The thing about the plan was, Asmussen said Curlin had to “look much the best” in his effort in the Man o’ War Stakes on July 12th. As he finished a well-beaten second, calling Curlin “much the best” wouldn’t be accurate, though he was anything but shabby for his first start on turf. So, the question is, what now? Should the turf campaign continue for the 2007 Horse of the Year, or should the champ go back to the well-trod dirt? Before we jump to make the decision for majority owner Jess Jackson, let’s weigh the facts.

A Champion Born, a King is put to the Test

Last Saturday, Zenyatta, the big four year-old filly, went to her sixth career start looking a little sweatier than usual. And even under circumstances that showed the girl was having an off day, the “Amazon” managed to hold off rival Tough Tiz’s Sis, winning the Grade 1 Vanity Handicap by half a length. For Zenyatta, an “off day” means winning by a half length instead of 4 and a half. Until the Vanity, no horse has come to challenge Zenyatta in the stretch, at closest trailing her by a 1 ¾ lengths — and that horse happened to be Bob Baffert trainee, Tough Tiz’s Sis. Openly admitting he had been trying to avoid a match-up with his filly against Zenyatta again, Baffert had hoped the daughter of Tiznow would be able to keep her two-race winning streak rolling. It was not to be, as the reigning Queen of California proved to be the best even when she didn’t feel like it.

If some people have all the luck, then somebody’s gotta get what’s left.

For over two and a half decades, Larry Jones’ horses have passed spotlessly on drug tests. The trainer says he hasn’t used steroids since 1997. After his Kentucky Derby filly, Eight Belles, broke both front ankles while galloping out after the race, the trainer was immediately put underneath the magnifying glass. To quell the radical accusations that he’d “made” the filly large by pumping her full of steroids, Jones had the veterinarian perform an unnecessary autopsy on her to prove he had nothing to hide. As expected, the tests resolved the trainer’s innocence. But that’s hardly the end of the story.

Winner of the Breeder’s Cup Classic, the Preakness Stakes, the Dubai World Cup and named the 2007 Horse of the Year, Curlin was a horse I had followed since before the 2007 Kentucky Derby. He dazzled in his first three races of his career, winning by a combined margin of 27.5 lengths. I never root against a Kentucky Derby winner as a rule, but after Curlin didn’t win the Derby, I couldn’t stand to see him beaten again, and he got his revenge from Street Sense by a nose in the Preakness. And even in the Belmont, with the most talented filly I may ever see, a little part of me still edged in Curlin’s favor, where he was out-nosed by Rags to Riches to the wire.

Churchill Downs — May 3, 2008 — Kentucky Derby: I was standing level with the track, leaning my arms against a fence inches from the rail. The sun was baking my shoulders, giving me a sunburn to remember far after my fancy dress would be peeled from my sweat-lathered body. We were still several races away from the main event, and I had already become tired. Enduring the Kentucky Derby is a badge of honor. I was wearing high-heels, something completely foreign to my bony feet, and I had earned a slight hitch in my gait from the demands of the long day. I was at the point where I decided I would become a lazy photographer and stay in one place for a while, in my cozy front-row seat.

What amazes me about M. Night Shyamalan is he seems to have friends. How else would he get such talented actors like John Leguizamo, Mark Wahlberg and Zooey Deschanel in one film? They certainly can’t be signing on because of the integrity of the project. And I don’t believe Shyamalan has enough money to coerce them into ruining their careers in one foul swoop. Maybe outside of his whiney press releases, where the writer/director/producer complains how Disney dumped him and explains away the bad reviews for his films as a failure to realize the “scope of his visions,” he redeems his name by throwing good parties. He probably spends hours telling his guests hilariously improbably stories, leaving his guests rolling, and in turn, mistakenly giving him the idea that these ridiculous premises could make good movies. If that’s the case, please, someone, direct Mr. Shyamalan into making comedies.

Millions of TV viewers and a live crowd of 94,476 people turned their eyes to the Belmont Stakes to witness history on June 7, 2008. What they got was certainly history, though not in the form anyone expected; for what occurred in Elmont, New York on that day was one of the biggest upsets in American horse racing.

And so here we are on Belmont Eve.

Nerves can get to you come Belmont. For me, the race is the poised hatchet ready to fall over my Kentucky Derby and Preakness winner. At a mile and a half, it’s the longest race in the Triple Crown, and may be the longest race any of these horses will ever run again. By the time the first Saturday in June rolls around, we must measure up what our hopeful has accomplished and weigh his probable pitfalls. For Big Brown, it looks as if the only thing that could foul him up would be bad luck in the race, a misjudgment by his jockey, or, God forbid, an injury. Even facing refreshed competitors and an up-and-coming foe, failure doesn’t seem to be in Mr. Big’s immediate future. But if horse racing has taught me one thing, it’s that anything can and will happen on the precipice of history.

