TRAVERS WEEK

Well folks, here we go. Travers Week. The Midsummer Derby. Saratoga’s crown jewel. The peak of the meet. The climax of the summer. Or—depending on who you ask—a five-horse funeral procession led by a prohibitive favorite and backed by more overhyped coverage than a presidential debate in Ohio.

The Card? Oh, it’s stacked, baby. Stacked like a Southern BBQ buffet on Labor Day weekend—hot, bloated, and just a little too much sauce.

But in the grand tradition of modern sports media—where everything’s either a “legacy-defining moment” or “not a big deal,” and questions like “Who’s IN and who’s OUT?!” —we’re gonna do the Travers like they do the NFL Draft, Fantasy Football shows, or whatever they call that MMA circus now.

Let’s propagandize this baby.

“Describe the Travers in ONE WORD.”➡️ Underwhelming.Unless, of course, you work for the networks, then it’s “ELECTRIC,” “HISTORIC,” or “FATEFUL.” Because nothing screams fate like a five-horse field where the fourth-choice is 20-1 and nobody’s sure if the horse or the trainer’s social media manager has more Twitter followers.

'Overrated' everything Saratoga is overrated, overrated by the droves whom blindly follow the big top in Saratoga Springs. There are nuggets under the big top, that will go undeerated, and you just have to know where to look. What's your word?

“Big Deal or Not a Big Deal?!”➡️ Oh it’s a HUGE deal... if you’re Bob Baffert’s sunglasses or a PR guy selling $17 White Claws in the clubhouse. For the actual horses? You know, those four-legged athletes we’re supposedly here to watch? Eh, they’ll be on screen for maybe 90 seconds before we cut to [fill in the blank} fifth segment about his Pick 6 ticket that’ll lose, most likely, in the first leg anyway.

It's a Big Deal for the folks traveling there, to see the horses up close, hang out near the paddock and watch the line of 'dignitaries' pay omage in the paddock. Definitely a big deal if you are attending but are watching. Not a Big Deal if you are not playing every race like it's your last. It's a Big Deal for you as a player to concentrate your bankroll on a select few races. The track, the big top, wants you wager on every race, every wager, it's a big deal to them, they are looking to make their monies, and so are you. 'Big Deal' is being smart and not falling for every Tommie on a mic offering his pick 5 ticket out of the goodness of his heart.

You better have your ticket ready. I ain’t talkin’ about your overpriced GA wristband or some laminated souvenir from the gift shop. I mean your picks. Your action. Your sweet little stab at greatness on a piece of crumpled paper soaked in beer and bad decisions.

Because here’s the thing: you ain’t lookin’ at other people’s tickets to validate your picks. This ain’t no damn pancake topping taste test where we’re all out here goin’,“Ooooh, you got blueberries, that’s cute! I got chocolate chips! We’re both winners!”No sir.

This is war. Wallet war. Self-esteem war. Bragging rights war.

You're lookin’ at other people’s picks to see what the hell they’ve got that you don’t. What edge you missed. What 'golden rail' you ignored. What second-out maiden you laughed off that just dusted your top choice like he was running with a 50-pound feed bag strapped to his back.

You’re in the grandstand like:“Wait, they singled THAT horse? Why? Did I miss a workout? Did the jockey go vegan? Did the horse get a new therapist?”

And there’s always that one guy—that guy—who’s got a smirk like he’s already cashed it, (that's usually US) and suddenly you're sweating harder than a preacher in a strip club because you know… you’re missing something.

It’s not about validation. Validation is what you get after therapy. This is Saratoga. You want confirmation—not that you’re right, but that you didn’t completely screw it up.

And deep down, let’s be honest, no one really wants to be right alone. You want to be the only 'jackass'on a 12-1 shot screaming across the finish line like you just hit Powerball while everyone else looks at you like you brought possum stew to a potluck. Yes, you want that perfect balance—you want to be right, and being unpopular enough after the fact to feel like a genius.

So yeah, hold that ticket up. Compare it like it’s a middle school report card and your parents are askin’,“Why’d little Jimmy get an A and you got a C+?” Same damn energy.You ain't lookin’ to feel good. You’re lookin’ to find out what you missed, so you can pretend you meant to leave it off when it wins or get the stamp of confidence as you cash your ticket.

It's a big deal for YOU to follow YOUR plan, YOUR program, YOUR idea, not the one they are have mapped out for you for their benefit, its about YOU, and only YOU.

“Who’s IN, who’s OUT?!”➡️ Well it was five. Now it’s four. Blink and you’ll miss the scratch update, but don’t worry— will have an hour of pre-race coverage where they ask what this means to the historical narrative of a 3-year-old season that hasn’t had a pulse since the Belmont. Shocker: the horse that wins will suddenly be Horse of the Year material… because hey, who needs consistency when you’ve got sound bites?

I'm in to see the horses, I'm out to seeing faces on the screen that sounds like Charley Browns teacher.

Post-race reactions?Get ready for it:“WOW.”“JUST. WOW.”“We’re witnessing something SPECIAL.”(Unless the favorite stubs his hoof and finishes second, in which case: “The sport is BROKEN.”)

YOU are the only one who should matter when it comes down to hyperbole. The Wows beong to you to dispense.

The mute button is your friend, tune them out like a bad radio station playing the song that reminds you of that ex...... TUNE THEM OUT. Tune out the Noise.

"I can't play that horse at 5/2, maybe 5-1 but not 5/2", you will hear that, like its a Church Sunday Amen, and with 20 minutes post, the author of the statement changes tune and makes a secondary selection, a dead beat entry whom they believe ill offer the price they aspire as if they are Bob Barker at the Price is right.

The result is, original selection floats up to 5-1, wins, secondary, reactionary selection bet down to 5/2 and up the track. It never fails, its like playing pin the tail on the kicking donkey with a blindfold on camera.

It’s scripted excitement, y’all. Orchestrated astonishment. You’ll hear “That just happened!” so many times, you’d think this was a WWE pay-per-view. And through it all—the horses? Still just trotting along, getting 3% of the coverage and none of the Instagram filters.

But hey, it’s Travers Week. So go on, sip that overhyped Kool-Aid, pretend the field’s deeper than a college philosophy major, and celebrate the one race of the summer that used to be about horses and history… but now? It’s just another content farm for fake narratives, manufactured buzz, and the annual [FILL IN THE BLANK] Invitational Ego Parade.

How many references will be made to a horse training great, or an horsemen saying "couldn't be doing any better. Too many. Try and count....

Make it YOUR day not theirs.

So go on. Play your ticket. Judge others’. Judge yourself harder.

And remember: validation is for brunch.This is Travers Week.

Let it ride. 🎤

Preshate y'all.