Ah, *Mister Sandman*, indeed. The dream was delivered, but not without its peculiarities, its oddities, and its unfortunate casualties. You see, the Arkansas Derby was a spectacle—one written in speed figures, but also in a cautionary tale of the folly that can come when numbers blind you to the essence of the horse. Cornucopian, the favorite, was a victim of circumstance—he was thrust into the spotlight prematurely, a horse pushed into a role he wasn’t ready to play. A suicidal duel between him and Speed King, those two galloping side by side at an unrelenting pace, one that would have made even the most seasoned horse flinch. A :45.1 split? It was a death sentence, plain and simple.
I had my eye on Cornucopian. You see, while the speed figure players were enamored with a single debut, the reality was much more telling. The horse wasn’t seasoned, he wasn’t prepared to rate, and his inability to handle the pace was evident. His struggles—rushed into a race he wasn’t ready for—were clear. He faltered. He stopped. It wasn’t just a bad day, it was a predictable collapse that anyone with a discerning eye could see. Speed figures are nice, but they’re a *crutch* when they’re your only guide in understanding the horse. Cornucopian’s fate was sealed long before he ever stepped onto the track.
And then, *Mister Sandman*—he picked up the pieces, yes. But let’s not be fooled by optics. The late charge, the so-called "flying" finish—please. That was an illusion. A trick of the eye. His final 1/8 in almost 13 seconds was *pedestrian*. Anyone who called that a dramatic late move was a victim of a David Copperfield illusion, no better than a child watching a magician's slight of hand. Sandman benefitted from the collapse of Cornucopian, plain and simple. As for the Arkansas Derby, it was a race decided not by the best horse, but by an early pace that unravelled, courtesy of an immature, unseasoned horse who was far too green for the test.
And then there’s the Florida Derby. *Tappan Street*. Ah, now here’s a horse that’s turning into a man before our very eyes. He’s a laid-back, unseasoned animal, but under Brad Cox’s careful guidance, he’s blossoming. He’s learning. He’s progressing. And with each race, he becomes more of the horse he was always meant to be. His victory was more than a win; it was a lesson in smart handling, in patience, in understanding what a horse needs at the right time. Brad Cox wasn’t rushing things, wasn’t forcing the issue—he worked his horse with a Grade 1 winner, and that’s where I learned the real value in yesterday’s Kentucky Derby preps.
But let’s talk about the big picture. The *Rainbow 6* at Gulfstream Park? A $3 million payout forecasted—now *that* is a score. Picture it: a single ticket, a life-changing sum, enough to disappear. Vanish. Fade into the sunset, and never look back. Now, where would you go if you had that ticket? Mile Marker 85 on I-40, west of Flagstaff, Arizona—that’s where. No cell service, no distractions, no noise. Just peace and quiet. Just you, the road, and your winnings.
As I make my way through Arizona, Texas, and Arkansas on my way to Lexington for our biannual pilgrimage to our Mecca, I can’t help but think about the future. About *that* future. The one where a single score could change everything. The one where you could run to Mile Marker 85, disappear, and live out your days in serenity. That’s the dream, isn’t it? To live life on your terms, with no more obligations. Just peace, tranquility, and freedom. That’s what I’d do with that winning ticket screaming out "Serenity Now"
Mile Marker 85… here I come.