Lincicome: What is modern-day horse racing without the Kentucky Derby?
Dependably, the Kentucky Derby refuses to join boxing and tennis and other relic sports, baseball too, games that are dated by their disciples.
Horse racing is on display once a year, the second Saturday in May, at one place, Churchill Downs, in Louisville, a place that thinks of itself as the New Orleans of the North but is in fact the Milwaukee of the South.
It is the annual duty of the Derby to save the sport of horse racing, an obligation that interferes with its primary purpose of displaying atrocious head wear (and not a derby among them) and foisting the mint julep on an unsuspecting public, the worst mixed drink since the Kerosene Collins.
The early Hunter Thompson created a career by depicting the Derby as “decadent and depraved” only to realize he was writing about himself. So, Gonzo and Secretariat, not a bad legacy.
The horses are incidental to the place, like the pimento sandwiches at Augusta or the strawberries at Wimbledon, two other bucket list destinations that are more prominent than the sport they host.
The actual event takes only two minutes or so. Anyone who gets hooked can pay attention for the next five weeks and not spend more than six minutes, tops.
You can't get that kind of economy from baseball or, bless its endlessness, basketball.
By the middle of June, there might be a horse whose name can be remembered. Maybe it will be right up there with Secretariat, Trigger, Mr. Ed and other common favorites.
There are no defending champions in Triple Crown horse racing. This eliminates a lot of pain. A fan can only get disappointed once, which may be why they've never run a Triple Crown race in Chicago.
The beauty of horse racing is in its invisibility. Somewhere out there right now foals are being jerked around on lead ropes and somebody with big thumbs is sticking a bit in a colt's cheek for the first time without the courtesy of an explanation. No need to bother the way you might about high school phenoms or Heisman Trophy candidates or pro draft choices.
We can ignore the building of a racehorse and be assured that sooner or later the best from the farm will run around Churchill Downs for our amusement -- and our wagers.
It is always very easy to catch up with horses once they get to the Derby. Somebody writes down the names of their mothers and fathers, all their races, their successes and failures, and somebody on TV in a pastel coat and neat hair will tell you everything you need to know.
Horse racing is wonderful that way and keeps a small portion of the population employed, though not entirely comfortable.
Horse racing’s public window is a transom. It has only five weeks to build an attraction through the Triple Crown races. And then in the autumn it holds a single day at the races, the Breeders’ Cup, to prove that whatever happened in the spring was a mistake.
Casinos are killing horse racing and not helping real sports as well. Whereas the racetrack was once the place to go to bet, now you can sit at home and wager on anything from the first free throw to the color of Caitlan Clark’s shoes.
Horse racing does need saving, I suppose, in the way the greatest car ever built, the 1955 Chevy, is worth restoring.
All games seem to get these periodic demands to be rescued for their own good. Boxing is perpetually in search of salvation, dismissed these days for being too polite. Meanwhile, muscled troglodytes carry on.
A few years ago golf was restored to glory by Tiger Woods, now played by faceless drones. Basketball wonders where the next Michael Jordan is coming from while LeBron James keeps hanging around until we admit it is him.
Tennis has been pronounced dead more often than Rasputin. Football frets about finding another Tom Brady, and hockey the same for Wayne Gretzky. Soccer looks to the suburbs, convinced that everything it needs is napping in the car seat of a Jeep Grand Cherokee.
Meanwhile, Arlington Park, once the Midwest mecca of horse racing, has vanished, the lingering silence awaiting whatever happens next.