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My grandfather worked at a racehorse husbandry in Virginia. My grandfather wasn’t a vet, he was just one of the niggers. He shoveled shit and kept the horses fed and groomed. During the summer school break my dad would go to work with his dad and he would tell me about how backbreaking their daily work was. Some of the horses at the farm were champion studs and that’s when the animal would receive extra special attention from the veterinarians and the trainers. My dad thought that the trainers were his dad’s bosses because they paid him cash every week. When he got older he realized that the horse trainers were just paid servants of the real boss who may never have laid his eyes on my grandfather.

That disconnection is part of the culture that owns and breeds racehorses. I try not to begrudge them too much since there aren’t too many pleasures left in America for ‘whites only’. Horse racing was still a bastion for privileged gentility. That was until I went to see SMARTY JONES at the Belmont Stakes.

I am no fan of horse racing, but since I am Black I can get into the peacock pageantry of The Kentucky Derby. Hollywood’s #1 lawn jockey, the little homey SPIKE LEE made an appearance at this years’ Derby with all the proper accoutrements. 1) Fly azz riding cap, and 2) fly azz redbone weedcarrier wife.

How good is it to be SPIKE right now? Plenty good. His latest release will surely garner some Academy nominations. He is back into the busom of the big bucks in Burbank.

His street cred remains high with those of us that love the Hip-Hop and can think outside of the box. Although he hasn’t spoken to us directly cinematically he has challenged our notions and ideas using traditional media outlets. When he openly criticized the pimp culture in rap music he was drowned out by the Oscar trophy being issued to 3-6 Mafia.

I say we raise a glass to toast my man SPIKE LEE. Ever since the days of MARS BLACKMON the lil’ homey has kept it real.