Can the written word do justice for what was 10 hours of wall to wall bros, beers and mud? That is up for debate, but oh what a day.

A horse race is always a great day to throw on obnoxious clothes like your name is Wilson Wellington Williams the Fourth ready for another day at the Country Club (Side note, we really did meet a guy who referred to himself as “The Fourth”, dude was blacked out by noon and a douche since birth). The Preakness is no exception with this. From there, the day is filled with booze, music and of course the race.

I can’t begin to explain how we took over the Mug and Vine Club part of the infield. We had a group of 20 plus shouting random phrases, pounding Barefoot mini wine bottles in hopes to fill up the whole table, and forcing each other to chug pink moscato. We ran that place up until the largest man at the table puked for the second time of the day all before 1. Unfortunately, the big man could not rally from this one. RIP to those tables. Despite the loss of those tables, we charged on. There were more Black Eyed Susans to drink.

Did I tell you about the mud? My dry cleaner has her work cut out for her. Girls, check the weather before wearing heels. Eating it face first in the mud is a good laugh for the rest of us, but you will quickly regret it. My shoes didn’t survive the weekend and I am hoping my red pants do. Then there was music. Who knew these fine gentleman named Post Malone and 21 Savage were good? Rap music and horse racing are a shit show match made in heaven.

Then there are the races. The thing about the infield is, you can’t see the race. You see 2-3 seconds as the horses flash by. Yeah, betting on things you have no knowledge of is a rush, but in fact I think most people just wanted the horses to finish so they could drunkenly call a surging Uber ride home. The Preakness was everything I hoped it would be and more. That place is THE PLAY.  However, it is Monday so back to the Rat Race.