Alright y’all, let’s talk about this weekend’s Derby preps — and I say this with love, caffeine, and a healthy amount of side-eye. Because these races showed up prepackaged . I mean everything was included: the bells, the whistles, the propaganda, the bold absolutes, and a big ol’ box of uncut, straight-from-the-factory FUBAR . No assembly required. We had the Southwest, the Withers, the Robert B. Lewis, and the Sam F. Davis — all featuring hopeful three-year-olds, all allegedly pointing...

Ah… obsession. Such an ugly word for something so beautiful when properly justified. “I want a Paynter,” I declared — repeatedly — to my longtime sales mentor, Rudy Delguidice. A man with the patience of a saint and the eye-roll discipline of a monk. “Why do you want a Paynter so badly?” he’d say. That was ten years ago or even more, I was engrossed in my quest for a Paynter. I never quite got the chance to explain my obsession to Rudy, the man, until this week. I tried to breed to Paynter...

Ah… Oaklawn today. I don’t merely like the card — I love it. The way one loves a well-executed con, an unopened bottle of something expensive, or the moment right before a secret is revealed. It’s rich. It’s layered. It demands attention, not obedience. This is the kind of card that doesn’t hold your hand or whisper sweet nothings. It asks a simple question: Are you paying attention, or are you just along for the ride? Field size, conditions, intent — it’s all there, hiding in plain sight,...