You ever notice how Confucius always has these little nuggets of wisdom that sound so profound, but at the same time, you're kind of like, *Yeah, that makes sense, but I don't know if I wanna hear it right now*? "A great man is hard on himself, a weak man is hard on others." I mean, that’s one of those lines that stops you in your tracks, right? You’re like, *Whoa, Confucius, you had me at Confucius!*
And here’s the thing about Confucius—he’s like the E.F. Hutton of ancient China. Remember E.F. Hutton? "When E.F. Hutton speaks, people listen." That was the tagline! I mean, the guy wasn’t even speaking about *anything* specific—just investments, but somehow, the whole world was hanging on his every word! And Confucius? Same deal. Every time he opens his mouth, it’s like the world stops, everyone goes, “Yeah, you know, that Confucius guy, he really gets it.”
Confucius... of course, *he* would have something to say about that. His words echo with wisdom, and yet, when it comes to the business of handicapping, I can't help but think that perhaps he didn't quite have the foresight to pen something about the *Louisiana Derby*. And isn't that a peculiar thought? How the centuries of knowledge we rely on sometimes falter when it comes to matters like the signature race of the Fair Grounds meet. But we press on, as we must.
Now, let’s talk about the Louisiana Derby, shall we? The race that seems to spit out more questions than answers, year after year. It’s a grueling test, this one. The horses that come through the gauntlet of the Gun Runner, Lecomte, Risen Star, and finally, the Louisiana Derby itself—they’ve been through the wringer. And let me tell you, it takes something monumental to make it through all or even two of those races. We’ve seen it before, haven’t we? Horses like *Track Phantom*, who looked invincible after the Gun Runner, only to stumble when faced with the Risen Star, unable to recapture the early form. It’s the brutal truth of this sport. It’s the same in life, isn’t it? That pressure to succeed, to prove yourself time and time again—eventually, it breaks you, or it makes you.
*Epicenter*... ah, he was the exception, wasn’t he? A true anomaly in a sea of contenders. He waltzed through each and every race, dancing right up to the Kentucky Derby. He was *special*. You can’t help but marvel at that kind of resilience. It’s the kind of perseverance you need to survive in this game. It’s what keeps you *hard on yourself* when others buckle under the pressure and fail miserably.
Let’s take this year’s rendition, then. *Built*—what a name, right? He was superb in the Gun Runner, but then seemed to regress in both the Lecomte and Risen Star. A puzzling animal, one that seemingly can’t hold his form. And now, the proverbial band-aid: blinkers. Ah, yes, because we all know how blinkers can *magically* transform a horse’s ability, right? Maybe they’ll work, but I remain skeptical.
Ah, blinkers. The magical cure-all, the one-size-fits-all answer to every ailment in the horse racing world, or so many trainers would have you believe. You’ll hear it time and again, won’t you? *“We’re adding blinkers.”* As though that single, seemingly innocuous change could transform a horse’s entire destiny. As if the blinkers are some kind of secret weapon, capable of unlocking a hidden potential, turning a mediocre runner into a champion. But let’s not be fooled, shall we? It’s not magic. It’s just *trying something different*. Nothing more. Nothing less.
And let’s not kid ourselves. There are plenty of horses that run just fine without the blinkers. Horses that go on to glory without the need for such tricks. But, of course, when a trainer’s horse falters, when they can’t quite put their finger on what’s missing, they’ll reach for the blinkers. It’s the equivalent of throwing a dart at the board, hoping something sticks.
Blinkers are a tool. A tool to focus, yes, but ultimately, it’s still the horse’s heart, his drive, and his natural talent that will carry him across the finish line. Trainers can *try* whatever they like. Add blinkers, take them off, change the feed, adjust the training regimen—but in the end, the answer, as always, lies within the horse. Blinkers don’t make a winner, my friend. They simply give the horse a moment’s clarity. And as for the rest? Well, that’s just up to fate.
And then there’s *John Hancock*—a horse that dueled with Owen Almighty, who would go on to win the Tampa Bay Derby. John fought valiantly and now, here he is, trying to pad his resume for the Kentucky Derby by claiming the Louisiana Derby. Speed, all speed. But you have to ask yourself, will speed alone get him 10 furlongs on the first Saturday in May? He’s a half-brother to *Speech*, a classy filly who had a respectable run in the Kentucky Oaks, but could she handle the 9 furlongs? And if she was at her limit there, what does that say about John Hancock’s ability to stretch out on the biggest stage? The Louisiana Derby could be his, sure, if the track plays to his strengths the way it did for *Magnitude*, who won the Risen Star in runaway fashion. But Magnitude’s since gone on the injured reserve list—out of the run for the roses. And that, my friend, brings me to a principle I’ve held dear in my years of studying this sport: I tend to shy away from horses who’ve been in that starting gate, maybe one big race too many.
History, my friend, is a cruel but reliable companion. Even giants like *Gun Runner* and *Epicenter* couldn’t break through in the Kentucky Derby on their first try. Gun Runner lost to Nyquist in 2016, finishing third, and Epicenter—well, we all remember the shock of Rich Strike’s upset last year. One of these days, the dam will break, and a Louisiana Derby winner will make their way to the Kentucky Derby winner’s circle, but as of today? *Not today*. You’d have to go back to *Grindstone* in 1996—*31 years* ago. That’s a long, long time.
But then, there’s the Fair Grounds Oaks. Now, that’s a different story altogether. That race has produced Kentucky Oaks winners time and again. *Untapable* in 2014, the last to parlay a Fair Grounds Oaks victory into Kentucky Oaks glory. A different race, but the history still holds weight.
You see, I’m a believer in history. It’s a necessity. Traditional races—especially those on the road to the roses—demand it. And that’s why, in the end, I’ll be hard on myself. I’ll take the time to vet every angle, every detail, every scrap of history I can find. And that’s what will guide me. Whether I win or lose? Well, that’s a matter of fate. But I’ll tell you this—*I’ll persevere*. Because at the end of the day, that’s all any of us can do in this game - Confucius says.