I don’t want to say that Sex and the City: The Movie is only for faithful viewers of the HBO series, but I will say the uninitiated probably won’t “get” the film.

The movie thoughtfully begins with the clueless viewer in mind with a short montage of names, faces and their relationship status. This is a nice moment for those of us who have seen all the episodes to reminisce on why we loved these girls so much. There’s the centerpiece, Carrie Bradshaw (Sarah Jessica Parker) who’s a sex columnist and author of three books; Charlotte York (Kristin Davis) manages an art gallery and lives with her adopted baby girl and her husband; Miranda Hobbes (Cynthia Nixon) is a lawyer with a hubby and kid in Brooklyn; and Samantha Jones (Kim Cattrall) is a publicist for her boyfriend model/actor in L.A. Thankfully, the entire original cast remains, as does the snappy dialogue, the twisting dramas and the form of the characters.

Bill Nack was a senior writer for Sports Illustrated for 23 years. Before that, he wrote for New York Newsday for eleven years. He is the winner of seven Eclipse Awards for turf writing, horse racing’s Academy Awards; he also received the A.J. Liebling Award for excellence in boxing coverage. Nack is currently a freelancer for ESPN, S.I., GQ, and Time Magazine. He has served as an editor, a historian, and a consultant for motion pictures. Nack is the author of three books: Secretariat: The Making of a Champion, My Turf, and Ruffian: A Racetrack Romance.

And he is an all-around nice guy.

I hope you’re not sick of hearing about Big Brown. Because with the way Mr. Big keeps running his races, the chatter isn’t going to stop about him for a long time.

The Preakness Stakes, the second leg of the Triple Crown, was called “one of the most easily won races you’ll see in a Triple Crown race.” The Preakness yet again proved the talent of the big bay colt. Coming from seventh position, Big Brown started out along the rail and resisted early pressure to run early, seeming happy to let Gayego and Riley Tucker wear themselves out. As it appeared the Kentucky Derby winner would be boxed in by Riley Tucker, he allowed jockey Kent Desormeaux to ease him up and drop behind them. There are not a lot of horses who can manage, or are agreeable with, being turned off and on like a rocket booster in reserve.

One thing is for certain about horse racing: there is no such thing as a “sure thing.” Horses are living, breathing creatures with as distinct personalities as pedigrees. A horse is not a car — he gets sick, gets hungry, gets full of himself, gets tired. In short, he is a real athlete in every sense of the word. And just as in the human world, there are those horses who stand out among the rest physically and mentally, being born with a talent that screams to be exercised. There are horses, and then there are horses.

All right, Mr. Big, you now have my full and undivided attention. Not only did you prove that you deserved the hype before the Kentucky Derby, you’ve succeeded in building an imposing mystique around your huge physique. You won the Derby coming from post 20, which no horse has done since a starting gate amounted to a piece of string; you won the race after staying on the outside of the herd and blowing away to a four and three-quarter length victory; and you’re the first Derby winner to scare off practically all of the other Derby contenders to enter the Preakness since Citation in 1948. Citation, in case you weren’t aware, was America’s eighth Triple Crown winner. One of eleven.

Big Brown, Big Brown, Big Brown: It’s all you hear in the pre-Derby coverage, the barn buzz, the betting windows. Racing fans are so hot with fervor about this colt, they’re injecting his color into their Derby fashions. How many big brown hats will we see come this Saturday in the mass of color?

There’s no surprise he’s going off as the 3–1 favorite in the 134th running of the Kentucky Derby this Saturday. And he is as remarkable-looking as they say, with his towering conformation, his easy-breezy gallops, his commanding presence, and his perfect record of 3-for-3 with Curlin-esque winning margins. But Big Brown isn’t the only horse in the race, and after drawing the absolute worst post position on Wednesday evening, some handicappers are beginning to sway their bets toward the better-placed horses.

11:45 a.m.: After being absent from the organ yesterday, Warren York is back and all is right again. As I look around and hear the organ’s jaunty tune, I feel a little bittersweet. It’s the last day of Ebertfest and I am extremely cagey from sitting in a movie theater for five days straight, yet this festival is a pinnacle of my year and I always hate to see it end. Warren plays “I’ll Be Seeing You” and I feel a little mushy inside.

11:00 a.m.: Chaz Ebert wastes no time in introducing the director for the first film of the day, the much-anticipated guest, Ang Lee. Mr. Lee is greeted by a chorus of U of I boys who sing the school song in his honor. “I am proud to be a Fighting Illini,” says the award-winning director of such films as Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon and Brokeback Mountain.

