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“FROM 18TH PLACE TO 1ST — A 23-TO-1 LONGSHOT JUST BROKE 150,000 HEARTS AT CHURCHILL DOWNS.” Nobody was watching Golden Tempo. Not at the start. Not halfway through. He was dead last — 18th out of 18 horses — while Six Speed blazed the front and the crowd at Churchill Downs roared for the favorites. Then something shifted on the final turn. Jose Ortiz, quiet in the saddle for the entire race, suddenly let Golden Tempo loose. And this horse — a 23-to-1 longshot nobody gave a real chance — started passing them. One by one. Five horses. Ten. Fifteen. By the time he hit the stretch, 150,415 people were standing. Screaming. Some couldn’t even look. He caught Renegade — the race favorite, ridden by Jose’s own brother Irad — right at the wire. And then the cameras found the woman standing by the rail. Cherie DeVaux. Trainer. Shaking. Tears already falling. In 152 years of the Kentucky Derby, no woman had ever trained the winner. She held her young nephew Maverick tight and whispered into the microphone: “I don’t even have any words right now.” Ortiz was crying too. He called it a dream come true. But what happened in the moments right after the finish — the detail between two brothers, a $48.24 payout on a $2 bet, and a reaction from DeVaux that nobody expected — that part of the story is still being talked about…

From Last Place to the Roses: Golden Tempo’s Derby Run That Left Churchill Downs Breathless

Golden Tempo was not the horse most people came to see at Churchill Downs.

At the start of the Kentucky Derby, Golden Tempo was easy to overlook. While the crowd watched the early speed and waited for the favorites to make their move, Golden Tempo sat far behind the field. Eighteen horses thundered over the dirt, and Golden Tempo was the last of them.

For a while, nothing about the race looked historic. Six Speed was setting the pace. Renegade, the favorite, was still in position. The noise inside Churchill Downs kept rising with every turn, every stride, every flash of color moving past the grandstand.

But Jose Ortiz never panicked.

That may be the part people will remember most when they watch the replay years from now. Jose Ortiz did not rush Golden Tempo. Jose Ortiz did not force the moment too early. Jose Ortiz stayed quiet in the saddle, as if Jose Ortiz could feel something the rest of the world could not yet see.

Then Golden Tempo Began to Move

On the final turn, the race changed.

Golden Tempo, the 23-to-1 longshot few had picked to win, suddenly found another gear. One horse disappeared behind Golden Tempo. Then another. Then another. What had looked like a hopeless position became a charge that made the crowd shift from excitement into disbelief.

People who had been cheering for favorites started staring at the outside lane. Some rose from their seats before Golden Tempo had even reached the stretch. By then, the noise had changed. It was no longer just cheering. It was shock.

Golden Tempo kept coming.

In the stretch, Renegade was still fighting for the finish. Renegade had the name, the support, and the rider many expected to see in the winner’s circle. But Golden Tempo had momentum, and Jose Ortiz had one final push left.

At the wire, Golden Tempo caught Renegade.

For a moment, it felt like the whole track held its breath. Then the result became clear. Golden Tempo had won the Kentucky Derby.

A Trainer’s History-Making Moment

The cameras quickly found Cherie DeVaux near the rail.

Cherie DeVaux was not jumping wildly or performing for the moment. Cherie DeVaux looked stunned, almost unable to process what had just happened. Tears came before the words did. Cherie DeVaux held young Maverick close, and the emotion of the moment seemed too large for any speech.

“I don’t even have any words right now.”

That simple reaction said more than a polished answer ever could.

Cherie DeVaux had just become part of Kentucky Derby history. In a sport filled with tradition, pressure, money, and generations of expectation, Cherie DeVaux had reached a place no woman trainer had reached before. Golden Tempo had not only won a race. Golden Tempo had opened a door.

And Golden Tempo did it the hard way — from last place, against the favorite, in front of more than 150,000 people who could barely believe what they had witnessed.

The Brothers at the Wire

There was another layer to the finish that made it even more unforgettable.

Jose Ortiz had ridden Golden Tempo to victory. Irad Ortiz, Jose Ortiz’s own brother, had been aboard Renegade, the favorite Golden Tempo caught at the wire. In one family, there was heartbreak and triumph separated by only a few feet of dirt.

That is what makes horse racing so cruel and so beautiful at the same time. One rider gets the roses. Another rider gets the memory of how close it was. One brother celebrates the dream. The other brother has to live with the narrowest kind of defeat.

But moments like that also reveal something deeper than competition. The finish was not just about winning. It was about respect, timing, courage, and the strange way history sometimes chooses one heartbeat over another.

The Longshot That Paid Back Belief

For the people who believed in Golden Tempo before the gate opened, the victory brought more than emotion. A $2 bet returned $48.24, the kind of payout that turns a longshot into a legend in the hands of the few who saw possibility where others saw doubt.

But money was not the reason this story traveled so quickly.

People talked about Golden Tempo because the race felt like something more than a race. Golden Tempo was last. Golden Tempo was overlooked. Golden Tempo looked finished before Golden Tempo had even begun to make a move.

Then Golden Tempo came flying home.

That is the kind of story people understand even if they have never studied a racing form. Everyone knows what it feels like to be counted out. Everyone knows what it feels like to start too far behind. Everyone knows what it means to keep going when nobody is watching.

A Finish That Will Not Fade

After the race, Jose Ortiz cried. Cherie DeVaux cried. Fans cried. Some people stood in silence, still trying to understand what they had just seen.

The roses went to Golden Tempo, but the moment belonged to everyone who has ever needed proof that the final turn is not the end of the story.

Golden Tempo did not win because the race was easy. Golden Tempo won because the race was not over when it looked impossible.

And long after the numbers, payouts, and final times are remembered by racing historians, the image will remain: a forgotten longshot flying down the stretch, a trainer with tears on her face, two brothers separated by a finish line, and Churchill Downs realizing all at once that history had just passed them on the outside.

 

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“DAMIAN McGINTY SANG 3 WORDS — AND THE AUDIENCE COULDN’T HOLD BACK THEIR TEARS.” When Damian McGinty stepped forward on the Celtic Thunder stage, something in the air changed. You could feel it. The lights dimmed. The crowd went still. And then he began to sing “The Green Fields of France.” His voice didn’t roar. It didn’t need to. It came out quiet, almost broken — like someone kneeling at a gravestone, talking to a soldier who never came home. Every word carried the weight of young men buried in foreign soil, names fading from headstones no one visits anymore. Behind him, Emmet, Neil, and Ronan rose gently — their harmonies wrapping around Damian’s voice like arms around a grieving friend. No one tried to outshine anyone. They sang together the way soldiers once stood together. And the audience? No applause. No cheering. Just silence. The kind of silence that says more than any standing ovation ever could. But it was the final verse — the moment Damian’s voice cracked under the weight of what he was singing — that shattered everyone completely. What happened next is something Celtic Thunder fans still can’t talk about without getting chills.

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