Lists

Have y’all noticed how much just flat-out useless information gets shoveled into people’s faces these days? Racing, football, whatever—doesn’t matter. It’s all the same slop, just poured into different bowls and sold like it’s premium cuisine.

Take power rankings. Please. Horse racing’s got ’em, the NFL’s got ’em, everybody’s got ’em. And every single one of ’em means exactly nothin’.

Every Tuesday in the NFL, here come the power rankings—like Moses comin’ down the mountain—except it’s just a knee-jerk reaction to whatever happened the Sunday before. Ain’t no insight. Ain’t no depth. Just “Well, they won, so scoot ’em up three spots.” That’s not analysis, that’s rearranging deck chairs. Even Tom Brady has got'em but the only difference he is probably getting paid for it.

And they parade this stuff in front of us like it’s valuable. Like we’re supposed to nod our heads and say, “Wow, look at that content.” Real opinions ain’t even required anymore. Just shovel the manure, slap a logo on it, and expect folks to buy it.

And, some do it with their fat head on a screen telling you what's what, like we need to see their lips move to know their point of view.

Who does that help? It sure as hell ain’t the fan. It helps the propaganda machine. Ah! yes—propaganda. That’s the whole world now. We live in the age of made up shiny turds. Polish ’em up, give ’em a ranking, and folks will argue about ’em for a week.

Like the Indianapolis Colts in late October.

And, Oh Lord, and don’t even get me started on the Kentucky Derby lists, ’cause here we go right about now.

Every year, like clockwork, here they come. Everybody’s got their “Top 5” or “Top 10.” Fave five, fave ten—sounds like that old phone company scam, remember that? Chuck Barkley “My fave Five,” like the rest of friends and family didn’t count once you hit the limit. Like you only loved five people and everybody else could just leave a message.

That’s exactly what these Derby lists are. Artificial. Made up. And mostly useless, because they change drastically every week, depending on the performances or lack there of.

I get asked all the time why I don’t have a Kentucky Derby list, like five months in advance, in December, like I’m Marty McFly rollin’ up to the OTB with a Back to the Future sports almanac tucked under my arm. Like I’m supposed to know today what’s gonna be peakin’ on the first Saturday in May. And I always tell ’em the same thing: because I actually understand the game—and the horses.

See, what’s good today might not be worth a damn tomorrow. Horses ain’t stocks you

just hold forever. They develop, they mature, they plateau, they regress, they get hurt, they get tired, they get sour—and five months in this sport might as well be a geological era. That’s another lifetime for some of these horses.

And, most of all, because I am NOT looking for immediate gratification and attention.

Now whoever decided the Kentucky Derby should be run the first Saturday in May—that was a brilliant soul. That person absolutely nailed it. Perfect timing. That’s when the true three-year-olds are comin’ into themselves, and the freaky, precocious two-year-olds that lit up the board last fall are startin’ to level off. Nature catches up. Reality sets in. That’s the whole point.

So if I made a list right now, I’d have to stare into a crystal ball and predict maturity, seasoning, and mental growth in horses that ain’t shown a lick of that yet—because it’s months away. It's like predicting some 13 year old, pimple faced, freshman to be in High School going to win the Heisman Trophy, that ain’t handicapping, that’s fortune-telling.

And here’s the kicker: nobody remembers who you had ranked fifth for five straight weeks back in January. Nobody. That horse is now either runnin’ in the Pat Day Mile, sittin’ in a stall somewhere not even in training, or bein’ talked about in the past tense. But sure, let’s pretend that list mattered.

Yep, a perfect example?

Ned Toffey sittin’ as the early Kentucky Derby favorite in Las Vegas on January 1st is about as comfortable a position as standin’ on a greased ladder in a windstorm. Folks act like that’s some badge of honor, but history says otherwise—and history ain’t exactly subtle about it.

The last time the January 1 favorite won the Derby was Street Sense in 2007—and before that, you gotta crank the calendar all the way back to Spectacular Bid in 1979. That’s two horses in almost half a century. So yeah, some people will look at that and say, “Well, timing’s about right.” And I get that logic—I really do. But that’s still askin’ a whole lot from a three-year-old who ain’t even lived a full life yet.

That’s a tall order. A real tall one.

And sure enough, Ned Toffey is on everybody’s list. Every list. Top five, top three, circled, highlighted, laminated. Same way the Indianapolis Colts were sittin’ pretty in October—everybody noddin’ along like the season was already decided. We all know how that movie ended.

That’s the danger of bein’ crowned early. You don’t get stronger just because folks talk about you. You don’t stay healthy because Vegas likes you. Horses don’t read odds, and they sure as hell don’t know they’re supposed to peak in May just because Twitter decided in January.

Being the early favorite ain’t a prophecy—it’s a pressure cooker. And history tells us most of the time, that cooker blows the lid clean off.

So yeah, Ned Toffey might be the real deal. He might develop, mature, handle the grind, and prove everybody right. Or he might be just another name folks were loud about too early—

That’s why lists don’t impress me. Horses do. And it’s way too early to be engravin’ anything other than headlines.

It’s the same nonsense we see in the NFL. The Indianapolis Colts in 2025? First nine weeks, unbeatable. Everybody’s power rankings had ’em top three, crown polished, Lombardi engraver on standby. Then attrition showed up—because that’s part of athletics, whether folks wanna admit it or not. And where are the Colts now? That’s right—gonna be home, watchin’ the playoffs on the couch.

So how accurate were those rankings in the long run? About as accurate as a Derby list five months out. Different logo, same nonsense.

That’s why you ain’t catchin’ me doin’ one of those lists. No sir. No way, José. I’ll wait for the horses to tell me who they are—because eventually, they always do.

They start poppin’ up months out, changin’ every single week. Horse runs? Moves up. Horse sneezes? Moves down. Next week it’s all flipped again, like some folks change their undergarments—regularly, but with no real thought involved. There ain’t no conviction. Ain’t no backbone. Just vibes and vibes alone.

And they sell it like it matters. Like this week’s list is somehow wiser than last week’s list, even though it’s the same guy who was dead wrong seven days ago. “Well, I’ve got him ninth now.” Oh, do ya? Based on what—astrology? Mercury in retrograde?

And the funniest part? Come Derby Day, more than half them horses won’t even make the gate, a quarter of ’em will be overbet off reputation, and the rest will be blamed on “bad trips.” But don’t worry—next week there’ll be a new list, actin’ like none of that ever happened.

So yeah, toss them Kentucky Derby lists right on top of the power rankings pile. Same junk, different wrapper. Looks official, smells funny, and somehow we’re supposed to take it seriously.

Bless their hearts.

What happened to having an opinion before the event? What happened to planting a flag and sayin’, “Here’s what I think—and I’ll own it if I’m wrong”? Now it’s just reaction videos and rankings after the fact. No courage. No accountability. Just vibes.

I’ll say it again, because it bears repeating: we have perfected stupidity into a brand.

So yeah, stand up and appreciate the folks who actually take a stance before the gates open or the ball’s kicked. The ones who don’t wait to be impressed after the fact.

Now that… that’s impressive.