Derby Day in Oregon

We woke and drove to the larger town fifteen miles away and placed our bets at a bowling alley. In the off-track betting parlor within the alley, the undercard -- already on the sixth race -- was running, shown up on several big-screen high-definition televisions and as I watched, I saw the camera flash to the stands and saw the hats and pretty ladies and horses in the paddock, controlled among the throngs of people, and I thought of my derbies past, in Kentucky. But this was no day for sentimentality, and I quickly pushed the thoughts away and looked forward to what it would bring. Mint juleps, for one, and I prepared my palette for the sweet juice.

No gutter balls at the bowling alley, except for the ten-dollar to win bet I placed on Monba, the Todd Pletcher-trained horse that finished last, fifty-nine lengths off the pace. I’m thinking Easter Sky, the pacer trained by my great-grandfather Samuel Hamilton so revered in our family, could have kept pace with Monda, hobbles and all. Pletcher will probably win one someday, one would think, and it’ll pay off then. Just not with Monba. That pick ended a two-year streak and last three out of four picking Derby winners. 2004: Smarty Jones, 2006: Barbaro, 2007: Street Sense. In 2005, I picked Afleet Alex, a fine horse, who showed at the Derby. Later, he won the Preakness and Belmont. Don’t reckon that’ll happen with Monba.

We drove back home, where we ate Kentucky hot browns. Fine dining. Then on to numerous games of washers and the Derby telecast on NBC – all of this washed down with mint juleps. On to Nathaniel’s uncle’s house later in the afternoon for a Derby evening of dominoes and badminton and burgoo – all of this washed down with mint juleps.

This day was not so different than a Derby day in Kentucky. Then someone rigged up a game, placing one fork sideways on top of another fork, as if a tiny catapult, then placing a beer bottle cap on the fork’s prongs and launching it into the direction of a wine glass placed in the center of the table. It caught on and we sat around the kitchen table for maybe two hours, launching the bottle cap in the direction of the wine glass. This was washed down with beer. After a rule change, a larger coffee-type mug was substituted for the wine glass and quickly the game-winner was scored.

On to the bar, where the night begins to haze. An old-time country band, fronted by a lovely blonde. Dancing. Saying stupid things. Leaving your credit card at the bar. Falling off your bicycle on the ride home. Kentucky Derby 2008.