Pedigree, Pedigree, Pedigree

Ohhh yeah buddy, here we go again… soon as the Derby’s over, everybody turns into a world-class excuse artist. Every single one of ‘em, including yours truly.

“My horse got bumped.”“My horse got slammed.”“My horse didn’t eat his breakfast.”“My horse woke up on the wrong side of the stall.”

Hell, somebody’s gonna was even sayin the Japanese Horse had a Ginzu knife moment. Like they were wathcing Desperate housewives of New Jersey on a loop.

And then over here—oh Lord—here comes the other crowd:“Golden Tempo this…”“Golden Tempo that…”“Pedigree, pedigree, pedigree…”

Boy, y’all said that horse was bred in a laboratory by NASA to be a dang superhorse. Like Secretariat and a Ferrari had a FOAL and called it a Lamborghini.

Let me ask you something—how many tickets did you tear up before you landed on Golden Tempo? Be honest now. My over/under was about 5 to 8 tries for most of y’all… and I’m feeling generous.

And then—AND THEN—it takes the slowest Derby figure-wise in, what, a hundred years?

Not a decade. Not “since I been watching.” A whole century. Even Nick Luck from across the pond had to lean into the mic like, “Uh… lads… this is historically slow.”

So all that “pedigree, pedigree, pedigree”… and we got a winner that clocked in like he stopped at the Wallace Station in Midway, Ky, halfway through.

Well done, fellas. Truly inspiring stuff.

Now look—I ain’t taking a thing away from Cherie DeVaux and her crew. That’s the job: have your horse ready, no matter if the race turns into a crawl, a sprint, or a dang traffic jam. They did their job. BIG Tip of the cap to that shedrow. THEY ARE DERBY WINNERS AND THEY AIN'T NOBODY THAT CAN TAKE THAT AWAY.

But LETS NOT act like this was some all-time performance. Everything lined up just right. Equibase even came out like, “Well, interestingly enough…”—you know it’s coming when they say that—“horse only ran about 25 feet extra, closed in 12 flat…” Translation: perfect trip, perfect setup, and a field that wasn’t exactly breathing fire.

Ohhh yeah buddy… now we roll right on into the Preakness conversation, and wouldn’t you know it—same song, second verse.

I’m sittin’ here lookin’ at this like… y’all really think this Derby field is comin’ back in two weeks? My over/under is ONE. One single Derby horse shows up. Maybe. If the wind’s blowin’ right and Mercury ain’t in retrograde, we get two, Great White don't count.

The rest of ‘em? Oh they’re done. Already halfway to a vacation. We’re about to get a whole new batch of starters rollin’ in like they heard there’s free crab cakes in May. And yeah—Laurel. Not Pimlico. But just you wait… there’s gonna be at least one TV pundit talkin’ about “those tight Pimlico turns” like they ain’t even glanced at a map.

Now don’t get me wrong, the race itself?

Might actually be kinda spicy. You got Crude Velocity stretchin’ out to two turns—at Laurel, mind you—with that long ol’ stretch where dreams either come true or fall apart in slow motion.

And if Golden Tempo shows up? Ohhh buddy… he might just fall into another one of these setups where everything breaks his way again. Wouldn’t that be somethin’. Pedigree crowd gonna be insufferable if that happens twice.

But here come the excuses—ALREADY lined up, pre-loaded, ready to fire:“Two weeks is too quick…”“We need more time between races…”

Oh do we now? That what we need? More time?

Well I’ll tell you what more time actually means—it don’t mean rest and relaxation. These horses ain’t down at Club Med kickin’ back with a piña colada and a little umbrella drink. They ain’t gettin’ spa treatments and cucumber slices on their eyes and testicles.

No sir.

More time means more vet work.More time means more needles.More time means more “maintenance.” work.

That’s what it boils down to, whether folks wanna say it out loud or not. You stretch that schedule out, you’re not preservin’ purity—you’re just openin’ the door for more “adjustments.” More tinkering. More chances for the vets to be just as influential as the trainers.

And it cracks me up, ‘cause some of the same folks yellin’ about “the integrity of the sport” are the first ones hollerin’ for extra time like it’s gonna turn these horses into monks livin’ a life of discipline and reflection.

