Preakness 2025

By mid-morning, the crowds were already pouring into Pimlico. It was the third Saturday in May, and in Baltimore, that only means one thing: the Preakness Stakes. For the locals, it’s more than just a horse race—it’s a ritual, a celebration, and a loud, colorful pageant where tradition meets the present.

This year, 2025, the buzz felt electric. The Triple Crown conversation was alive, thanks to a charismatic chestnut colt named Iron Anthem, who stunned the field in the Kentucky Derby two weeks prior. Trained by the veteran horseman Luis Moreno and ridden by young jockey Emma Blake, Iron Anthem had become something of an overnight celebrity. But Pimlico is never predictable. That’s part of its charm—and its challenge.

Out in the infield, the party was in full swing before noon. Flower crowns, checkered pants, and bold sunglasses covered the masses. The familiar aroma of Old Bay, beer, and horse sweat filled the air. Friends who hadn’t seen each other since last year hugged over railings. “Preakness is our reunion,” said Carla Thompson, a Baltimore native who’s attended every year since 2008. “We don’t miss it. Rain or shine.”

Meanwhile, in the stables, things were quieter. Tense, but quiet. The horses, regal and powerful, were being groomed and saddled. There was chatter about Royal Signal, a late-blooming gray colt with a monster kick. Then there was Hollow Creek, a front-runner trained by the sharp-tongued Texan Ray Dillard, who swore his horse “had fire in his blood.” But eyes kept drifting back to Iron Anthem—could he really do it again?

By race time, the grandstands were a sea of hats and anticipation. Emma Blake, only 24 and riding in her first Preakness, looked calm in the saddle. Moreno stood by the rail, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. The gate crew loaded the colts one by one. The crowd hushed.

And then—they were off.

Hollow Creek jumped out fast, just as predicted, pulling ahead through the first quarter. Iron Anthem sat comfortably in third, tucked along the rail. The pace was fast, maybe too fast, and by the half-mile mark, Hollow Creek began to fade. That’s when Royal Signal made his move, swinging wide and surging forward. The crowd roared.

But Emma didn’t flinch. She waited. And in the final turn, with just over a furlong to go, she gave Iron Anthem the cue.

It was like watching poetry.

The colt surged ahead, ears pinned back, legs churning like pistons. Royal Signal fought to hold on, but the momentum was with Anthem. They crossed the wire by a neck—close enough to leave hearts pounding, clear enough to make a statement.

The place erupted.

Emma punched the air as they galloped past the stands. Moreno hugged his assistant with the smallest of smiles. For Blake, it was history: the youngest woman ever to win the Preakness. For Moreno, it was redemption—after a decade of near-misses. And for Iron Anthem, it was a step closer to legend.

Back in the barn, the colt munched on hay, steam rising off his back, completely unbothered by the whirlwind he’d just created. Emma wiped her face with a towel, still in disbelief. “He gave me everything,” she said, almost whispering. “I just held on.”

As dusk settled over Pimlico and the crowd began to thin, people lingered a little longer than usual. Something about this year felt different—like they’d witnessed the beginning of something big. Belmont was three weeks away, but for now, Baltimore was the center of the racing world.

Preakness 2025 wasn’t just a race. It was a moment. And in this sport, those are the things we chase.