Carolina Cup 2013: A Day at the Races

SC Patch Political Editor Shawn Drury attended his first Carolina Cup on Saturday. His thoughts on the day (which are his and his only):

The request from visiting family was to “do something Southern.”

I always thought if you’re in the South you are always doing “something Southern.” But I understood what was meant. It was a request to do something uniquely Southern. A visit somewhere that could serve as the setting—though not the plot—for a Faulkner story; off the tourist’s radar, but indelibly “Southern.”

And then I remembered a friend had suggested I check out the Carolina Cup—which had been described to me by a native as the “one of the most Southern things that we do in South Carolina.”

After getting some wardrobe advice via social media (bring your worst shoes, if you own a bowtie, wear it), buying more food than we could eat (which is saying something), we were ready to go.

Springdale Race Course, host of the Carolina Cup, is not quite in the middle of nowhere, but it’s close. You don’t get lost and end up there. Which is not to say the 45-minute drive from Columbia on this early spring day wasn’t scenic—it was. But I’ve been to a racetrack or two and they usually are near population centers. Camden, SC may be many things, but a population center is not one of them.

Which makes going to Springdale kind of a treat. The track essentially exists to host the Carolina Cup and its sister race in the fall, the Colonial Cup. 600 acres of property for two events a year. Off the top of my head I couldn’t think of another facility so big for which that can be said. The Indianapolis Motor Speedway, perhaps?

To be clear, Springdale does not sit idly the other 363 days of the year. It operates as a training center for horses and as home the National Steeplechase Museum. If I was a betting man (wagering of the Para mutual sort is not permitted at Springdale or anywhere else in SC), I’d guess the track draws more people on the two race days than it does the rest of the year combined. If I’m wrong, I’m sure someone will let me know.

Anyway, traffic was much lighter than we expected and we quickly found a parking spot near the west rail. Veteran Cuppers told me attendance was down slightly owing to the fact that the race was held on Easter weekend.

After gathering food and folding chairs, we headed toward the infield. I quickly determined that I was dressed appropriately enough (khakis, blue jacket, lime green golf shirt with blue stripes) if not necessarily setting any trends. Bow ties were omnipresent on the men, though they appeared to be favored by the younger set.

For the ladies, the one mandatory accessory was a sun hat to complement their sun dresses/skirts. And the colors were a splash of pastels and whites. If there was somebody wearing black, I didn’t see him.

Walking toward the infield, I was a bit disconcerted by the sheer volume of college-aged kids who were already well lubricated (it was 11:45). I wasn’t disconcerted by college kids being drunk (that’s what they do when they aren’t in class or sleeping), but being surrounded by busloads of them was not exactly my idea of a good time.

And when I say busloads, I’m not exaggerating. Dozens of buses formed a conga line outside “College Park,” which is where most of the kids went after they spilled out of the buses. They could go on the infield if they wished, but they prefer to be with their own kind. So, my exposure to them was temporary.

Whichever Carolina Cup official came up with the idea of College Park deserves knighthood—or the American equivalent. It would not surprise me in the slightest if he had college-aged kids when he rendered his edict.

If I sound a bit harsh towards college students, consider that College Park was referred to by our hosts as Bosnia—because it’s like a Third World country there. I took my hosts’ word for it and didn’t see the need to test the accuracy of the nickname.

Speaking of our hosts, they treated us to delicious eats, good cheer and moonshine that burned a hole in my trachea. For two of these I am grateful. For the third, I'll be sending them the bill for my Pepto-Bismol.

If ever there was an event meant for socializing and circulating it’s the Carolina Cup, but in addition to the aforementioned, we also had a great view of the track and an ample dose of sun. There's no sense looking a gift horse in the mouth (sorry), so we decamped and spent the day where we were at. 

It takes time to get the kind of spot our hosts had. Newcomers to the Cup who reserve an infield parking spot start in the middle and move toward the rail through attrition. Basically, some people have to die (hopefully of old age and not from a scheme inspired by an episode of “Law and Order”) for your spot to get better. It’s kind of like season tickets for Clemson football.

The first race began with little fanfare at 1:30 and five more races followed thereafter. The 30 minutes between races passed quickly thanks to a variety of entertainments.

One such bit of theater in our section was the ongoing re-appearance by some of the most patient police officers I’ve ever seen. They treated a couple of disorderlies with more judiciousness than I might have and prevented a couple of fools from turning a small problem into a big problem.

There’s a joke that if you actually see any horses at the Carolina Cup you’re not doing it right. Well, I saw several of them as the accompanying pictures attest.

I suppose there are some people who go to the races to see who actually wins and I’m sure there is some informal gambling, but it seems to me the idea is to spend a sunny Saturday with good friends and good food and soak in the Southern culture. By that measure, my first Carolina Cup was an unmitigated success.

Were you at the Carolina Cup? Tell us about your day below.