What We Learned at the 142nd Running of the Kentucky Derby
Goodnight to the guy in the blue pants. #HeGone The Porta-Potty Races are still a thing.Another view from the Kentucky Oaks infield fight. pic.twitter.com/eYPn67aQ4B
— Old Row (@OldRowOfficial) May 9, 2016
It's as Derby as the Mint Julep and the hat. The ATMs run out of money. I put off going to the ATM until late in the day -- because, well, I was having fun in our fancy area and didn't want to go looking for an ATM until I absolutely had to. (Probably should've done that beforehand.) Then came time to get serious about the Derby race, so I went on the hunt, through all of the last-standing drunkards, to find some cash. I tried out two ATMs somewhat near our area and they were both completely empty. A third ATM, located much farther than I cared to walk, was also out of cash on hand. Can we do better next year, Churchill? I was trying to give you my money but you weren't able to loan it to me for two minutes. (Also: Hubby, I still owe you that $100. Thanks for the loan.) Mark Sanchez carries a cane, a cane that can carry alcohol. The NFL QB (I assume he's still on a team, somewhere) showed off his cane flask in this video from TMZ. In related news, congrats to my good buddies, J.T. and Victor, for making their TMZ debut in the video, alongside Sanchez. I also know the female saying, "Shut the ---- up!" to Sanchez, but she's a Louisville fan and has incriminating photos of me from New Orleans. Matt's Trifecta system works. https://twitter.com/KySportsRadio/status/729119642002857985 Maybe one year I will bet it with him. Exaggerator across the board did alright for me, though. The religious protesters have given up. We were shocked by the absence of those crazy religious protesters who usually flood the streets around Churchill Downs each year. The usual cast of t-shirt and bottled water salesmen were there in full force, but no sight of the man standing on a stool to tell me we're all going to hell, through his megaphone. Not one lunatic there to tell me who God hates and loves, or that we're all sinners. It was quite peaceful for once. There is a bar on Rodman Street that's not really a bar at all. In fact, I think it's a trap house we never should've entered in the first place. If you've been to the Derby, you know it's a madhouse getting out of there. You also know it is in a part of town you probably don't frequent. (It's in the hood.) Well, on our way out of Churchill, a couple of blocks away from the track, we accepted an invitation from two sweet ladies into a building that has seen better days. Inside this building, there was a bar, and on that bar were four bottles of liquor and an aluminum pan with lukewarm, runny Jello shots. Behind the bar: a cash register that had been ripped to shreds at some point in its cash register life, and nothing else. Naturally, we bought all of the Jello shots -- because who turns down Jello shots, right? Then it hit me: taking melted Jello shots from a stranger, from an aluminum pan, in what could very well be a trap house, is not the way I want to die. So we left to find dinner. Momma's has the best wings you will ever eat in your life. You have to take my word on this. Ignore the fact I had been drinking all day and would've eaten anything at the time. This is real talk. One hunnid, if you will. We stopped at Momma's Mustard, Pickles & BBQ (I think that's the full name) after Derby, and Momma's wings are the best wings you'll find anywhere. It's not even close. I'm not sure I'll ever eat another wing again. I can't eat another wing again. I want more right now. Rick Pitino looks severely unhealthy. But he's still got it.
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