age where comfort is king. Where mediocrity hides behind excuses and the word “impossible” is thrown around like confetti. But racing—real, classic racing—isn’t about comfort. It’s about courage and vet work. Yes, vet work, two weeks aren't merely enough for some.
So when someone suggests “reforming” the Triple Crown, I can’t help but chuckle. Reform it into what? A participation trophy? A pillow fight?
You stretch it out and it rewards trainers and their vets. Is that what you want?
No. Let it stand, leave it alone. Let it separate the fleeting from the forever and put an end to his miserable argument every year, because in reality it doesn't come down to horse's welfare to adjucate or substantiate YOUR narrative.
