People tell you to never meet your idols.
I, being of feckless mind and sometimes sound body, ignored all that foolishness.
“Mr. Jones. I can’t believe I’m here,” I said, a little overwhelmed to be in his presence.
And what a presence he was, towering over me, broad-chested and regal. He calmly regarded me without saying a word, waiting for me to finish. I knew I shouldn’t, but I reached out anyway and tentatively stroked his face.
“You have no idea how much you mean to me,” I said. “You were my favorite.”
I’m not going to lie, I started to cry a little. Nobody could see it, it was just between the two of us and I knew he wasn’t going to tell anybody. I couldn’t help myself. When you meet your sports hero, what do you do? Well, I’ll tell you what my idol did: He bit the fire out of me.
The little horse out of Philly
Mr. Jones – that would be Smarty Jones – didn’t seem as moved as I was. The little horse out of Philly had won the Derby in 2004 and came so close to breaking the Triple Crown drought that year that the owner of the horse that beat him sincerely apologized for the offense.
I was standing in Smarty Jones’ barn that day because he and I were celebrating my birthday. He was my surprise gift. My family had loaded me into the car at our Ohio home the day before and driven me away without telling me where we were headed. The next day we pulled up to a barn in the Pennsylvania hills and I saw that chestnut head poke curiously over a stall.
A kindly man met me at the entrance and said, “Miss Rini? I’ve got someone over here I’d like you to meet. This is Smarty Jones.”
Never meet your idols. Ha. Tell that to someone who isn’t a little thrilled thinking, one minute after a 1,200-pound horse bites her, that it was Kentucky Derby winner Smarty Jones that did the biting.
My love for the Derby runs deep, but not all that glitters is gold
Both sides of my family have been rooted in Kentucky so long they were there when it was Virginia. My cousin is a horse breeder and trainer, but doesn’t trade in thoroughbreds, so my love of the Derby surprises everyone, including me.
But some years ago my mother told me my Berea College-educated grandfather, long since passed, was a Derby devotee, listening to horse races on the radio.
We are mountain South, not mint julep South, though there are Venn diagrams that overlap in areas. The Derby doesn’t care, I don’t think. The Derby takes all comers, as long as the money is green.
Last year, $188.7 million was bet on the Derby, according to Churchill Downs. From the people in flashing Viking horns chugging beer in the infield to the billionaires in the fancy hats in the suites sipping mint juleps, it all spends the same.
And wherever greed goes, it takes along a whiff of rot with it.
Last year in the days leading up to the Derby seven horses died at the track, including two on race day. Five more died in the days following.
A report released in September by the Horseracing Integrity and Safety Authority could not pinpoint a cause for the deaths, but it urged racetracks to be more diligent about surface management and pushing horses too hard. Churchill Downs suspended its spring meet last year after the deaths and implemented new safety measures.
I used to love the Kentucky Derby, but horse deaths have caused me to hate racing
In 2021, two-time Triple Crown winner Kentucky Derby trainer Bob Baffert was suspended from Churchill Downs after that year’s Derby winner Medina Spirit was found to have a prohibited drug in its system and disqualified. The horse collapsed and died later that year after a workout in California. Baffert’s suspension was extended through 2024.
I never cashed in my winning Derby ticket
It was again a milestone birthday gift from my husband in 2010, that time for my 40th birthday, a big deal after I’d had our daughter not even a year before. I was going with my best friend-cousin, and the morning of my trip south I received word that my sister, who had just days before been put on the transplant list, had been called to the hospital during the night.
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The next day I won my bet on Super Saver with Calvin Borel up, my sister got a new kidney and pancreas, and my baby girl weaned herself in my absence.
I lost my winning ticket but I didn’t care, I felt I had nothing more to ask from Fortune. I thought of my grandpa, sitting on his porch and listening to the race on his old radio. I thought of my uncle who used to paint Queen Elizabeth’s horse barns.
Maybe it’s passed on in the blood or some Southern inheritance, like a propensity to argue or how to fry chicken. Sure feels like something I can’t get rid of, in any case.
As for me and my house, the first Saturday in May will always remain our High Holy Day. Go baby go.
Rini Jeffers is fond of fast horses, quick wit and the bluegrass. Her columns about people, politics and cultural issues appear in two daily Northeast Ohio papers, The Chronicle-Telegram and The Medina Gazette. Jeffers holds multiple state and national journalism awards, including 2023 Best Columnist and Best Column in Ohio from the Press Club of Cleveland. This column first appeared in the Louisville Courier Journal.
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This article originally appeared on Louisville Courier Journal: Meeting a Kentucky Derby winner was an honor. Then he bit me