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152 YEARS. NOT A SINGLE WOMAN EVER WON THE KENTUCKY DERBY — UNTIL CHERIE DEVAUX. Five weeks ago, her horse Golden Tempo was dead last in a field of 18 at Churchill Downs. A 23-to-1 long shot nobody believed in. Then he moved — from the very back, through the pack, all the way to the front. That gave DeVaux something no woman had ever held. But then she did something nobody expected. She skipped the Preakness. Walked away from a Triple Crown chance. The racing world couldn’t understand. Her answer was simple: “The horse comes first.” Saturday, at Saratoga — the town where she was born, where she once worked walking horses for other trainers — Golden Tempo ran the Belmont Stakes. Dead last again. Came from behind again. Won again. Cherie DeVaux is now the first woman in history to win both the Derby and the Belmont. When they asked about regret, she smiled: “We made our decision. He won today.”

Cherie DeVaux Makes History as Golden Tempo Delivers Another Saratoga Comeback

A Derby breakthrough that changed everything

Five weeks ago, few people expected Golden Tempo to become part of racing history. In the Kentucky Derby at Churchill Downs, the horse was dead last in a field of 18, carrying the kind of odds that usually fade into memory. He was a 23-to-1 long shot, and for much of the race, it looked like the crowd’s doubts would be proven right.

Then Golden Tempo began to move.

From the very back, he threaded through the field with patience and timing, gathering momentum while others were already struggling to hold position. By the time he reached the front, the race had shifted in a way few had imagined. The victory gave Cherie DeVaux something no woman had ever held: a Kentucky Derby win.

A decision that surprised the racing world

For many trainers, the next step would have been obvious. A Derby winner usually points toward the Preakness Stakes, a chance to chase the Triple Crown dream. But Cherie DeVaux chose a different path. She skipped the Preakness and stepped away from the pressure that comes with chasing every major race on the calendar.

People in the racing world debated the decision, but Cherie DeVaux kept her answer grounded and simple: “The horse comes first.”

It was the kind of statement that told you everything about how Cherie DeVaux works. Not for headlines. Not for noise. For the horse.

Back home in Saratoga

On Saturday at Saratoga, the town where Cherie DeVaux was born, the story found its next chapter. It was also the place where she once worked walking horses for other trainers, learning the rhythm of the sport from the ground up. This time, she was no longer on the sidelines.

Golden Tempo entered the Belmont Stakes with the same script that made the Derby unforgettable: dead last again, then slowly, steadily, a surge from behind. The race unfolded with a familiar tension. As the field stretched out ahead, Golden Tempo began to close the gap. The comeback felt less like a fluke and more like a signature.

And then, once again, Golden Tempo won.

A first that means more than a number

With the Belmont victory added to the Derby triumph, Cherie DeVaux became the first woman in history to win both races. It is a milestone that carries weight far beyond the trophy itself. For generations, women in racing have worked, studied, trained, and competed in a sport that has often kept its biggest honors out of reach.

Cherie DeVaux did not celebrate by talking about barriers. She did not turn the moment into a speech. When asked about regret, she smiled and said, “We made our decision. He won today.”

That answer captured the heart of the story. This was never just about history books or records. It was about trust, timing, and a trainer willing to protect a horse even when the spotlight was calling.

What Cherie DeVaux and Golden Tempo showed the sport

In two defining races, Golden Tempo proved that patience can beat pressure and that a race is never over until the final stretch. Cherie DeVaux proved something just as important: leadership can be quiet, clear, and courageous.

In the end, the headline is not only that Cherie DeVaux made history. It is that she did it her way, with a horse she believed in, and with a decision that put care ahead of convenience.

“The horse comes first.”

That belief carried Cherie DeVaux from Churchill Downs to Saratoga and into a place no woman had ever stood before. And for a sport built on moments, this one will be remembered for a very long time.

 

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Jack Schlossberg walked into Andy Cohen’s SiriusXM studio this week wearing a tie that most museums would keep behind glass. It belonged to his grandfather — President John F. Kennedy. When Cohen asked about it, Schlossberg didn’t give some rehearsed answer. He just said it was his favorite tie. That he wears it for good luck. And here’s the part that stopped me — he only owns five ties. Total. This one from JFK is one of them. Five ties for a guy running for Congress in New York’s 12th District. Cohen then asked about his uncle, JFK Jr. Schlossberg went quiet for a second. He said he only has a broken watch. That JFK Jr. was given plenty of Kennedy heirlooms over the years — but apparently lost most of them. So now the grandson carries what’s left. Not in a display case. Around his neck, on a Tuesday afternoon, sitting across from Andy Cohen like it was nothing.

