The Kentucky Derby is weird
By Michael Amman
37 years ago the great Hunter S Thompson wrote that the Kentucky Derby was decadent and depraved. Like most things the good doctor wrote about — Las Vegas, the campaign trail, motorcycle gangs- the ugly side that he reveled in has been swept under the rug and conveniently out of the public eye.
However, the absurdity of the race still remains.
The winning owner was a fat mouth-breather who looked more like an accountant than a millionaire. He was ecstatically celebrating as news that the second place horse and only filly in the race was euthanized immediately following the its run. While the announcers are only kind of talking about what happened this chubby bastard is dancing away.
He’s walking to the track with a very flamboyant man very clearly on cocaine who is yelling about how awesome the whole thing is.
It is REALLY AWESOME.
The jowly veterinarian is explaining why they had to kill the creature, but they can’t help cutting back to the guy's wife, who looks like a mannequin covered in skin with big sunglasses and a giant hat. She’s jumping up and down and screaming and her titties are bouncing everywhere in front of her children’s faces.
What they aren’t talking about is Eight Belles' lack of viability as a stud (the real money involved in the race) probably coming into play in the choice to bust a cap in the poor beast. (Don't feel too badly for the owners; not only did his other horse win the all-filly Kentucky Oaks, he's the former governor of the commonwealth of Kentucky.)
The winning jockey, a tiny little man who my friend from Kentucky calls a d**k, is talking about how proud he is of his horse. I’ve always wondered what the horses would say if they were interviewed.
“Well I thought I did pretty good, but I probably would go faster if this tiny motherfucker wasn’t on my back. I’m sorry, I’m full of about 14 different drugs so I am all over the place right now. You guys gotta any oats? I really want some oats. Like now. God I’m gonna get so laid tonight. Woo!”
Or perhaps if they were smart enough to talk, they wouldn’t run so fast so as to avoid having to go through what must be the least pleasant “sporting” event for its contestants. Any sport where a midget hits you for two minutes as you run like you’ve lost your mind and could easily kill you has to suck.
As a sports fan, however, the excitement of the race is downright maniacal. It's as if the Super Bowl was compressed into a two-minute segment. The overt gambling element of the whole procedure also lends to the pressurized nature of this sport. Fortunes are won and lost in a casual but deliberate manner. Horse racing, like boxing, would not exist without hundreds thousands of people bleeding cash over the exploitation of a few desperate contenders. These horses are pumped full of drugs, birth legal and ignorable, that are dangerous and whatever.
If the preparation for and competition in high-end horse racing didn’t contribute to the death of Eight Belles, I'll donate my own body to glue.
The Triple Crown is of course not the only race where fast horses die. The Omak Suicide race averages a dead horse a start. If you can, try and check out some of the videos of the event. It's one of those insane vestiges of something that you sometimes can't believe exists in America. It seems like something you’d find in the hills of some Eastern European country, where a giant bearded man in a unibrow would laugh at your pathetic American sensitivities as his children robbed you. You almost have to admire their callous disregard for both the horses’ (and riders’) well being as well as public perception. The race is basically horses running off a cliff into a river in the dead of night. The preliminary races take place at night, rendering the horses pretty much blind. The finals happen in broad daylight, which has provided the bulk of the internet videos (coming soon to the UWeekly's Bang For Your Buck!)
I really can’t find a party really cheesed off about Eight Belle’s demise. NBC and the sports media get to talk not only about a dominant performance in the “sport’s” greatest stage, but also another tragic death of a race horse- this time a lady-horse. The Derby itself probably didn’t hear what happened through all the money they took in for the 137th straight year. The gamblers certainly don’t care, as they’ve either bought a boat in celebration or a bottle of gin in horrible, life crushing disappointment. PETA and the like just got the best poster-dead horse they could have asked for bringing down the world of horse racing. Even the “pray for Barbaro” crowd must secretly love the chance to mourn another one of these damn animals for however many months. I certainly am no mad. As soon as the jowly vet told us the horse was dead I knew I had a column written. Sorry.
I guess my girlfriend was the only one who actually seemed upset by the whole thing. “There’s just some fat rich guy dancing around while they drag off this poor dead horse. It’s just really depressing. Tell me you won’t make fun of the horse in your column Michael,”
Deal. Go to Bang for your Buck for videos and further coverage of the Omak Suicide races, PETA's least favorite sporting event outside of the Carolinas!
Originally Published: Issue 648 - May 14, 2008
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