A parting's sweet sorrow

 It appears obvious now the Anthony Richardson Experiment in Indianapolis is done like dinner, with word coming down yesterday that the Colts were not picking up his option for 2027. And if you have any sort of beating heart at all, you should feel something about that.

Sadness, certainly. Pity for a lovely young man. The disappointment of high hopes gone to ash. 

Anger?

Well, yes. That, too.

Anger, first and foremost, that the Colts took a flier on a grass-green prospect of un-surpassing athleticism, and then basically said, "OK, kid, play." Richardson was still just 20 years old at the time, and he'd started just 13 games in college. He likely was still humming his high school's fight song when the Colts plucked him with the fourth pick in the 2023 NFL Draft.

And yet ...

And yet, two weeks into his first NFL training camp, they named him their starting quarterback.

This was insane on its face; the kid was nowhere near ready to be a QB1 in the NFL, and anyone with a working porch light should have known it. And so, as night follows day, we all know what happened next.

He failed.

In 17 starts across three seasons, he threw 11 touchdowns with 13 interceptions, and completed a touch over half his throws in a league where 65 percent or so is the benchmark. He got hurt, over and over, trying to do the sort of things against grown-ass men he did against high school and college kids. As the Colts' starter in 2023 and '24, he missed 17 games; last season he languished on injured reserve after sustaining an orbital fracture in a bizarre pregame mishap involving a resistance band.

By that time, however, it was becoming unnervingly obvious that he might not The Guy the Colts drafted him to be. His immaturity became an issue, because -- hello -- how could it not have been? It culminated when he took himself out of the game to "catch his breath" during a potential winning drive.

He got roasted for that by all the social media brainiacs, and the brainiacs actually had a valid point for once. On the other hand, who handed Richardson the reins -- and the truckload of responsibilities that come with it -- in the first place?

Hint: It wasn't AR.

It was Chris Ballard, Shane Steichen and the rest of  'em, who kept trying to clean up the mess they'd made until they couldn't. So they brought in Daniel Jones, and Jones won the starting job, and then the eye thing happened, and suddenly Richardson was third on the depth chart behind Jones and Riley Leonard out of Notre Dame.

And now, perhaps not even that.

Parting is such sweet sorrow, the bard told us. And all the people in their Horseshoe Blue said, "Amen."

Derby time!

The 152nd Kentucky Derby goes off tomorrow down at Churchill Downs, and, sadly, once again My Friend Flicka is not among the favorites. Neither is National Velvet, Mr. Ed or his smart-aleck son Mr. Ted, who mouthed off one too many times and wound up holding together some second-grader's art project.

"Oh, nice, Mr. Blob," you're saying now. "Don't you think it's time to come up with some new material? You make the same jokes every year."

You mean the one about all the women wearing hats designed by Frank Lloyd Wright?

"Yes," you're saying, through gritted teeth.

The one about how the Derby field is always three or four actual horses and 16 cans of Alpo?

"(Grumble)."

The one about how mint juleps are just Robitussin in a fancy glass? Or how the Twin Spires are great because, look, there's two of 'em? Or how "My Old Kentucky Home" has got nothin' on Dan Fogelberg's "Run For The Roses"?

"Oh, great, let's not leave THOSE out," you're saying.

Wouldn't think of it. Also wouldn't think of failing to mention (again!) how much I love everything about the Derby, even though I've never been and the only thing I know about horses is they have something called a fetlock and something else called withers, which I think once wrote a song called "Ain't No Sunshine."

"Aaaand here comes the Bill Withers joke," you're saying, rolling your eyes.

Anyway ...

Anyway, it's time for another hardy perennial, Derby Advice From A Guy Who Doesn't Know Anything About Horses, Except That Sometimes They "Walk The Shedrow," Whatever That Is:

* The Derby favorite as of this morning is a horse named Renegade, but don't put your money on his nose. This is because the betting favorite hardly ever wins the Derby, and also because Renegade drew the inside post position. Which is kind of like starting 33rd in the Indianapolis 500.

* There's a Japanese horse in the Derby this year, but don't drop your coin on him, either. Not only is he a 20-1 shot as of this morning, he's a Japanese horse. Japanese horses are mutts in the Derbo; ten horses bred there have run the Run for the Roses, and only one has finished better than fifth.

However, this one does have a cool name: Danon Bourbon. No, I don't know what it means. But if you're one of those carefree souls who bet on horses' names, have at it. Hey, it's not my money.

* Speaking of foreign horses, you know who was the last Derby winner to be bred outside North America? Tomy Lee, way back in 1959. I don't know squadoosh about him, either, but you might win a bar bet with that nugget.

* And speaking of mutts ...

As of this morning, there are three 50-1 shots in the Derby field: Six Speed, Great White and the Blob's personal favorite, Ocelli.

Ocelli drew the 20th and last post position, which means he basically starts the race across the river in Jeffersonville. He's winless in six starts, but he does have D. Whitworth Beckman as his trainer.

Now, I don't know anything about D. Whitworth Beckman, which is no surprise. But he sounds like one of those crusty old guys in British horse movies who wears a lot tweed, smokes a pipe and goes around snarling at people to keep their hands off the horse, laddie.

(Alas, my imagination fails me again. D. Whitworth Beckman is actually a local. Grew up in Louisville. And he's only 43 years old.)

And last but not least ... 

* Your Derby pick.

I'm going with a horse named So Happy.

So Happy is a 15-1 shot right now, but at least he's not starting from the No. 1 or No. 20 post position. He's also not starting from the No. 2 post (no Derby winners since Affirmed in 1978); the No. 9 post (last Derby winner, Riva Ridge in 1972); the No. 12 post (Canonero II, 1971); the No. 14 post (Carry Back, 1961); and the No. 17 post, from which no Derby winner has ever started.

No, So Happy starts from the No. 7 hole, and he's got a poignant back-story. Not only was he a bargain buy -- he initially went for just $14,000 at auction -- he's trained by Mark Glatt, who's got a horse in the Derby for the first time at the age of 53. It would be a joyous occasion for him had he not lost his beloved wife Dena in February.

Taking So Happy to the gate will be jockey Mike Smith, who has his own story. Officially he's listed as 60 years old, but Smith keeps insisting he's only 59. So you've got a horse purchased on the cheap, a first-time Derby trainer weighed down by grief, and a jock who's either 59, 60 or, hell, who really knows.

That gets my money.

Two bucks on So Happy to win. I'm goin' all in.