He Had a Nagging Suspicion About Derby

LOUISVILLE, Ky. — If you’re a married man, the first thing you notice about the Kentucky Derby is you have no chance of winning.

The day begins with the wife taking a lampshade she calls a hat, bending it this way and that, then decorating it with some kind of mesh junk before asking her husband what he thinks.

He’s going to lie, of course, which we’ve all been taught is wrong unless you’re married and your wife is wearing a really ugly lampshade with mesh junk all over it and you’ve got to spend the next nine hours with her, and as bad as she looks in the hat, now is no time to add a daylong scowl to the mix.

In some cases, the dress can be just as hideous as the hat.

Then you’re going to take her by the hand, linking yourself to that ugly hat for the next nine hours -- every guy in the crowd knowing you didn’t have the guts to tell her how ugly she looks -- and begin your day with a walk through the infield to soak in the Derby atmosphere.

If it’s anything like Saturday, a woman will walk up to you before noon and lift her top, and for the married man holding hands with the wife who is wearing an ugly hat, this would not be a good time to accidentally drop her hand.

To avoid such a problem, I left the wife at home, knowing her hatbox wouldn’t fit in the overhead bin. I was joined by Grocery Store Bagger.

We elected not to walk hand in hand through the infield.

I can report, though, with a great deal of reliability, that if you dangle a set of party beads in front of the women here, a good number will raise their tops. I guess this explains why the Kentucky Derby draws crowds of 140,000-plus every year.

Before the start of the ninth race, the sky turned black, the rain fell and a puddle the size of the Mississippi ran right down the middle of the infield. That’s when the coed mud wrestling commenced. I’m happy to report the Bagger held his own.

(Just kidding. It was going to take a lot more than that to pull him away from the mint juleps.)

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WHEN IT came time for the running of the 130th Kentucky Derby, I took my place in front of the TV. I’m sure glad I came all the way to Louisville so I could watch the race on TV. The press box here is under construction, and with 140,000 rain-soaked fans arriving here as early as 8 a.m. for a 6 p.m. race, I never did see the track. I would imagine it looks a lot like Hollywood Park and Santa Anita.

I noticed on TV that 18 horses broke from the gate, which I’m pretty sure is more than most of the people here could see. It became pretty much a two-horse race between Lion Heart and Smarty Jones, and betting as much as I did on Tapit and Master David, I kind of lost interest.

I’m a professional, though, so I went to the news conference and acted as if I were interested in what jockey Stewart Elliott said. “I can’t explain it,” Elliott said, which makes for a short story.

“I crossed the wire in first,” he said, I guess for the benefit of the folks in the infield who didn’t see the race. “I just can’t explain it. There are just no words for it.”

There are going to be plenty of words written, however, in the next few weeks leading to the Preakness. Horse racing has the Seabiscuit hero it so badly needs with Smarty Jones remaining undefeated at 7-0, ridden by a jockey who had never ridden in the Derby, a first-time Derby trainer and owned by a guy, Roy Chapman, 77 years old, suffering from asthma, chronic bronchitis, emphysema and hooked up to a bottle of oxygen while having to be driven to the winner’s circle in a wheelchair.

(At the very least, that ought to get Plaschke’s attention.)

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I’VE GOT Rock Hard Ten beating Smarty Jones in the Preakness to put an end to this feel-good story. You know me, I’m all for feel-good stories; that’s why I’m pulling for the Bagger to sober up by then.

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THE MATTEL Children’s Hospital can begin making plans to add a new wing if I can keep making bets with the racing analyst from TVG who doesn’t know anything about horse racing. Lyons the Loser, owner of Castledale, will donate $1,300 to the children’s hospital -- $100 for every horse that beat his nag in the Derby. Fellow owner Greg Knee and TVG have also pledged to donate $1,300 each on behalf of the Loser.

“We did it,” said jockey Alex Solis, who gave me an excited cell call after the race. “We beat Castledale for the kids.”

Those had been my instructions to Solis: “I don’t care if you win the Derby, just make sure you beat Castledale.” Solis’ Master David finished 12th, Castledale 14th. “We did something good,” Solis said.

For Lyons the Loser and Castledale, of course, it was mud in your eye.

“He hated the mud flying back in his face,” jockey Jose Valdivia Jr. said. “He’s a good, good horse and I think a return to sunny California will help him a lot.”

Four horses somehow finished behind Castledale, so I’ll donate $400, and The Times will chip in another $400 -- a total of $4,700 going to the hospital. We might have to change Frank Lyons’ name to Lyons the Charitable One.

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TODAY’S LAST word comes in e-mail from Jim Smith:

“I make twice what you make -- guaranteed, plus I don’t write stupid things like you do. You’re so pathetic. Just think, everyone hates you. Even the editors think your stupid column is awful but keep you there because it generates lots of hate mail.”

Thanks for keeping my editors happy.

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T.J. Simers can be reached at [email protected]. To read previous columns by Simers, go to latimes.com/simers.