LOUISVILLE, Ky. -- Meet my new best friend, Spanky. No, really, that's his name. We hit it off right away when I ventured down to the Churchill Downs infield on Derby Day.

	You have to bring your party "A" game to the infield of Churchill Downs.

But first, I introduced myself to one of the Spankmeister's other buddies.

"Hey, Spanky, this guy says he wants to write something about us for ESPN.com."

You know, Spank. ESPN.com? The Internet? Computers? Those things The Dude used to push for Dell before he had that little career hiccup?

"ESPN.com, huh. I don't read much."

The man sure can pound, though. It's mid-afternoon, almost four hours before the start of the 129th Kentucky Derby, and Spanky is doing 12-ounce curls on a lawn chair. How long has he been at it?

"We got here at 9 a.m.," said Todd Merolla, the ringleader of the International Partyers, whose frat-brother forefathers first converged on the Churchill Downs infield more than 20 years ago.

So you got here at 9 a.m. And how long have you been drinking?

"Since 9 a.m."

	Allegedly, a race occurred at some point.

You're right. Dumb question.

Merolla, 34, is an attorney in Atlanta 364 days a year. Not today. Today, he's the Mad Hatter and the tea is spiked. He and the other International Partyers are dressed in orange and powder-blue velour suits with black trim and matching hats. Think Jim Carrey in 'Dumb & Dumber.' That's the theme of this year's party. If you're going to party on the infield on Derby Day, you've got to have a theme.

"We've been all kinds of things through the years," said Merolla, who's been road-tripping to the Derby since 1997. "One year we were Elvis, another year Uncle Sam. This all started with five guys in 1981. Who knew?"

International Partyers?

"Some woman saw us a few years ago and said, 'You'll do anything, won't you? Y'all are crazy. Y'all are a bunch of international partyers.' The name stuck. We come every year from all over the country. That guy over there came in from Mexico."

They warned me about the infield. But this being my first Derby and all, I decided to wander down and check it out. The cops said afterward that the infielders, all 50,000 of them, were relatively mild this year. Of course, that's by Derby-Day, sleep-is-overrated, party-till-you-puke standards. By most estimations, Saturday's laid-back infield can be attributed to the heightened security, what with all this paranoia about terrorists and all.

Not that some infielders didn't try to, you know, liven up the party. The creative-genius award of the day went to a group of guys who tried to smuggle in bourbon bottles stuffed into foot-long hoagies. They didn't make it; but if I had seen them, I would have bought them a round of brewskis on general principle.

	Even Millionaire's Row has to face the security music.

Of course, it wasn't like people were going thirsty. When it comes to party animals, the Churchill Downs infield is the San Diego Zoo. It's like the bar scene from Star Wars with Southern accents. Relatively mild? If so, I'd have given anything to have seen the rowdy, old days. Like in '74, when an infielder mooned Princess Margaret from atop a flagpole.

Rumor has it that a few horse races were being run on the other side of the track, but you wouldn't have known it in the middle of the infield. The nearest betting window is roughly a block away, and I never once saw anyone stumble in that direction. They were too busy blowing daddy's tuition money and doing the tattoo-parlor thing.

They weren't real tattoos, of course. They were lick 'n' stick tattoos. And the funny thing is, only women could get them. First, the tattoo-ee had to step inside the International Partyers' office, a small patch of bluegrass set off by yellow caution-do-not-enter tape. Inside the tape was a wading pool that contained considerably more spilled beer than water.

Any woman who stepped inside the tape received a tattoo, and in all the right places. Not only that, the boys were kind enough to shower them with Mardi Gras beads. In return ... well, let's just say the women brought new meaning to the term flash photography. You wonder why Louisville strip joints bother staying open 24 hours on Derby weekend when the scenery in the infield is free.

As I kept walking, I saw all kinds of interesting characters. In addition to the obligatory Elvis impersonators, there was a group of dudes walking around wearing Vikings paraphernalia. No, not the Minnesota Vikings. The original ones, with the horns coming out of their heads and beers surgically attached to their hands.

And what would Derby Day on the infield be without men wearing dresses and hats straight out of a Dr. Seuss book? I saw it with my own eyes. I even saw a few people carrying mint juleps, though I never saw anybody take a sip. If you've ever had a mint julep, you can relate. If not, don't start now. Try Robitussin on the rocks instead. Tastes better and it's cheaper.

	You have to be real drunk to be happy with this look.

Another 100 yards later, as I approached the Third Turn, which is the Haight-Ashbury of the infield, I began to smell the unmistakable aroma of vomit. The boys in the press box warned me about that, too. The Churchill Downs infield is world famous for its vomit. Which brings us to the first commandment of Derby Day: If you're in the barn or the infield, always walk with your head down.

The upset was that the person doing the upchuck honors wasn't the young woman wearing the "Most Likely to Pass Out at the Derby" T-shirt. Nor was it her friend, the one wearing the "Most Likely to Get Drunk after One Beer" shirt. Or even the one in the "Most Likely to Earn Her Beads at the Derby" shirt.

As I looked at them lying on a blanket in various stages of consciousness, I remember thinking to myself, "I sure hope they're driving, because they're way too drunk to walk." Then another thought crossed my mind: "Why would Anna Nicole Smith be up in the Turf Club with the beautiful people when she could have been out here with all her fans?"

Jim Armstrong, a sports columnist for the Denver Post, is a regular contributor to Page 2.