Hundreds of undergrads packed coach buses (oh-so classy) and headed to Churchill Downs to witness the Kentucky Derby this weekend. Well, by witness we mean catch a second’s glimpse of the horses as they whiz by. But the Derby is so much more than the race—it’s about the hats, the outfits, and the drinking. So we dusted off our widest brimmed floral hat—okay, we may have also worn it last week to celebrate the royal wedding—packed our bags and headed to the Bluegrass State. Our highlights after the jump.
Number Crunch: A visual, numerical representation of the Derby
Graphic by Cristina Doi
Friday night
3 a.m.: Sure, most people would be sleeping, especially given the 6 a.m. wake up call to start pregaming on Saturday, but that doesn’t stop a crowd of trigger happy frat stars from shooting off fireworks outside the Days Inn we’re staying at. Ah, Americana at its finest.
Saturday Morning
7 a.m.: Girls in hats and boys in sleeveless plaid shirts lounge outside the buses. The NU crowd is a homogenous sea of Ray Bans and jorts.
8 a.m.: It’s a gray morning, and so early it’s absurd—but not too early for shots. An impromptu pregame begins in the parking lot outside a Louisville stadium, just a few blocks from Churchill Downs. Beer flows like water from a tap and alcohol appears out of nowhere (ah, the magic of the Derby). We could stick with this “what’s mine is yours” Southern hospitality.
11 a.m.: A cop in an SUV honks at the students and forces them behind the line of buses. But the cops are too smart to try and stop the partying. Undergrads take part in endless rounds of flip cup with the occasional shot gunned beer. Oh, and the pictures. The pictures! The obligatory I-need-to-prove-I-went-to-the-Derby-and-got-shitty photographs. We struggle to put on sober face, so we might be able to show these to mom.
12 p.m.: The group treks to the track and some of the frat stars try and coerce us to sing patriotic tunes, but they quickly die out. “Yo, we killed Osama!” one student shouts. Everyone’s American pride is restored.
Saturday afternoon
1 p.m: Infielders sip $10 mint juleps and chow down on massive turkey legs while a few brave souls mount the tents over the Porta Potties to get a better view—you came here for a good view?
2 p.m.: It starts to rain, but within the hour the sky clears up and the sun shines for the rest of the day (a Derby miracle!). People drunkenly embrace and begin to chant “U.S.A.!” Yes, we knew we were traveling to Kentucky, but we weren’t prepared for all of the displays of pseudo patriotism.
3 p.m.: A handful of NU students settle down for a derby nap in the sun. A group of Vets with thick southern accents approach and ask, “Did everyone drink the Kool-Aid?” Apparently, siestas aren’t part of the program.
Saturday evening
6 p.m.: The final race is set to begin at 6:04, but the jockeys are fashionably late for the start. Boy, they’re dragging this on forever. We crowd a bend in the track, and the crowd erupts in cheers as the horses rush by. The jockeys look like 12-year-olds. Even as they pass, people start to pack up. Yawns and half-hearted “U.S.A.!” chants follow crowds out of the tunnel under Churchill Downs.
10 p.m.: The bus is silent as we meander back through Indiana and Illinois. We make one last pit stop at another Arby’s, a classy touch to end our Derby experience.
