Aside from the few big races that feature women in big hats and drunken revelers in the infield, horse racing crowds might be the most depressing collections of people on the Earth. You’ll find fewer shattered dreams at a refugee camp.
Which is why I love the altered call for this race. It not only plays on the oddity of horses’ names, but it may very well tell the story of how someone ended up at the race track in the first place. It’s, like, all deep and shit.