...I pointed to the huge grassy meadow enclosed by the track. "That whole thing," I said, "will be jammed with people; fifty thousand or so, and most of them staggering drunk. It's a fantastic scene--thousands of people fainting, crying, trampling each other and fighting with broken whiskey bottles. We'll have to spend some time out there, but it's hard to move around, too many bodies."

"Is it safe out there? Will we ever come back?"

"Sure," I said, "We'll just have to be careful not to step on anybody's stomach and start a fight."

--Hunter S. Thompson, The Kentucky Derby is Decadent and Depraved

I never used to follow the horses. When I was young, nothing was as disappointing as flipping to one of the networks on a spring Saturday, hoping for some hoops or maybe an early season baseball game and seeing horse racing. I was not, however, in possession of two crucial pieces of knowledge that would later soften my stance towards the Sport of Kings: 1) horse racing exists solely so people can wager on it, and 2) everything is interesting when wagered upon. These are lessons best learned after your second decade of life.

It just so happened that one of the four racetracks offering simulcast and live racing in Nebraska was a short 20-minute drive from my college. Fonner Park, located in Grand Island, is a little bull ring that at the time was dominated by a few veteran jockeys and a handful of successful horse owner whose 10-week meet conveniently started as our basketball season was wrapping up. With the first month of freedom since the start of the fall semester upon us, I attended my first horse race in February of 2001.

And here's the great thing about horse racing, no matter whether it's a race between $5K claimers (a specialty at FON) or Grade I superhorses, the thunder of hooves sounds the same, the tote board still hesitates a painful few seconds before crushing and creating dreams. Namely, it's one of the few sports that feels the same from a fan's perspective at both the highest and lowest levels.

My first few trips were a struggle. It's hard to say something meaningful about the upcoming simulcast from Emerald Downs when you're looking at the form for the first time. I generally responded by dumping more all you can eat hot wings and cheap pitchers of beer down my throat. But after a few weeks of betting and the Andrew Beyer trilogy, I was rounding in to shape for 127th Kentucky Derby.

I stood for "My Old Kentucky Home" and watched the tote board anxiously before placing a late $5 win bet on Monarchos. He came home, paying $23 to win and I had my first meaningful score. The next year I just missed my trifecta (how far I had come) when Medaglia d'Oro ran fourth, but made up for it with Funny Cide in 2003. In 2004, I hit my first Derby tri but barely broke even as the chalk came home.

Finally, in 2005, I decided to experience the Derby for myself from the infield. It was a learning experience. After four years of studying to be a passable punter, I was essentially giving up the race for the experience and I'm glad I did. The Derby from the infield is one of the most singular, hedonistic, sobering, and draining events any person can attend. Inhibitions don't exist and the clash between genteel Southern tradition and unchecked debauchery represents perhaps the greatest demilitarized zone in the United States. Bluebloods in the stands, thinbloods on the grass with the thoroughbreds on the track providing a momentary cease fire.

That being said, there are a few things I wish I had known going in, so for anyone planning a trip to the city that's "too Northern to be Southern and too Southern to be Northern" on the first Saturday in May, allow me to provide some pointers.

1. Whiskey or God...just no aluminum bottles.

Your first mint julep at the Derby is likely to be one of the best drinks you've ever taken. It's icy and sweet and delicious and it comes in a nice souvenir glass, of which we took home a trunkload last year. (Amateur move, or so I'm told.) After walking under the track, the closest I'll ever come to emerging from the tunnel to the sounds of thousands, we headed immediately for the first julep stand we saw. After waiting in line for about 10 minutes, I thought it would be a good idea to just buy two while I was there. Bad idea. By the time I got to my second round I was left with a glass of melted ice, whiskey and sugar. It wipes away the memory of that first julep pretty quickly.

But even a half melted cocktail is preferable to those aluminum bottles of Bud Light they were seeling for $6 a pop last year. Is this beer or shampoo? I'm not about putting on airs, but I am about common sense. If the julep is not your thing, find someone who can serve you beer in a cup. I, on the other hand, opted to fill by belly full of bourbon under my own strong right hand urging.

2. When you enter the infield and someone offers you fruit, regard this fruit as forbidden...it must not be eaten.

After slugging a few drinks and staking out a general meeting/pass out area, our new neighbors offered us some of their watermelon. Realizing it was nearly 5 hours before race time and we needed some nourishment if we were to make the Derby distance, we gladly accepted. Problem was, this watermelon had been soaking in Everclear since the draw for post on Wednesday. After one bite I felt like a mutt who'd been kicked by his master. How could a normally sweet and soothing melon be so devilish?

The answer lies in the fact that while alcohol cannot be carried into the Derby, there is no limit on the food you can bring so the more aspiring racefans simply combine the two. Consider yourself forewarned.

3. The suit unmakes the man.

Don't wear a suit to the Derby if you're only shelling out $40 to mingle with the masses. There was a group of guys from Kentucky who had on ridiculous blue velour suits, but that was ironic and mildly entertaining. I had a much easier time buying the earnestness of those guys than I did the guys dressed in seersucker and pastels who were mostly seen crowding the paddock but occassionally popped up on the grass. It's hot, the grass is soaked in beer, whiskey and Everclear/watermelon juice, you don't want to be wearing poplin pants. Trust me.

Nobody really likes madras anyway. If we never saw someone who was cool/good looking/important wearing it, we'd never be caught dead in it.

4. What do turpentine and dandelion wine have in common?

Before the running of the race, the Louisville Cardinal Marching Band performs the state song of ole Kaintuck. The bluebloods cry, the thinbloods sway and it's a generally fun and moving moment. But do yourself a favor and track down one of alternate versions of "My Old Kentucky Home" kicking about the internet. (And by that, I don't mean the original lyrics to the song which had some racially sensitive lyrics that were finally ammended in 1986.) I'm talking about the old country version. It adds an entire new level of fun to the event when you know that both Johnny Cash and Three Dog Night sang such lines as:

Sister Sue, short and stout/Didn't grow up she grew out/Mama thinks she's pretty but she's being kind/Papa thinks he's lovely and he's half blind

AND

Got drunk last night/kicked Mama down the stairs/but I'm all right/I don't care

Kind of changes things doesn't it?

5. If you want to see the race, abandon all hope ye who enter here.

"Watching" the Derby from the infield is sort of like going to your high school prom. Every one is dressed up and drunk and there's supposed to be a dance going on but nobody really cares. If you're still standing by the time they run the race, you might be able to get close enough to the turf rail to catch a 2 second glimpse of the horses thundering by, but any view of the finish will look like this...if you're lucky.

If you're determined to bet, and I was, do it early. We put together a $40 ticket, placed the bet before the second race and just sat back and enjoyed the festivities. Of course, when Giacomo inexplicably won the whole thing last year, our tickets, along with almost every one else's were rendered useless.

Out of all the booze and bare flesh and general brouhaha ever present on the infield, the one thing I'll always remember from my first Derby was the sound of 100,000 people, whipped to a savage pitch a mere 30 seconds earlier, go instantly silent. Who had the winner? Did anyone have the winner? Does anyone care?

The answer on the infield was certainly no.

Coming Soon: I've spent the past few days watching all the prep races on KentuckyDerby.com, and I'll try to provide some sort of insight into the race before Saturday. (The real insight? It's a crap shoot, always has been, always will be.)

Also, a full recap of Saturday's simulcast events from Suffolk Downs in Boston.