The First Saturday in May

Some words in sports are like magic. Magic for the anticipation, possibilities and excitement they dangle before us.

Opening Day. Game 7. Amen Corner on Sunday at Augusta.

For many, me included, the words the first Saturday in May are in that category. This is the day reserved for the Kentucky Derby, the Run for the Roses, the year’s most anticipated horse race. Of course, there is no Kentucky Derby today, although race officials maintain a race will likely happen at some point in 2020.

With no Derby to watch, I spent some time thinking about previous races. My favorite Derby memory is from 1995 and watching Thunder Gulch gallop to victory at 25 to 1.

I had just returned to Milwaukee after my freshman year at Indiana University. Less than 12 hours later, I was on my way to Arlington International Racecourse with Grandma Cookie and Grandpa Irving and their friends for the Kentucky Derby.

Grandma Cookie was a huge horse racing fan. Each Friday, Grandpa would go to one of the only newsstands in Milwaukee that had a racing form.

My analytical Grandma would then spend most of Friday night looking at the past results of races and handicapping who would run well on Saturday. I was always fascinated by racing forms, in part because I didn’t then, and don’t today, fully understand all the statistics in the agate type. With most things sports related, I am a quick study. Not for the racing form, though, and that added an element of wonder to how Grandma made sense of it all.

Come Saturday, Grandma and Grandpa “were off” to use horse racing lingo, from Milwaukee to Arlington. They had a reserved table, inside, in the air conditioning. I would usually join them at least once and sometimes twice a year. They spent the afternoon betting on the races in the company of their good friends. They never made large bets. The money kept things interesting but for Grandma it was just the way to help her keep score; she was in it for the intellectual challenge. I always loved it when their horse was winning and Grandpa would bellow, “stop the race.”

It was so much fun seeing Grandma in her element at the track. I recall that Grandpa would alternate between a few of his own bets and also the horses Grandma Cookie would pick. They had one friend, Grace, who took the other approach. She liked to bet based on the name of the horse, particularly if the horse was a long shot.

When the races were done, they headed home to Milwaukee. They stopped at a restaurant to break up the ride, often at the Brat Stop or the Apple Holler (where years later my brother and I took our families apple picking).

On that first Saturday in May with Grandma and Grandpa in 1995, I somehow found myself with a win ticket on Thunder Gulch. I bet Grace had that one as well.

It was a pretty incredible day.

But the same could be said for every Saturday I spent at the track with Grandma and Grandpa.