18386 Little Prairie Road
Prairieville, Louisiana 70769
(225) 622-1324
mag@ascensionmagazine.net

Contact UsArchivesHome

cover

April 2008
menu

My Old Kentucky Home....Revisited

  Never Be the Dirty Word-- Email, Don't SPAM

  Don't Fret The Guitar

  2nd Annual Art, Antiques, and Authors Festival

  The Loop

  THOUGHTS FROM BULLY: Exx-ON Crawfish

Current IssueDistribution LocationsProduction infoSubmit Articles

My Old Kentucky Home....Revisited
by Bill Delaune

Most of you know that I’ve been around since they poured the slab on My Old Kentucky Home, but until 1998 I’d never been to the Kentucky Derby. 

All that changed 10 years ago as several members of my family and I trekked to Churchill Downs for the 124th Run for the Roses.  It also was the last time I actually picked a winner in the race- a Bob Baffert-trained charger called Real Quiet.

But the race is only part of the Kentucky Derby Festival.  There are events leading up to “the most exciting two minutes in sports” that combine Mardi Gras, pop festivals, and fashion shows and feature characters from every part of the globe. If you’ve never been, then allow me to reminisce on my 10th anniversary of my Derby trip and remember how many brain cells I’ve destroyed in that period of time.

The Trip-A definite advantage is traveling with a singer-songwriter like Uncle Jim. That way, when you cross the Talahatchie Bridge in Northern Mississippi or the Green River in Kentucky, you can break into song without drawing any strange looks.

But just let me say this. If Billy Joe McCallister killed himself by jumping off that bridge, he must have broken his neck on a stump. There just ain’t much water down there.

And I’m sure John Prine thought the Green River was “Paradise” when he was a boy.  But Mr. Peabody’s coal train must have hauled it away because there’s nothing but a ditch about the size of the Grand Goudene there now.

The Infield-If you think the Derby is just for bluebloods with shark-skin suits and flowery hats, guess again. On Friday we visited the infield at Churchill Downs where a mini-Woodstock had been rocking since dawn.

Here the dress code was halter tops and Daisy Duke Cutoffs and the band played Metallica, not Stephen Foster.  My guess is there were 50,000 people at this Jazz Fest-like setting that didn’t even realize there were races going on.  

When we asked one shirtless young dude with a glazed look in his eyes (not from doughnuts I would guess) how we could get to the grandstand, he stared as us incredulously and asked, “Why would y’all want to leave all this?”

The Oaks-The female version of the Derby is run on Friday afternoon featuring the best 3-year old fillies in the country in the Kentucky Oaks.  My horse was Star of Broadway who had blown away everything she’d faced at the Fair Grounds. After missing nine straight races betting horses with Louisiana connections, I realized why the longest lines at the track were not at the betting windows or the restrooms, but at the ATM machines. But not to worry-Star of Broadway would get me out.  She was trained by Hall of Fame conditioner D. Wayne Lukas and ridden by Hall of Fame jockey Pat Day. What more could you ask for. 

 “She’ll sit right off the lead,” I told Jim confidently. “She really learned how to pace 
 in her last race.”

When the gates opened, Pat Day sent Star of Broadway right to the lead perhaps forgetting the Oaks was one mile and one-eighth- further than any of the fillies had been before.  Obviously tired at the top of the stretch, she finished a badly-beaten fourth. I handled the loss with the quiet dignity of a professional.

 “Nice ride,” I shouted at Day. “You couldn’t ride in the back of a pick-up truck 
at Delta Downs.”

Then I turned my wrath on the Hall of Fame trainer.  “And you Lukas, you couldn’t train Lassie to fetch a bone.”

Then I went and got in the ATM line.

The Drink- And believe me it was time for one. So when in Kentucky, do as all Derby denizens do and try a mint julep.  

To witness the true flavor of the Bluegrass delicacy, go get a bottle of Dr. Tichner’s antiseptic and stick a candy cane in it. Talk about a waste of good whiskey. It must have taken us eight or ten of those disgusting drinks to develop a taste for them. They’re seven bucks a pop and don’t expect any change for your ten.  But at least you get to keep the souvenir glass. 