What—you thought they’d just be grazin’ in a pasture somewhere, sippin’ vodka tonics and findin’ themselves?

Hell nah.

They’re gonna be workin’. They’re gonna be treated. They’re gonna be micro-managed.

There ain't a five o'clock somewhere for horses. No Sir.

So yeah… “more time” sounds real noble on the surface. But underneath? It’s just more of everything the horse don't need.

And in this game, buddy… more of everything usually means one thing: somebody, somewhere, is tryin’ to get an edge.

Getting back to the Derby, Renegade? Had a mess of a trip.

Further Ado? Favorite at post time—never showed up.

Commandment? More like Commandment to stay home, ‘cause he didn’t do a thing. THOU SHALT NOT LEAVE YOUR STALL.

So NBC rolls out a clip of Commandment gallopin’—and not just any gallop, one of those where anybody who’s spent five minutes around a shed row is sittin’ there goin’, “Uhhh… y’all seein’ this too?”

Ain’t fluid, ain’t right, ain’t hidin’ it… just out there on national TV like it’s a highlight reel. And nobody—not ONE person in the truck, on the set, or in the booth—thought to say, “Hey… maybe this ain’t the clip we wanna showcase right before a Grade 1.”

That tells you everything you need to know right there.

Because folks who know… KNOW. You don’t gotta be a vet, you don’t need a lab coat—just a set of eyes and some experience. Rhythm, stride, how they carry themselves… a horse will tell on itself every single time.

But that leads to your first point, and buddy, it’s a tough pill:

A whole lotta people talkin’ about horses… can’t really read a horse.

They can read a stat sheet, they can read a pedigree page, they can read a teleprompter… but put a live animal in front of ‘em and ask, “What are you seeing?”—and it’s crickets.

And then your second point—horse safety—yeah… that one gets real uncomfortable, real fast. Because when a clip like that airs and nobody blinks, it makes you wonder what’s actually bein’ prioritized.

Ratings? Storylines? Sponsorships?‘Cause it sure ain’t somebody sayin’, “Hold up—this horse might not be movin’ right.”

Now look, I ain’t sayin there’s bad intentions across the board… but I am sayin the blind spots are bigger than folks wanna admit.

And then we get to the broadcast as a whole—Lord have mercy.

I don’t blame the stewards one bit if they flipped over to I Love Lucy. At least Lucy knew how to keep a storyline tight and entertaining.

Meanwhile NBC out here givin’ us: Less horses… more fluff.Less analysis… more fashion week at Churchill Downs.

We got Johnny “Fanta” doin’ his thing—and hey, he’s good at what he does—but nobody said on Saturday "I need more Fanta".

Show me the post parade. Show me how they’re actin’, how they’re sweatin’, how they’re walkin’.Give me something I can actually USE.

Instead we get cutaways, human interest pieces, hats taller than the grandstand… and by the time they circle back to the field, half the story’s already been told without anybody sayin’ a word.

So yeah… if you’re sittin’ there frustrated, you ain’t alone.

Because at the end of the day, for a sport that’s literally about the horse… we spend a shocking amount of time not lookin’ at ‘em.

One other thing that caught my eye, over 70% of folks hollerin’ the Florida Derby was the best prep in a poll. Seventy percent! Based on what, the sunshine in Florida ?

Our numbers had it dead last out of the big four, figuratively speaking, Louisiana, Arkansas, even Santa Anita—yeah, I said it—graded out better. But nah, everybody saw one flashy race and lost their minds. They were thinkin' it is the 'Championship Meet', right? right?

And ohhh, The Puma… yeah. Scratched for “a little swelling,” they said. “Nothing serious,” they said. Uh-huh. We’ll see.

Return time? I’m setting the over/under at two months… and I’m hammering the over like it owes me money. Word is, allegedly, maybe, possibly—don’t sue me—he wasn’t exactly skipping around sound a few mornings before. But hey, what do people with actual eyes and experience know these days, right?

And finally—my favorite group—the wise guys.

These folks bet every horse in the field with $2 here, $3 there, coverin’ every angle like they’re painting a fence… then one hits, and suddenly they’re the King of Churchill Downs for 24 hours.

“Oh I had it all along!”

Yeah, you and 47 other pedigree tickets, buddy. Sit down.