Who Else To Root For

This year’s Derby is highly unusual in that no clear favorite has emerged. Normally the press has pre-crowned a winner by March or so. The Derby is for three-year-old Thoroughbreds, and as these little ones have grown and tested their wings, they have been continually knocking one another off in the late-winter and early-spring races known as “Derby preps.”

Given the rich field and the muddy conditions at Churchill today, I'm thinking this is pretty much a free-for-all. The roses will go to whoever's standing at the end.

Some worthy ponies to back for place or show:

Minister Eric
My grandpa always told me, “You can’t go wrong with the horse under Pat Day.” Day is one of the best jockeys in history—although the one time I did bet him, the only time I’ve ever placed a horseracing bet, he lost. I'm still sitting here waiting for that damn horse to come in. Thanks, Pat. Take solace, however, in this colt’s name; Day is a born-again Christian, and, as always… there’s no such thing as a coincidence, especially in horseracing.

Limehouse
The press isn’t giving this little one much of a chance, but I saw him win the Tampa Bay Derby with Pat in the saddle, and he was quite impressive. We need to root for Limehouse so I can hobble around in my 90’s telling people that I saw the great Limehouse run before anybody knew who he was.

Imperialism
A one-eyed scrapper who’s been getting a lot of attention because he is trained by 21-year-old Kristin Mulhall. If Imperialism wins, Mulhall will be the first woman and the youngest trainer ever to win a Kentucky Derby. But don't plan on crying in your mint julep any if Imperialism stops. Kristin bought an $800,000 house at 19 and drives a BMW... when she's not driving the Mercedes. Yeah, I pretty much don't like Kristin.

Birdstone
Birdstone is owned by Marylou Whitney, whose late husband, Sonny, tried fifteen times to win the Derby. Marylou does a great deal of charity work, so she gets points for not being a beastly rich person. Besides, she’s just plain due.

The Cliff’s Edge
HBO’s controversial documentary Jockey focused on the incredibly dangerous lives of race riders. One of the jocks it focused on was Shane Sellers, who rides The Cliff’s Edge today. Shane has never won a Derby and has worked tirelessly to lower the strict weight restrictions on jockeys and to assist his friend, Randy Romero, who is currently suffering kidney failure from a lifetime of harsh reducing (dieting and bulimia to make weight.)

Pollard’s Vision
All fellow English majors MUST root for Pollard’s Vision, who is named after Seabiscuit’s jockey, Red Pollard. Both horse and Red are blind in the right eye. Watch Pollard’s Vision as he goes down the track—he runs with his head cocked to the side to see where he’s going. Adorable. I want to take this one home and let him graze in my kitchen.

What to Sing

Via Ed McNamara, via my college pal-turned-lawyer Flip:

The young folks drink and keel over on the floor,
Mint juleps have blown them away
They're so burnt out that they're unaware of change
While the sad horseplayers pay and pay.

CHORUS: Weep no more, rich ladies,
Oh weep no more today
Let us sing one song for your new Kentucky home
Where you'll booze it up and wager on Pat Day.

Who To Root For

“This is the most wide-open Kentucky Derby I can remember in my lifetime.”
-Steve Cauthen, jockey of Affirmed, 1978 Triple Crown winner

I don't place bets at the races, as I always root for who I want to win, rather than who will probably win. This is not how one makes money at the track. ("I'll take the one with the real pretty tail to win, please.") A lot of you have been asking for my Derby pick. With Gary "I'm In France" Stevens in France, that horse is Smarty Jones. Lookit:

