Insanity

…We have turned the Kentucky Derby into an F1 or NASCAR race for the pole, and forgot it’s supposed to be about who can still run at the end—not who can win Tuesday morning practice unless they be Tyler Reddick.

I mean, good Lord, you go back there on the backstretch and it sounds like a dang stopwatch convention. Everybody hollerin’ splits like they’re tradin’ stocks. “We got a 47!” “Well I’ll see your 47 and raise you a 45!” Sir, this ain’t poker, and that ain’t chips—that’s a living, breathing animal with ankles thinner than a breadstick at Olive Garden.

And I love how everybody suddenly becomes a philosopher this time of year. “Well, the breed just ain’t as durable.” Oh really? Or could it be we got ‘em out here trainin’ like Navy SEAL candidates with a caffeine problem? You can’t redline somethin’ every single day and then act shocked when the check engine light comes on.

And them feet—Lord have mercy, them feet. You got more hardware back there than a Home Depot. Half shoes, quarter shoes, glue-ons, patch jobs… some of them horses look like they’re one step away from askin’ for orthopedic inserts and a handicap placard. And we’re sittin’ here like, “Why they be scratched?” I don’t know, maybe because we’re askin’ ‘em to run on something harder than my Uncle Randy’s opinions.

And that sealed track mess—don’t even get me started. You got a horse with feet more sensitive than a poet’s feelings, and you’re out there gallopin’ him on what is essentially a dang parking lot. That ain’t training—that’s a liability claim waitin’ to happen.

One trainer was sending his poor pony with a bruised foot out on a sealed track to work. Duh! he scratched!

And old David Vance was right in 2011 —bless him—said folks come to the Derby and lose their ever-lovin’ minds. They stop doin’ what got ‘em there in the first place. It’s like a fella who grills a perfect burger every weekend, then suddenly enters a cook-off and decides he’s gonna make sushi… poorly.

Everybody wants to be that California gunslinger type—train fast, talk fast, win big. But what they forget is, you can’t copy the recipe if you ain’t got the same ingredients. You can’t train a $50,000 colt like he’s a million-dollar machine and then act surprised when he comes apart like when Uncle Cletus crushed a lawn chair at a family reunion by simply sitting in it.

And all that energy—Lord, the energy. Energy in the morning, energy in the paddock, energy everywhere except the one time you actually need it—Saturday afternoon when it counts.

Horse done spent all his gas just tryin’ to impress folks at 8 a.m. Now he’s out there in the race lookin’ like me halfway up a flight of stairs, out of gas.

I’m just sayin’, maybe we oughta remember what the Derby is supposed to be. It ain’t a Turbo speed experiment. It ain’t about Tyler Reddick securing the Busch Light Pole Award for the April 2026 NASCAR Cup Series race at Talladega.

It’s supposed to be about the best horse, on the day, with enough left in the tank to finish the job.