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8 FLUENT CHEROKEE SPEAKERS DIE EVERY MONTH. THEN ONE SPOKE THEIR LANGUAGE IN FRONT OF 26 MILLION VIEWERS. At the 90th Academy Awards, Wes Studi walked out as the first Native American presenter in Oscar history. He talked about serving 12 months in Vietnam with Alpha Company. Then he looked at the Hollywood crowd and asked, “Anyone else?” Dead silence. But what happened next is what no one was ready for. Out of 376,000 Cherokee people, only around 2,100 still speak the language. For generations, Native children were beaten in boarding schools for saying a single word in their mother tongue. The government wanted those languages to disappear completely. And right there, on that stage, Wes Studi spoke Cherokee. No hesitation. No permission. He thanked veterans and Cherokee people who served — in the exact language they tried to erase. A year later, the Tri-Council of Cherokee tribes declared a state of emergency for the language. Eight fluent speakers still die every month. But that night, millions of people heard Cherokee — and it sounded like something that refuses to die.

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“A 21-YEAR-OLD WATCHED POLICE ARREST HIS FRIENDS ON SUNSET STRIP. HE DROVE HOME AND WROTE ONE OF THE GREATEST PROTEST SONGS IN HISTORY — IN 15 MINUTES.” November 12, 1966. Stephen Stills was 21. His band Buffalo Springfield was nobody yet — playing a residency at the Whisky a Go Go with Neil Young. That night, he headed to Sunset Strip for live music. What he found was a thousand teenagers outside Pandora’s Box — a little rock and roll club the city had voted to demolish. LA had imposed a 10 p.m. curfew for anyone under 18. The kids carried signs: “We’re Your Children. Don’t Destroy Us.” Three busloads of LAPD showed up in riot gear. Peter Fonda got handcuffed. But here’s what nobody expected — Stills didn’t stay. He drove home and wrote a song in 15 minutes. It didn’t even have a title. Just a first line: There’s something happening here. They recorded it December 5 in a single session. On Christmas Day, Pandora’s Box reopened one last night — and Stills performed the song inside a building already marked for destruction. When he played it for his label, he shrugged: “I have this song, for what it’s worth.” That became the title. It appears nowhere in the lyrics. It hit Number 7 on the Billboard Hot 100. Grammy Hall of Fame, 2000. Rolling Stone’s 500 Greatest Songs, Number 63. Pandora’s Box was demolished in August 1967. That corner is now just another intersection. No plaque. Nothing left but the song.

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Jack Schlossberg walked into Andy Cohen’s SiriusXM studio this week wearing a tie that most museums would keep behind glass. It belonged to his grandfather — President John F. Kennedy. When Cohen asked about it, Schlossberg didn’t give some rehearsed answer. He just said it was his favorite tie. That he wears it for good luck. And here’s the part that stopped me — he only owns five ties. Total. This one from JFK is one of them. Five ties for a guy running for Congress in New York’s 12th District. Cohen then asked about his uncle, JFK Jr. Schlossberg went quiet for a second. He said he only has a broken watch. That JFK Jr. was given plenty of Kennedy heirlooms over the years — but apparently lost most of them. So now the grandson carries what’s left. Not in a display case. Around his neck, on a Tuesday afternoon, sitting across from Andy Cohen like it was nothing.

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8 FLUENT CHEROKEE SPEAKERS DIE EVERY MONTH. THEN ONE SPOKE THEIR LANGUAGE IN FRONT OF 26 MILLION VIEWERS. At the 90th Academy Awards, Wes Studi walked out as the first Native American presenter in Oscar history. He talked about serving 12 months in Vietnam with Alpha Company. Then he looked at the Hollywood crowd and asked, “Anyone else?” Dead silence. But what happened next is what no one was ready for. Out of 376,000 Cherokee people, only around 2,100 still speak the language. For generations, Native children were beaten in boarding schools for saying a single word in their mother tongue. The government wanted those languages to disappear completely. And right there, on that stage, Wes Studi spoke Cherokee. No hesitation. No permission. He thanked veterans and Cherokee people who served — in the exact language they tried to erase. A year later, the Tri-Council of Cherokee tribes declared a state of emergency for the language. Eight fluent speakers still die every month. But that night, millions of people heard Cherokee — and it sounded like something that refuses to die.

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HE LAID 8 FLOWERS ON THE “8” PAINTED ON THE CHARLOTTE GRASS — 3 DAYS AFTER HIS BROTHER DIED, AND STILL SAID NOTHING. For 18 days after Kyle Busch passed away at 41, Kurt Busch stayed completely silent. Not a word when NASCAR announced Kyle’s death from sepsis caused by severe pneumonia. Not when Richard Childress Racing retired the No. 8 car. Not even at the Coca-Cola 600, where he quietly placed those flowers on the Charlotte infield — and walked away. But what he finally wrote wasn’t about the 234 wins, the most in NASCAR history. Wasn’t about the 2 Cup championships. Kurt talked about big wheels. Two kids from Las Vegas racing anything they could get their hands on, long before the trophies and the fame. “No trophy, championship, or accomplishment could ever measure the impact you had on my life.” And then, five words that hit harder than anything: “Rest easy, little brother.”