July 11, 2026 
I love me a derby.
It separates the men from the boys. The women from the girls. The horsemen from the hobbyists.
But with philanthropic endeavors that fill a standard 40-hour workweek, a stable to manage, several time-intensive WhatsApp group chats to be witty in, and an editor hovering over me like a gorgon, could I really afford the commitment of writing up another class?
I perused the startlist and found I couldn’t resist. So there I am, set in front of the livestream, the grass arena in a charming Swedish coastal town laid out before me.
We had the local Swedish riders, of course. But we also had Hands (Richard Vogel, so dubbed for his large, no-gloves-can-fit-them hands), the Swiss (OF COURSE—give those guys a runway and they’re gonna fly their plane), Abdel Saïd (last year’s winner), a couple Whitakers (Jack and William), and a couple of Irish (because honestly, derbies are in their DNA).
Hands has been getting so much attention lately because he’s been winning nearly everything. He went to Spruce and was like a contestant in that old gameshow Supermarket Sweep where you run up and down the aisles shoving whole shelves of product into your cart. But he did with the ribbons and trophies on offer at Spruce.
To quote a fellow content creator on this network, “Richie just seems to dominate on whatever-the-f*ck he’s sitting on!”
But rumor has it that Hands took a fall and hurt—thank God, not his hands—his ankle. Was the pain enough to dent his performance? Some suspected that was the case in Friday’s Nations Cup, where Germany was uncharacteristically eliminated after round 1.
But if Hands can give me a break, I feel that would be best, because I’ve started to worry that I might be accused of having an obsession. When I brought this up to my editor, she only said, “Well, if there was ever a time to be obsessed with Richie, it’s now.”
So heal fast, Richie’s ankle, because you’re currently the Grand Slam Contender and I’ve bought my ticket for the Spruce Meadows Masters. I won’t tell you that once I hurt my ankle in a grisly trampoline accident and it took nearly three years to heal, because I was always walking around on it. But riders are tougher stuff than writers, who sit limply in their garrets dipping quill into ink.
(On this day, he and his mount For Space grab two rails and finish 12th.)
But let’s take a look at the Falsterbo Derby. The inaugural derby was held way back in 1969. It actually predates the Falsterbo horse show itself, which grew around the Derby and is now the largest equestrian event in Sweden.
Former winners of the derby include Peder Fredricson, Andre Thieme, Steve Guerdat, and last year’s winner Abdel Saïd.
And all of them are back this year for the ultimate former-winner matchup.
And what do we have for a course? We got the built-in liverpool, a water, a dry ditch, two enormous jumps—one a colossal bridge spanning half the arena and another a colossal sailboat-themed thing with giant sails and what looks like real boats overturned underneath the poles. We also have a notorious Devil’s Dyke and a super cool chute that jumps you out of the arena for a gallop behind the stands and up a slope to the bank somewhere between the height of the new Spruce bank and the dizzyingly-high old one.
I’m loving the jump out of the arena, which proves rather confusing to horses who’ve been told their whole lives NOT to exit an arena in that manner—so much so that Thieme’s ride Paul S initially refuses. Not out of spookiness (I think), but out of an admirable impulse to adhere to the usual rules.
No one in this derby is much of a slouch and out of a startlist of 20, we got three clears and eight on four faults (including Guerdat, who comes in fourth).
The three clears are multiple-derby-winner and hometown favorite Fredricson, last year’s winner Saïd, and Martin Fuchs.
And we have a jump off!
First to go is Fredricson, who is riding the most fetching little Swedish Warmblood, a 9-year-old gelding by Comme Il Faut that I want very much to have as my own. He looks elegant and stylish tackling the course, giving each jump plenty of space. And look at Fredricson heading to the double without a pause in Mark-Bluman-at-Spruce style, so quick that the crowd gasps as he gets a rub going out.
The crowd erupts in cheers as he clocks a fast time of 47.99 seconds over the short course.
Next up is Saïd, determined to reclaim the title. He doesn’t touch a pole, but his time is almost a second slower at 48.99.
Last to go is Fuchs, who, aside from Hands, seems to be the main reason I put pen to paper lately. Don’t do it, Fuchs—don’t make me look like an obsessed superfan when I’m trying to cultivate a literary persona of aloof disinterest!
(But there I am, on my bed, eyes glued to the livestream. I’ve sat up and grabbed a pillow, which I hug tightly to my chest while chanting rhythmically “Fuchs Fuchs Fuchs!” How embarrassing. Thank God no one will ever see me this way or hear of it.)
Fuchs is on a 10-year-old mare named Love de Vie by Grandorado TN NOP. Honestly, I thought he started out slow and I yelled at the screen, forgetting I’m half Swedish and zero percent Swiss and really should be joining the crowd in rooting for Fredricson.
Holy sh—! Did you see the rub on the third? That pole musta been glued into the cups the way they whacked it! It stayed up though and who’s thinking about that now that they’ve rubbed both of the double! And they touch the jump after that and the wall, but it all stays up and they let the last two jumps go without a rub and cross the finish at 47.04 and honestly I don’t know how they did that but—
“I need a hero!
I’m holding out for a hero til the end of the night
He’s gotta be strong and he’s gotta be fast
And he’s gotta be fresh from—”
winning the Falsterbo Derby!
Now what body part nickname am I gonna give Fuchs? Hmm…
