Ken Snyder laments the price of attendance at Churchill Downs – unless you can wangle a wonderful backstretch freebie!
At least 20 years ago, a friend had an extra ticket he wanted to sell me to see the Rolling Stones. The price? $280. (What? I get to sit on the stage?)
Even at half that price, my seat – in a mammoth, domed football stadium – might have been so high and distant I wouldn’t have been able to tell which one was Mick and which one was ‘Keef’, as my English friends like to call Keith Richards. And as we all know, there is nobody on the planet that looks like Keef.
Anyway, I figured the only thing $280 would buy was to be able to say, “I saw the Stones.” So I passed on the ticket. That’s too much money to spend for a brag point and who cares anyway that I saw Jagger and the boys. I can hear them for free at home or in my car.
I think about that ticket price every year at the Kentucky Derby. This year, there’s good news, inflation notwithstanding. A mere $115 gets you general admission … to the infield.
Here’s the bad news: this particular ticket lacks just a few things that you might expect. No Seat (except the one you bring; this is labelled as ‘Standing Room Only’ on the website). No Track View, at least along the home stretch. (Hospitality tents obstruct views.) No Front Side Access.
So what do you get? Well, the best fun is the fun you make, as they say, and a mint julep helps. Contrary to what you may have heard, they’re pretty good. Every newcomer to the Derby should have at least one. It is those after the first one, however, that require discretion. They’re potent.
The grandstand crowd across the track gets to actually see the Derby, but they’ve paid, of course, considerably more for a ticket. In fact, ‘considerably’ doesn’t even begin to cover it. Those who can afford it either already know the cost or it’s not a concern. Let’s just say a ‘Paddock Club Row Table’ is somewhere between the Super Bowl and a box seat at Yankee Stadium.
Table full of strangers
Not sure I like the sound of that word ‘table’. Does that mean a whole table full of strangers? What if I grow to dislike them over the course of the day? What if we don’t speak the same language?
The alternative, for a bargain $8,759, is a seat in Section 318 Row A. It’s almost on the finish line and you have to worry about only one individual to your right or left, either to get to know or studiously ignore, rather than a whole tableful of folks.
It’s obviously not cheap but it is somewhat in line with what you would expect for a top seat at a major American sporting event. There’s also ‘brand new hospitality’ in the ‘Starting Gate Rail Boxes’ – at £2,116. (Admittedly, there are other variants but what they have in common is that none of them are tailored to an everyman budget. Even the ‘Turf Bleachers’ start at £721, though at least you can see. Hopefully.)
Kentucky Derby seating experiences
And that’s before we get to additional costs: accoutrements which are de rigueur. A hat for women can cost $1,000+ and men will buy a seersucker suit they will wear one day out of the year. And you’ll see a few straw boaters with that suit. (A straw boater? Is this a horse race or a costume party? Seriously …)
The bottom line, though, and here’s the kernel of what I don’t understand, is whether folks want to see the Kentucky Derby or be able to say they saw the Derby in person.
Which brings me to something that might stun the grandstanders (no sarcasm intended. Honest). Across the infield and the backstretch are the barns and the best bargain on the planet, at least for this one day.
A connection to someone – trainer, groom, etc. – gets you in at the best price: (drumroll please) free! Yes, free. F-R-E-E. You can sit (if you bring your own seat), there are betting windows aplenty, free food if you bring it, and you can actually see the horses as they thunder down the backstretch.
Completely different atmosphere
It is a completely different atmosphere. For one, no fascinators in hairdos, no suit, no ridiculous hat necessary. Second, ‘concessions’ are home-cooked ‘vittles’ (food for those not from Kentucky and southward) and here’s that magic word again: it’s free. Think tailgating beside a racetrack rather than a football stadium.
It's ‘who you know and not the dough’ on this side of Churchill Downs – and yes, I admit that I’ve been lucky to be a position to get such access in the past. Not always, though.
Not that it is especially exclusive, to be entirely frank. True, it is rather less crowded than the rest of the track, although that’s been changing over the years.
There are approximately 1,000 people working on the backside and in past years each invited a few hundred of their closest friends, or so it seems. Now it’s not only who you know but whether they like you … a lot. There’s even a short grandstand on the backstretch offering a great view of half of the Derby race—half of the first turn, the backstretch, and half of the far turn.
It’s not a one-off either for folks on the backside, unlike it is for many of the monied across the track. It is basically the same people here every year, as much about getting together with friends and family as anything.
Twang and a wang
You might hear in a drawled, Kentucky twang someone say: “It ain’t no ‘thang’ but a chicken ‘wang’,” And make that more than a few ‘wangs’ to go with a few cold ones.
My first Derby ‘seat’ was grassy ground on the first turn between the grandstand and backside, long since covered by concrete and seats and now fronting a relatively new grandstand. Admission was $30.
Yep, it was a long time ago, 1976 to be exact, and Angel Cordero on Bold Forbes led from the mile pole on to win by a length.
I hit the lotto in every way but handicapping. I met a crew of elderly ladies from Danville, Kentucky who were chaperones for some teenagers. Maybe out of pity, they added me to their brood. They gave me blanket space to sit, some real Kentucky fried chicken, and even some betting tips I should have listened to. I couldn’t have asked for a better day, especially a first Derby. That kind of hospitality, by the way, is not uncommon in Kentucky.
My official admission this year, 49 years ago from that Derby, is a coveted media pass. However, before you mutter sarcastically, ‘Well, aren’t you a mighty big shot?’ I should tell you that I have no seat, just like the infielders.
There are indeed plenty of seats in the media center - just not one assigned to me like most everyone else (sniff, sniff) and this time I have no backside connection able (or willing) to ‘badge’ me in. Clearly my reputation has gone before me.
And here’s a real kick in the nether region: as it stands, while I will indeed be at Churchill Downs, I will have the same view that millions at home have via a television in the media center, which is bereft of a view of the track. I may as well be home. Seriously.
Truth is, though, nothing will ever top that grassy area on the first turn from nearly half a century ago. Sadly, it is now under that gigantic new grandstand where a seat can be yours for $2,189.
Would I spend that much? Only if I’m sharing a box with Keef …
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