Candidates could play politics and the ponies

When you're jockeying for votes in Kentucky, there's no better place to press the flesh than the Derby

By Cheryl Truman ctruman@herald-leader.com

Dear Hillary and Barack and ­Jack-Mack,

We, the citizens of Kentucky, don't know whether you're coming to the Kentucky Derby — even at this late date.

We don't know why you wouldn't. We're a primary state after all (it's May 20 in case you've forgotten —yeah, right), and you've hit every dive in States That Matter. You chowed down, drank up, dressed pretty, donned makeup, got teary, said things you've regretted and sparred with idiot media types.

You can do all that at the Derby, and in less than an hour.

Consider this the speed date of the primary season.

Plus, we're pretty sure you, too, can become an honorary Kentucky Colonel. What's not to love?

But first, a few words of advice:

SEN. HILLARY RODHAM CLINTON

If Her Ladyship the former first lady and aspiring president comes to the Derby, we're not sure exactly how to approach her. (If Bill comes, we're pretty sure that it's OK just to saunter on up and offer him a hot dog. We do know that Chelsea is coming, so we'll just hide the media badge.)

But we've been to the Derby plenty of times ourselves, Hill-Rod, and we can offer some practical advice for getting through the most exciting two minutes in sports and what can seem like the longest day of the year in Kentucky:

Beware of large beers: Churchill Downs on Derby Day is a land of extremes, but don't let anybody hand you a beer that's bigger than you are.

You're glistening, darling: Kentucky can be a humid place. Bring the industrial-strength makeup, slather it on with a paint roller, and don't forget a gallon of hair smoother. And share this tip with Chelsea; like us, she appears to have a little ­coif-humidity problem.

Eat: The cardinal rule of good Derby behavior is: No bourbon shots on an empty stomach. We saw you throwing them back in Pennsylvania, but believe this: Kentucky on Derby Day is the place you want to show America your political skill, not the contents of your digestive tract.

Lovely hat, not beer holder: While it's true that hats are pretty much required on women on Derby Day, do not let anybody put you in one that comes with two slots for beer cans in the brim. That's just tacky.

Jell-O shots don't conceal anything: Don't let Bill tell you that you really can sneak in your own vodka if you put it in Jell-O. One, it's not true, and two, he has no business knowing.

You're blue, so avoid the red: Unless you're just dying to see the silicone-injected, collagen-plumped, stiletto-studded denizens of the D List, steer clear of the red carpet. You're the biggest celebrity here.

Is the infield a viable demographic? If anybody suggests that the biggest concentration of voters is waiting for you in the infield, reply that you'll cede infield voters to Barack Obama. Trust us: You just don't want to go there, and nobody in the infield is remotely interested in politics. Or will remember any presidential candidate who ventures out there. Infield-goers, in fact, do not even realize there are horses at the Derby. They think it's all about the beer slides.

Go ahead, jump the line: You're a big cheese, Hillary. Nobody will hold it against you if you jump the restroom lines. For women, standing in restroom lines is the No. 1 Derby Activity, ahead of primping, cheering and pretending they understand how to bet.

You're scrappy, Hill: You should get your picture taken with the winning horse. Try to grab this photo ­opportunity before Obama does. You're small and fast and mean, and we're pretty sure you can take him in a footrace. Wear your flats.

Blue, red or yellow? The eternal Kentucky question: Should you dress in University of Kentucky blue or University of Louisville red? All we can say is what, apparently, no image consultant will dare tell you, Hillary: No more yellow.

SEN. BARACK OBAMA

If political phenom Obama ­attends the Kentucky Derby, the wattage of celebrity will be substantially brighter than usual; well, OK, Queen Elizabeth was here last year, but it's not like she has to run for anything, is it? So, for you, Barry, a few tips on navigating the commonwealth's signature event:

Obama + Clooney = Brilliant: Kentucky Democrats are not really a fun group of escorts — with the exception of one Kentucky native we've been trying to get to the Derby for years: That's right, Barry, your best sidekick for maximum Derby brilliance is your A-list supporter, the inimitable George Clooney. You know Hillary doesn't have Clooney in her pocket, and really, what has George done for you lately?

Let Michelle dress herself: Somebody will ask your wife, Michelle, to wear a big hat, and we're just guessing that Michelle is not the kind of woman who likes to be told by anybody that she has to wear a big stupid hat to go to a horse race. So let her wear whatever she wants. She'll look great. Better than Bill Clinton, for sure.

Can we talk? You're not really known for your off-the-cuff banter, so we suggest that you work up a few choice, seemingly off-the-cuff lines before Derby, i.e., ”I'm a great bet for the future of this country,“ ”Who else is a better bet for the future of this country?“ and, of course, ”Why bet on horses when I'm the sure thing?“ Try to say all of these with disarming humility. Yep, you'll have to practice.

Break out the b-ball banter: You love basketball, we love basketball: Whatever basketball references you've been saving up, Kentucky is the place to use them like a giant going-out-of-the-basketball-business sale. Remind everybody you see that you played basketball, and don't spare the references to the fact that Hillary is very, very short.

”Weep no more, my lady“: Try to be out of camera range when they sing My Old Kentucky Home. Its initial reference to slavery aside, the song is just an awkward moment when thousands of people realize they don't know even the politically correct lyrics, and that final swell of ”Weep no more, my lady“ is really kind of bathetic, unless you can manage to belt that one out with a particularly significant glance at Hillary.

Beware the juleps: You're a bottled-water kind of guy, so no matter what anybody says about it being a tradition, do not drink the juleps. Simply by inhaling at Churchill Downs on Derby Day you'll take in enough alcohol to keep you buzzed for hours.

SEN. JOHN MCCAIN

You've had this Republican nomination sewn up for what seems to be decades. Why would you turn up at the Derby, when you could be napping? Is Kentucky in play for the Republicans? Did Sen. Mitch ­McConnell promise to score you great celebrity access? We can't figure out why the head of the ­McCainiacs would show, but if you do, we have tips:

One word: Sip: You have the nomination! Congratulations. Have a celebratory mint julep. Or three: Let Hillary and Barack fight it out in the Derby trenches: Your job is to sip presidentially.

Keep an eye on Cindy's hat: Unlike Michelle Obama, we're pretty sure that your wife, Cindy, will wear a big Derby hat. The only guideline is that it should not make her look more than a foot taller than you. Because you want to look presidential, not Munchkin-esque.

Don't get mad, drink! No matter how thick the crowds and how annoying it is to be reminded of the plebeian masses, keep reminding yourself that these are in fact the people who vote for you. Keep your famous temper in check. Have another julep.

WWRD: Crack a few jokes about the fractious Democrats. Your guiding principle should be: What would Reagan do? Whatever it takes, you have to hit Reagan-level personal magic before the Democrats emerge from their bloody morass of a primary season, and John? You had a charming appeal to Bubba on WWE Raw the other night — and really, we agree that when you're ashamed to admit you watch ­professional wrestling, the terrorists have won — but you ain't Reagan yet.