The Kentucky Derby is decadent and depraved. You don't have to take my word for it though, just ask Hunter S. Thompson. It's the first Saturday in May, the day Louisville shuts down so that the rich and famous can show off as they pretend to be interested in the fastest two minutes in sports and everyone gets publicly shithammered drunk.
You may be inclined to suspect that Hunter is exaggerating in that piece, but having survived the Kentucky Derby five times myself I can vouch for him. I was never there to enjoy the spectacle though, worked in a restaurant there bussing tables, barbacking, and waiting on the yahoos yucking it up.
Was actually at Churchill Downs for the covid delayed Derby in 2020, but they had the National Guard and a bunch of cops in riot gear there just to keep me out. It was even more surreal than usual that year, that show of force was to 'protect' a horse race with no spectators and instead of celebrities swarming into town it was militias.
Really would like to snag a press pass and take photos at the Derby, would also really like to never have anything to do with it again. Cameras with detachable lenses are always on the list of prohibited items for the Derby, so it's either play press or smuggler.
Wasn't about to try either this year, wanted nothing more than to stay locked in at the house and have nothing to do with Derby. Did manage to escape from the madness though, made a new flower bed and edited photos from earlier this week instead.
There is one Derby tradition that I faithfully observe though. To prepare myself for all that the day may bring I always listen to Dead Flowers and read Hunter's aforementioned Scanlon's piece.
Nobody is on their best behavior for Derby but so far it appears there was no major rambunctiousness. The infield of the track is basically one massive field party on Derby, and nobody there is particularly worried about seeing the race. Which is good because you can't hardly see it from the infield.
One year it was rather rainy and the infield turned into a sea of mud, so naturally the drunks decided the best thing to do was climb up on top of the porta-pots and race down the line of them while everyone else threw beer cans. Actually, that's probably the best description of the Derby experience. The ones in the stands have fancy clothes and big hats but it's not much different.
Just as absurd though, like a brush guard on a dualie muscle car. Is that an old Chevelle? Thankfully, once the race is over things go back to normal around here pretty quickly.
Or at least what passes for normal around these parts.
