Skip to main content

Thanks Rachel


The first Saturday in May has come and gone making and taking lots of history in it's wake. The upset victory of Mine That Bird (if ever there was a name that did not sound like a Derby winner...) had turf writers scrambling in all directions. Adjective emergency. No time for amazing, shocking, or unbelievable. Maybe just trying to describe jockey Calvin Borel's emotional state was enough to do the trick.
Let's face it, Derby 2009 was always a wide open affair. The winner may have been originally purchased for $9500. but he was sold again after winning 2 year-old honors in Canada for $400,000. 3 year-olds are always works in progress and with 20 horses going a mile and a quarter carrying 126 lbs. for the first time, you get the picture. Throw in 150,000 screaming people, half of whom are inebriated, and 50-1 looks better all the time. No I didn't pick Mine That Bird. I went with Pioneer of the Nile who finished second. But I did cash a 50-1 ticket. I bet the Oaks-Derby double. Given that Rachel Alexandra, the impressive winner of the Oaks was a "mortal lock" to win the Oaks (she cruised by 21 lengths) I figured it'd be fun and potentially profitable to bet a $1 double with Rachel A to the entire Derby field. With the late scratch of I Want Revenge t became a $19 investment. I gladly paid that price to be able to sit back and watch the Derby knowing whoever won I'd have the winner. I'd have settled for the favorite or even a 10 or 20-1 shot. But 50-1 is the best case scenario.
This time I did it right. I wish I felt that "Bird" was Triple Crown potential, but he probably won't even run in the Preakness. If he stays sound, I think Pioneer will get one of the jewels this year. Maybe even be runner-up in all three.
But for now, in my mind, it's all about Rachel Alexandra. I'm in love.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Writing on the Wall

       The first time I saw graffiti that was memorable was in a middle school bathroom.  As 6th graders I often walked home with friends by the middle school we'd soon be attending.  A stop by the boys bathroom near the boys gym placed me face to face with a piece of graffiti that immediately madame and my friends laugh uncontrollably.  On the wall above the urinals, was penned a short poem that read"                     This is a Teepee to take a pee pee,                         Not a wigwam to beat your tom tom      14 year-old humor at it's best.  The laughter my friends and I experienced was cathartic.  Being bottom of the barrel Freshmen could have dire consequences in the boys bathroom.  Those unpleasantries would come later, but for the moment, we were ecstatic and proceeded to read all the g...

The Quality of Optimism

 I've returned to The Book of Qualities, by J Ruth Gentler once again to meet the needs of one of the senior students in my little Writing From Memory class I'm currently teaching in my local community center.  This little volume personifies various concepts and personality traits.  The particular student "in need" seems to be fixated on writing about her past relationships.  Apparently, there were many.   I'm OK with that.  I only hope that she picks a few qualities that are as revealing about herself as those that might describe her Ex's.  There is much to be learned by writing about a quality.  The aforementioned book seems to have survived well over the years.  I first encountered it and its author way back in the late 1970s.  I took a journal writing workshop from her.  Then, a few years later, her book came out and I introduced these writing exercises to my students.  11th grade Juniors seemed to do the best with it. ...

Mr. Greene v. Mr. Brown

I want to tell you about something. Something I've carried inside myself for a number of years now. Perhaps if I were a different kind of person I wouldn't need to talk about it. I'm not. My need to tell it is stronger than your need to hear it. Because, however, there are a number of teachers and former students of mine who may read these meanderings from time to time, I need to tell this story all the more. About 7 or 8 years ago I was asked if I would allow a university PhD. candidate to observe an English class. At first I decided against it because I was scheduled to have a student teacher placed with me the second half of the semester in question. After some urging, however, at the request of a respected colleague, I agreed. Soon I was committing to extra meetings, signing documents and explaining to the class in question who the young woman who thoughtfully pounded away on a laptop in the rear of the classroom three times a week was. I knew that the topic of ...