Sense and Sensibility....

After days of analysis and hypotheses, the sensible solution turned out to be the correct one on Saturday. Street Sense, the post-time favorite who also won the Breeder’s Cup Juvenile at Churchill Downs, blew past Hard Spun in the final furlong to win the 133rd Run for the Roses. Ockham would have been pleased.

Street Sense became the first horse to win the BC Juvenile and the Derby, breaking a 23-year skid. Street Sense’s path to victory was uncannily similar in the two races: saving ground along the rail only to explode through a narrow opening at just the right time. Calvin Borel’s ride was patient and perfectly timed; he deserves every ounce of credit bestowed upon him.

Now the Triple Crown whispers will begin. If Street Sense can win the shorter Preakness in twelve days time, the whispers will turn to roars. The son of Street Cry figures to love every inch of the grueling mile and a half Belmont, the third and final leg. Only eleven thoroughbreds have won all three, and it has been 29 years since Affirmed outdueled Alydar in the Belmont to last claim the crown. In five weeks we'll know if Street Sense belongs alongside the eleven before him.

One thing is clear: this colt isn’t afraid of the stage. On two separate occasions he has elevated his game when the lights have shone brightest. Perhaps he senses the magnitude of the moment; perhaps he also senses what’s next.

I have a tendency to reevaluate betting tactics after a big race. This year’s Derby didn’t yield any winnebagos, but the time spent studying the form was worthwhile. The $1 trifecta paid out $220. If Dominican or Circular Quay could have gotten up for third, the payout would have increased exponentially.

I also should have backed up my trifecta with a little more money on Street Sense -- such a logical candidate to hit the board. The potential for a higher return with Dominican got the better of me. It’s a balancing act: evaluating the odds against the way you think the race will unfold, and the potential for a return. This time around the best horse won and paid a decent buck to his backers. Perhaps a lesson? Leading to more sensible wagers next around?

I can’t say that’s entirely likely. I enjoy my time on the RV lot.

My time inside the Downs on Derby Day was, as always, top notch. My dad is now a Churchill Downs shareholder, a distinction which offered us free admission to the track (translation: more money to bet). Sharing Derby day with the man who first brought me trackside was an immense treat.

About 75% of the time my dad and I prefer the same horses. At the window we even opt for similar types of bets. Yet another check mark for the gene pool. I’d like to see a tally of the things we learn through osmosis during youth. I think it's safe to say the total would be rather large.

I bumped into Alan Houston, Michael Strahan, Eddie George, and Regina King (had to IMDB her) at the Downs. Each was impeccably dressed. Strahan was shorter than I expected. Eddie George could have been Usher’s big brother.

It was overcast most of Derby day, and the forecast called for afternoon rain. But an hour before the Derby the sun broke through. When the horses came onto the track and the band struck up My Old Kentucky Home, I knew the meteorologists had been bested by the grandeur of the day.

The infield was muddy; the crowd rowdy as ever. Sombreros were particularly en vogue. I watched the race from turn one, my regular locale. From there you can see the horses come by the stands for the first time and watch the rest on the Jumbotron. The pre-race atmosphere is exhilarating and tense; everyone knows it will only last two minutes.

As the horses enter the starting gate, there’s a communal understanding that something unique is about to be shared. The sensation is renewed every year, whether it’s your first Derby or your fifteenth. It never goes away.

After the race there are screams of jubilation and busted tickets floating through the air. Others just shrug and grab another beer. Regardless of the winner, the party goes on.

I managed to nab four mint julep glasses (“managed” being synonymous with bought/drank). I’ll accidentally break one or two in the next six months. Hopefully at least one will live on. The glasses are becoming a prized possession; more so as my collection grows.

I only made it to Mollie Malone’s once this year, an unacceptable underachievement. I’m expecting viewers of these pages to redeem an outstanding voucher for next May. We get older, but the fun on Bardstown Road stays the same age.

More than anything I hate it when Derby week comes to a close. 51 weeks until I get to do it again. Way too long, especially when contemplating another Chicago winter in between here and there.

For now there are five more weeks of Triple Crown action. Next stop: the OTB on North Avenue for the Preakness. I’m still in need of a winnebago, so I’ll be looking for some lesser known horses to fill out my trifectas. Sensibility has never been my forte.

I’ll be cheering for Street Sense, every step of the way. Hoping he can break another streak. Hoping he will be the twelfth. Hoping the history books await.

For the first time in as long as I can remember, I’m inclined to believe it will happen. The force is strong with this one.

I can sense it.