The Winner’s Circle-The sun shone bright on My Old Kentucky Home for Derby Day and thanks to some nice people in the Marcello family, we had tickets right next to the winner’s circle. Not bad for two Cajun cowboys from White Road. The only drawback-if there was one- was that we were about a sixteenth of a mile (a hundred yards or so) from the finish line.

 “How will we know who won if the race is close?” asked Jim.  

I thought about an old trick Al Kling had showed me in a similar seating situation at the Fairgrounds.

 “Watch the jockey that stands up first. He’s the winner.”

Derby Day started off much the same way Friday had ended.  I bet two horses that had shipped in from Delta Downs in Vinton for a big 2-year old race. They ran last and second-to-last.  The race was won by the Hall of Fame combination of Lukas and Day. We were close enough to 
shake hands with the winning trainer and jockey when they came into the winner’s circle 
to accept the trophy.

 “Just imagine, Jim. We shook hands with D.Wayne Lukas and Pat Day,” I babbled excitedly.

 “Weren’t those the same two guys you were cussin’ like dogs yesterday?” Jim inquired.

Oh yeah. How soon we forget.

The People-There were over 150,000 people at Churchill Downs on Derby Day and I think I bumped into every one of them. But everybody was so nice that it would restore your faith in human nature.

We got invited to go fishing in the Florida Keys, to attend a Red Sox game in Boston and to see cherry blossoms in Washington D.C. Now if all the folks that we invited to Mardi Gras show up one day, we’re going to need an extra 10,000 beds at the Prairieville Hilton.

The only discouraging word we heard all day was from a gentleman who had no idea where we were from. Like everyone else he asked who I liked in the Derby and when I told him that I’d come to bet Real Quiet he sneered,  “Coonass jockeys don’t win the Derby,”-an obvious 
knock on Maurice native Kent Desormeaux.

I started to tell him about Eddie Delahoussey who won two straight Derbies in the 80’s, and I started to mention that our last names were Delaune and Bullion and that our relatives took English in school to learn the language and I started to point out that he’d probably picked the only two people in a crowd of 150,000 that could cuss him out in Cajun French. But I 
didn’t. I did look for him after the race but he was either busy tearing up tickets or in line at the ATM.

The Post Parade-“Ladies and gentlemen, the horses are on the track for the 124th running of the Kentucky Derby. Please join the University of Louisville band for the traditional singing of ‘My Old Kentucky Home’.”

Politically correct fanatics have forced the change of Stephen Foster state songs in Virginia and Florida but they’ll never be able to touch this one.  The pop festival stops in the infield, the waiters put down their martini trays on Millionaire’s Row and everybody sings “My Old Kentucky Home.”

I almost made it to “…Weep no more, my ladies…” before I started crying. It’s one of the most moving moments in sports even if you don’t have the winner in…

The Race-I went strictly with trainer Bob Baffert-betting Real Quiet heavily and boxing him in an exacta with speedy stable mate Indian Charlie.  When the horses turned for home, all I could see were the red and gold colors of the Baffert stable vying for the lead.

I almost peed in my pants. Now the horses came right 
past us and Real Quiet had established a clear lead.

 “My God, Jim! We’re going to win the Derby!” I screamed above the roar.

 “Not yet,” he said as Victory Gallop came flying down the middle of the racetrack.

I switched my attention to the monitor across the infield, but the picture was blurry on the giant screen and the angle made the race to close to call.
  
 “Did we win?” I somehow managed to spit out through a mouth full of cotton.

 “Yeah,” replied a much calmer Jim. “I watched Desormeaux all the way. He stood up first and threw his whip in the air.”

Lesson well learned.

Aftermath-Do yourself a favor. Go to the Derby. Mingle with the riff-raff in the infield or with Julia Roberts in the clubhouse. But however you go, bring a hat and lots of money and an ATM card.

Kentucky Derby 2008-It’s still too early to take the rubber band off the money roll, but I’ll 
probably have hunch bets on Colonel John for my father-in-law and My Pal Charlie for my old pal Charlie. Just remember-it’s been 10 years since my last winner.

 


This site designed and maintained by Dezins - Print and Web Services, LLC