Smarty Jones' story is the next big horseracing movie. This dear little colt came out of nowhere to beat out some very expensive, brand-name horses to earn a spot in the Derby. (20 points for Seabiscuit parallels) As a very young colt, just learning how to enter the gate for a race, Smarty reared and seriously injured his eye. (50 points for Overcoming Adversity) His owners, Roy and Pat Chapman, a car dealer and former social worker, are small-time folks who have turned down blank check offers for this horse. (15 points for belonging to non-snotty rich people.) Roy Chapman is in very poor health and survives only with the help of an oxygen tank. (35 points for Invalid Angle) Last year the Chapmans almost left horseracing entirely when their former trainer and his wife, who brought together Smarty Jones' dam and sire, were murdered. (70 points for Unexpected and Tragic Death Angle) Handicappers aren't giving Smarty Jones much of a chance because he hasn't beaten horses of note. (10 points for being The Underdog) Smarty's owners, his trainer John Servis, and his jockey, Stewart Elliott, have never been anywhere near the run for the roses. (90 points for sob value in the winners' circle.)

Also, Elliott is a total cutiepie. (100,000,000 points for cutiepie, single jockey.)

Smarty Jones needs to win this race.

Derby coverage starts at 5 PM EST on NBC. Watch with me.

My Boyfriend, Sean Casey

is currently batting .423. The Blonde is pleased. Bear in mind, however, that the following is listed amongst his Big Accomplishments for the previous season the team website: "He joined Jason LaRue as the only Reds players to stay on the 25-man roster for the entire season." Let's hear it for Sean, who managed not to nurse a hangnail or get his ass traded off a team that last week dealt the stadium infield lights for two minor league pitchers and an outfielder to be named later.

Stamped

Today I took my birth certificate, my drivers' license, thirty dollars, and my ass to the Orange County Courthouse to apply for my passport. I don't know where I'm going, and I don't have the funds to get there anyway; this is probably a good thing, as it took me half an hour to find the door to the courthouse. Hell, it took me ten minutes to find the courthouse, all 27 floors of it. So it probably isn't a tremendously smart move, me leaving the hemisphere.

The clerk made me raise my right hand and swear to the accuracy of my application, which took me aback. Way back. I wish I'd known this was coming. If I knew I was going to be swearing to Official Government Business, I totally would have brought the family Bible and a weeping, hat-wearing friend along to hold it for me. As it was, I was wearing scuffed sandals and answered the oath with an extremely lame "Uh--Yeaaaaah-- I do." Things will go much more smoothly when my Presidential administration begins.

email direct Sydney fare to: blondechampagne@hotmail.com

WORST. BAND. EVER.

Why is it when you want to show off your native land, your native land immediately breaks out the ugly stick?

My BFFE (Best Friend FOREVER, duh) Carah was in town for the weekend to attend a wedding, the highlight of which came down when she turned to me and said, "We are so totally the hottest women at this wedding," and I was forced to point out that we were the only women in attendance weighing less than 700 pounds. A hollow victory.

I very proudly took Carah and a couple friends to the Cocoa Beach Pier, which, along with Colorado, The Womb, and Riverfront Stadium has my heart all balled up in its sandy little fist. The Pier is always awash in fun music, lovely sunshine, and wave after wave of thought-inducing ocean; and so of course when we were in attendance, the Pier was rife with a nighttime chill, a very loud, very drunk local woman who talked exactly like Maya Rudolph impersonating Donatella Versace, and the WORST. BAND. EVER.

Their repertoire did not exist past the year 1973, they tuned against a cat being swung upside a tree, and they clearly thought that they. Just. Rocked.

Carah, unlike me, is a chipper, uncomplaining sort of broad, and after about fifteen minutes of this she turned to me and said very quietly, "Please make it stop."

"They're going to do the entire Wall! In order!" a horrified Flipper realized as Peter Frampton showed up looking for a gun with with to kill first them, then himself.

The evening did improve. G-Force ordered wine, which arrived in a plastic cup directly after being pressed. She drank maybe four swallows, set it down, and said, "Life's too short for this shit." Word.

We left just as--sure enough-- "another briiiiick in the WALL" came skeezing out of the speakers. As a performer myself, I never EVER shout "YOU SUCK!!" at somebody with the guts to get up on a stage before strangers-- but, seriously: YOU SUCK.