The Santa Anita Derby Is Neither
A horse named Journalism
Look Horses: Some Equine Histories of Los Angeles is a multi-part series both about horses in the Southland and not. This is part two.
OUT THE GATE
It takes all kinds, the Derby does. The rich and poor and about to be moreso.
As the revelers shuffle into Santa Anita Park, the runners slowly exit. Their fun is over: the Derby Day 5k finished at the starting gates of the Great Race Place in Arcadia, California. Some will stay for the day—all bets are off. The San Gabriel Mountains remain, always, looming.
For Hunter S. Thompson, the Kentucky Derby was decadent and depraved. The Santa Anita Derby is neither. Here, Hunter would likely find the horrors of the suburbs: fresh fruit and charcuterie, Hokas and ergonomic strollers. The Sport of Kings under late-stage capitalism slightly decrepit and decayed. So, same. But different.
ON A HORSE
Clocker’s Corner empties by the end of morning workouts. Before the first post, Top O’ the Stretch is a ghost town filled with historical reenactments. Old men on sea-to-snow sojourns, nicotine-stained, hardened leather. Blue jean babies.
One crosses the checkered floor to share the surest bet today, the sure thing. In the third race, the three horse. He straightens his ponytail and places a racing program in his back pocket, not needing a second look.
In her dispatch from the 2022 Kentucky Derby, comedian and writer Jamie Loftus described the enigma of horse-betting accordingly:
First, compartmentalize your moral core. Then, open your wet Derby catalog you forgot was shoved into your hands and choose the name that’s the funniest. Then, tip-toe up to the barred window and yell “CYBERKNIFE TO SHOW, FIVE BUCKS,” and if Cyberknife places in the top three then you are guaranteed entry to heaven.
To bet on the ponies is to ask God to think of you. Sometimes he thinks kindly, occasionally he turns a blind eye. Sometimes the longshot wins.
The real play happens where the telecasts are—long tables of thermoses keeping strong coffee, punctuated with losing tickets and easily mistaken as central casting for the Safdies. Seasoned handicappers of every creed whose sweaters still smell of the cigarettes they smoked back when they could smoke down there. They’ve seen stakes those in the luxury suites could only dream of.
Up there, everyone’s a big shot and no one is. All crumpled linen, Topshop suiting, small sundresses, and cargo pants. On their own, running for something. They don’t look quite right, but it’s nice that they try. The horses run regardless.
HERE COMES JOURNALISM
The Derby is the 10th race of the day. Five three-year-old thoroughbreds will race nine furlongs for the prize. $500,000 guaranteed.
Twenty minutes before post, the parade ring is filled with gawkers, owners, and hangers-on. The horses are led around before their jockeys mount. Everyone’s talking about Journalism—the 6-5 favorite to win, ridden by Umberto Rispoli.
The sports coats and ballcaps light their cigars. A lady wearing a Make America Healthy Again hat is so drunk she makes a wrong turn into a rose bush. The rest of us make our way to the center of the park.
And they’re off in the Santa Anita Derby. And a very even break. Citizen Bull is flashing his natural speed, but he’s got company from Westwood. And Journalism backs off the top pair. Barnes will come from off the pace today. And Baeza is at the back of the field. So it is the long-shot Westwood who gets to the front. Martin Garcia guides Citizen Bull to his outside and will run in the two-path to the six-furlong pole.
General Admission is pregnant without pause. This is it, babe.
Journalism is down at the rail, joined by Barnes. Barnes takes third as they move toward the back stretch. And Baeza is at the back. Just three and a half lengths cover the field. And it is Westwood on even terms with Citizen Bull. They race together as one. Baeza is inching forward, getting into the race right away. And there goes Baeza after Citizen Bull, who has the lead past the five-eighth pole.
Young parents shuffle, still unsure what all the fuss is about.
Journalism is down at the rail. There’s a half mile left to go. And it’s the two-year-old champ, Citizen Bull just in front. Westwood is now backing out of it. Baeza running a big race. He’s clearly in second. Journalism is hard ridden at the back of the field. And the trailer is Barnes. They’re coming to the quarter pole.
The chorus of racing programs begins clop, clop, clop, with all other sounds drawn out in the rising stands.
Baeza up alongside the challenge. And now Journalism is rubbing up a clear-cut third. They’re at the top of the stretch. Baeza forges past Citizen Bull. And Journalism is kicking into high gear.
MAHA lady loses a flip-flop in a planter full of White Claws, screaming, “Go Journalism! Jour–na–lism!” Young men in Three Wolf Moon T-shirts and Infowars belt buckles join her: “Let’s go Journalism!” Everyone agrees.
Journalism and Baeza national derby showdown. It is Journalism just in front of Baeza. Write this down: Journalism is the best in the west as he wins the Santa Anita Derby.
It’s over in 1:49:56. Someone from the fun run made money for their college fund. Those who bet on Westwood feel that God is happy. Journalism punches trainer Michael McCarthy’s ticket to the Kentucky Derby.
Wagering was up nearly 24% from last season. On-track attendance—bolstered by turnout for the Derby Day 5K—was 34,312. Everything’s up substantially.