Welcome to a horse player's lament, the Kentucky Derby.

It's part Macy's Thanksgiving Parade, part lottery.

It happens every spring: You have to watch your language because a proper lady in a good hat is apt to be around.

Most years, betting the Kentucky Derby is like asking the blackjack champ to make a big bet, first hand out of the box.

Many things happen every spring that are not pleasant experiences for horse players, a horse player being defined as somebody who has bet Rockingham, Evangeline, Los Alamitos or Canterbury, or somebody who has been to Blue Ribbon Downs. Particularly unappealing to the authentic horse player is hearing television's arguing heads make their annual speech that horse racing is dead. For the 25th consecutive year.

The truth is horse racing is more alive than ever thanks to lifelines provided by slot machines currently found in gaming rooms in many horse race tracks, gamers in this instance being defined as likely problem gamblers.

You think the average National Hockey League team would like to have a couple hundred slot machines located off the main lobby?

Hot dog sales might be flat at live horse race meets, not purses.

Horse players have to play Derby Day, it's required. And it's worth playing because two dollars will get you a vacation.

The best place to be is at the source, Churchill Downs. I have been to the Kentucky Derby twice, once in the infield, once in a private box over the finish line.

A party-like atmosphere existed in the infield. That's was because of the warm sun beating down, the day I was there. You had to take yourself to a cooler place with a julep and pretty soon everybody was singing and playing long shots.

From the infield, you had a spectacular view of the grandstand.

The problem with being a guest in a box over the finish line is you're the only one to whom money matters.

The day I was up there, I had to excuse myself from conversations about politics to make a bet.

Many horse players watch the Kentucky Derby from a simulcast venue over-flowing with people who come to the races once or twice a year.

Drunks are everywhere.

Last time I spent Derby Day in a simulcast house, the crowd was such that I had to throw money at a teller and scream out numbers from a place five or six deep in line.

The absolute worst place a horse player could be is at a Kentucky Derby party.

Staging a party based on an event taking place somewhere else can be like playing grown-up. You dress up as though you were there. Only you're not there.

You're in some wealthy divorcee's mansion that has red, white and blue streamers up, like it was the World Series.

At my last Derby party far removed from the actual Derby itself, valet parking was offered by an overweight man wearing a rider's pants and carrying a whip.

"My Old Kentucky Home" played in the background most of the afternoon. The closest anybody came to being Kentucky born was Memphis.

The guests broke up into groups and bid on the horses.

A man who thought he was funny but was in fact idiotic was the master of ceremonies for the auctioning of the horses. He kept talking like Mr. Ed. The auction took hours. When it was finished, nobody knew who they had or cared.

The party started too early and several people had to be awakened when the horses were led onto the track.

The race was shown on a large rear-projection television screen with a terrible picture.

Nobody knew who won until the horse in front turned back for the grandstand and the jockey was interviewed.

Here's the way a real horse player plays the Kentucky Derby if you can't be in a box over the finish line.

You go to a simulcast joint and bet early and then go home and watch the race on television. Not only are you doing yourself a favor, you're also benefiting your sport by being home if you're a Nielsen family, or if somebody calls about the overnight ratings.

Write to Jay at jaycronley@go.com