The Run for the Roses (Part II).....

Admittedly, there’s a lot of yin and yang, good cop and bad cop, on these pages. It’s emblematic of the writer. My moods tend to alternate between sentimental and comedic, serious and absurd. This blog follows suit.

If you read Roses Part I and have that pegged for yin, you’re probably wise to anticipate a fish-hook to the mouth (yang). Indeed, notes from Bardstown Road and a gambler’s underbelly are about to commence.

Please do not allow anything in this entry to diminish the earnestness of Monday’s writings. I couldn’t be more serious with regards to my adoration for the Derby’s history, and horse racing’s need for more fans. One more time with enthusiasm: Go Baby, Go.

Having said as much, let’s now proceed with a series of paragraphs akin to an after school special, only the exact opposite.

First off, a little Louisville mapping. Bardstown Road = The Vegas Strip and Mollie Malone’s = Ghostbar (insert your favorite Vegas bar/club). You may hear rumors that the newer 4th Street Live is preferred to Bardstown Road. Sure, you could go with that theory. While you’re at it, keep telling yourself that Sapphire is better than The Spearmint Rhino.

Now that our GPS is targeted for Bardstown Road, with Mollie Malone’s serving as home base, on with the implications.

The bars are open until 6 am Derby weekend. The track on Derby Day opens at 6 am. If you have a pencil within grasp, you can draw a straight line from Mollie Malone’s -> Churchill Downs. An Etch-A-sketch would probably do the trick too, but don’t wear yourself out looking. The important thing to grasp: you never have to go home.

If you don’t see hammering straight through as a merit-worthy act, and you’re coming to Louisville in an RV or sleep-in-auto, Bardstown Road can double as your address for the night. It’s in a good location, about seven miles from the Downs. You won’t be alone.

Staying with the Vegas parallel, Derby weekend definitely has the “what happens at Derby, stays at Derby” thing going for it. Especially relevant if you’re hoping to bump into a collegiate someone you haven’t seen in a decade. The Derby has universal appeal: people want to cross it off their “I did something while roaming the earth” list. In short, you are virtually guaranteed to see someone from yesteryear. What you do with yesteryear in a dark bar at five in the morning, is up to you.

Past happenings on Bardstown Road include: a bathroom bump-in with Eli Manning, a buddy passed out next to his own puke on a proprietor’s lawn, a back alley Kid Rock sighting, unintentional tours of Louisville in illegal cabs (locals in their Oldsmobile’s looking to make an extra buck), another buddy wandering into a Winnebago (in which he knew no one) wearing a 3-foot nerf hat and staying with the inhabitants for the next 20 hours, bachelor party festivities complete with an unplanned rendezvous at a downtown strip club, and all manner of tomfoolery at Mollie Malone’s (including an inexplicable choice in beverages one year: screwdrivers).

The possibilities, and actual happenings, are endless.

The only other point worthy of attention: cabs (legal or otherwise) are difficult to find in Louisville. And when I say difficult, I’m talking whittle your way through Fort Knox tough. Alternative travel options (unicycles, rickshaws, the Millennium Falcon) should be sought out if feasible.

Assuming the “party all night then head to the Downs” option loses out to a few hours of sleep, noon is a good aim (ETA) for Derby day. This leaves enough time to stop in at one of the townie bars adorning plastic banners that say “Welcome Race Fans." The potential for lifelong stories from said locales is “high” to “very high.” If you sense health inspectors have been neglecting your chosen watering hole for the better part of a century, or if you think it’s a normal house out to make an extra buck, all the better.

After a little time with the locals, it’s probably time to move the party inside the Downs. If Derby Day means the infield, you will be entering via Gate 3. Prepare for entry alongside the youngest party-goers on the planet (trust me: younger every year). Plus, they will have beaten you to the first beer (game of flippy cup, keg stand) of the morning. The net/net, be prepared for juvenile tendencies. The other thing to know about Gate 3: this is where the unofficial grand prize game of the Derby takes place -- smuggling alcohol into the Downs.

Downs workers have seen a lot of tricks. Don’t fool yourself; winning this battle is partly about luck. That being said, ingenuity is often rewarded. Barnoculars (binoculars with a screw-off eye lens) are a personal favorite. I also think filling the water cooler with ice, only to dump vodka in at the last minute, has a decent chance of passing inspection. Beyond that, any type of beverage container that still has the twisty seal on will probably make it through. But there really are no guarantees.

Upon entry, there will plenty of madness (and bare skin) in turn three. This is college row. Collegiate status not required, only collegiate behavior. Activities normally reserved for the mosh pit are regularly on the docket. Shirts and shoes strongly discouraged.

Those looking for fun without body surfing can opt for turn two. An older yet entertaining (normally clothed) ensemble. The chances of seeing a horse improves dramatically in turn two.

My crew normally holes up in between the two turns, closer to the stage for the bands and really close to a mouth-watering hamburger stand. After a late night on Bardstown Road, this is our oasis in the infield desert. The burgers are worth twice their $6 price tag and offer a little sustenance before stepping onboard the mint julep train.

Whatever you’ve heard about mint juleps, know this: they taste better at Churchill Downs. The classic souvenir glass, the actual mint leaves, the bourbon to ice coefficient -- it all adds up to an appreciation for bourbon that many would normally swear off. That first sip may be jolting, but not long thereafter you’ll be flagging down the guy yelling, “miiiiint jewel-uppppppps” for numero dos, glad you ventured down this path.

From this point on I would encourage doing whatever the moment calls for. Once you’ve paid general admission to the infield, you also have access to the grandstand side of Churchill Downs via a tunnel in the middle of the track. Some areas are off-limits in the grandstand, but every single attendee has access to a decent percentage of the track including the paddock (where the jockeys mount the horses). It’s worth a trip to the grandstand side just to check out the pretty people, regardless of your own attire. If you’re looking to make a wager or two, the betting lines on the grandstand side also tend to be exponentially shorter.

Not that I’m a bettor.

Well, maybe I am. In truth, “definitely” would probably be the better choice.

It’s not that I have a thing for gambling, or that I love cheering for a particular horse. I HAVE to bet the Derby. If someone offered you $10 whenever a coin flip came up heads, and you only had to pay them $5 when it was tails, would you be willing to become a “gambler.” Sure you would; it's free money.

For me, the Derby is as close as I’ll ever get to free money.

Derby day bettors are about as diverse a lot as you’ll find this side of Tatooine. Not only that, but using the force at the pari-mutuel window is the norm, not the exception. Favorite numbers, a horse’s name, a cute jockey, the number of pet iguanas the bettor has, and all manner of other derivatives: on Derby day there is absolutely no method to the average bettor’s madness.

And to the absolute delight of anyone who’s ever read a racing form, the guy who just bet $400 on the correlation to his iguana, has just influenced the odds. A horse that might normally be 6-1, could be 9-1, offering me an additional 50% on my money (and a hearty thank you to Mr. Iguana).

But here’s the bad news. Instead of being able to flip 1,000 coins and grind out a decent profit, with the Derby I only get one shot. As much as it pains me, neither Kid Rock nor Mr. Iguana will come back for more betting action on Sunday. Now if you’re an a + b = c sorta guy/gal, you’re probably sensing what this adds up to. In order for me to try and maximize this yearly opportunity, I’ve got to bet MORE.

But this is actually a matter for another day (tomorrow). You can sense where I’m headed: a few large bets. For now, it’s time to venture down to 4th Street Live for the post-position draw. Wish they would have hosted it elsewhere, but they didn't. A singular knock on the week: not at all bad.

Man, I love this town.