8:00 a.m.: I arrive at the Illini Union, searching in vain for the Pine Lounge that will hold the panel for “Today’s Writer/Director — It’s Not Just Business, It’s Personal.” It’s serendipitous I get there an hour ahead of time; after I locate the locked-up room and acquire a chai from the Courtyard Café, I run into Joey Pantoliano. Long story short, he ends up buying me a yogurt and we discuss his organization, “No Kidding, Me Too,” and the dour state of indie film distribution over breakfast. He promises to introduce me to Eclipse Award-winning former Sports Illustrated writer William Nack, whom I’ve come to the panel to see. Joey treats me like an old friend and fulfills his promise. I am indebted to him forever.

12:15 p.m.: The doors open even later than yesterday’s seven minute delay. It seems the Powers That Be are weaning us on a shorter diet of festival fun by adding heat to the decathlon. I am parked on a residential street on the opposite side of West Side Park to escape the voracious appetites of the new parking meter rates. Seventy-five cents my ass. There should be special festival parking slips for patrons, because paying $4.50 for six hours for parking in Champaign is a crime. Some of these people I know have gotten here earlier than 10 a.m. to wait in the Fest Pass line just to get in, and the first film doesn’t start until 1 p.m.

If one more good horse is scratched off the Kentucky Derby trail, I swear I’m going to pull an Elvis and shoot my TV. News broke Saturday that Eclipse winning champion War Pass suffered a hairline fracture in his left front ankle and will take a break from racing until it is healed. The injury is not fatal, but it will keep him out of the entire Triple Crown, making War Pass just another head in the list of true competitors scratched off the Derby trail. He joins the company of Georgie Boy and Crown of Thorns, two talented horses who would have greatly improved the quality of the field in the Kentucky Derby were it not for small injuries.

5:45 p.m.: I arrive and the line is wrapped around the historic Virginia Theatre down to the light pole at the end of the block. The lawn chairs, laptops and headphones have been broken out by the diehards sitting in the Virginia’s motherly shade. Each one of these people is sporting their festival pass, hanging from a lanyard like a gold medal. Technically, all these people need to do to get a seat is walk in a few minutes before showtime, because the Fest Pass guarantees you a seat to each showing. But oh, no, these people have been waiting in line for at least 45 minutes already, just to be able to grab the best seat once the doors open and the 10th annual Ebertfest kicks off. As this blog will detail, the experience of Ebertfest is a little bit of an endurance test, in some respects, a decathlon.

I would start a barroom brawl in the defense of my Derby horse if he was unjustly criticized, and that’s nearly what happened on the rail at Keeneland when a drunken ox with an ape brain shouted, “No Derby for you, huh, number seven!”

Yes, at that moment, I about lost it. It was not a good day for Pyro, (number seven for those people who can’t read letters), who went off as the even money favorite at 1–1 in the Toyota Blue Grass Stakes. Coming off two impressive wins in Louisiana, Pyro descended upon synthetic track for the first time and met disaster.

It’s the return of the world’s best buttered popcorn! That’s right — grab your car keys, it’s drive-in season once again in Gibson City, and that means the scent of summer is on the wind. About a forty minute drive away from Champaign and well worth the trip, the Harvest Moon is a twin drive-in movie theater on the outskirts of Gibson City on Route 47 South. In a time when over 80 percent of the nation’s movie-going public have only faceless multiplexes to house their films, the drive-in is not only a dwindling rarity in America, but a necessary novelty. Those who have never experienced a drive-in movie are cheating themselves from a wealth of memories.

According to Dwight from TV’s The Office, rules are what separate humans from animals. In 1925, a new book of rules was enforced upon professional football, and the sport was changed forever. The gridiron was tamed, groomed, and all the fun was lost in the complicated intricacies of right and wrong. Leatherheads, George Clooney’s new film about the sport’s wakeup to the cold bath of regimentation, proves that rules are for idiots like Dwight.

I’m going to be honest. Going in to see this film, I was blissfully unaware of what the title Stop-Loss meant. I thought perhaps it was a strangely-worded political statement on the filmmaker’s position on the Iraq war. “Stop the loss” of our soldiers. “Stop the loss” of life. Looking back on it, the title can take on that connotation if you take away its proper definition. The term “stop-loss” is actually a military term that means a soldier has been called back into active duty after he or she has been scheduled to end their term in the service. This issue is the basis of the film, directed by Kimberly Peirce, and brings the injustice of this policy to light. It's enough to make the film worthwhile and it may just also serve as an anti-recruiting measure for our army.

The execution of a vision is the thing that breaks or makes a film. The more vast and imaginative the vision, the harder it is to see realized. But in the case of director Todd Haynes’s latest film, I’m Not There, a courageous vision was well worth the effort thanks to an amazing cast, a well-plotted set of vignettes, and a figure worthy of such an ambitious picture.