It's that time of year again. My annual pantsing at the only venue where "the windows clean the people" is mere days away. The season is well underway at Del Mar, "where the turf meets the surf' and we need to make the scene at least once before leaving San Diego for Lake Coeur d' Alene. My wife is excited because, for some unknown reason, she usually leaves the racetrack with more cash than she brought. I, on the other hand, would most likely be better off if I simply never left the parking lot and just set fire to my money. I've given up. An afternoon to people watch and smell the horse plop at the last completely UN-PC sporting venue is my reward.
Think about it. Where else but the racetrack can you drink booze, smoke cigars, and curse that no good $2 "sure thing" as it breaks down in the stretch while holding your child's hand? It's what's left of the American Dream and I'm on board. Sure, it would be just dandy if a longshot paid off for me, but I'm a realist. I've had my day of winning with the nags. It was thirty years ago and it was magical enough to last a lifetime.
Here's the story:
It was the mid 1980's and Bob Hanna, one of the all time unforgettable characters of the broadcast business, and I were living in Las Vegas with our families. During football season we had a Saturday morning ritual of meeting at the Sahara Hotel race and sports book to place our bets on that week's NFL games. We'd meet around 10:30 in the bar to discuss our picks and compare notes on each game's line before placing our wagers. That done we would enjoy a Sahara tube steak or two while we had a couple of drinks and congratulated each other how clever our picks were and how much money we would have come Monday morning.
Bob was a wheeler dealer who enjoyed great success as a radio station owner and later a media broker. I got to know him when we teamed up on a couple of deals and we became great friends. Bob checked out of a massive heart attack at the much too young age of 60 while, of course, doing a deal on the phone. I'm just glad I had some time with him. He made me laugh.
On this particular Saturday we had taken care of our football bets and were bunkered in at the bar where we had a commanding view of the multiple screens of horse racing action from tracks all across the nation. By chance I noticed that the first race at Aquaduct was a few minutes away from post time. In a moment that will forever live in my treasure chest of memories, I turned to Bob and said, "There's a pony named 'Barroom Hussy' just about to go off at twenty to one." Bob replied, "It would be a shame to let a magnificent piece of horseflesh like that leave the gate without a few bucks on her." I readily agreed and hurried off to get down our pooled $10 bet. We ordered a couple of drinks and settled in to watch the race. Barroom Hussy won it wire to wire.
When we were done celebrating the two of us decided to pool another $10 from our winnings and pick out another horse for the second race. That filly's name I am no longer able to recall, but she won. We were on to something. As what had now become the afternoon wore on, our collective IQ, thanks to an ever increasing drink tab, was going down faster than a hooker at a Shriner convention. BUT WE KEPT WINNING! Other railbirds were coming to us for advice; people were springing for drinks and--OOPS--our wives were wondering where the hell we were. Judy, Bob's wife, had called Linda sometime around 3PM and they formed their own angry search party. They found us, like Cliff and Norm at Cheers, occupying the two stools at the end of the Sahara bar where we had been planted since that first race at Aquaduct. (Didn't want to mess with what was now our "system".)
I don't remember the exact tally of the loot we won that mostly unbelievable day in 1985 but I am certain it was the last time I ever won money betting on the horses. I do remember a large--make that VERY large--pile of green in front of us and two extremely pissed off women standing over the scene demanding some sort of explanation. I may have tried faking a broken leg. I'm not sure. I do remember dining that evening at a very expensive restaurant the girls picked out. They had the lobster and split the rest of our hard won racing spoils.
Bob and I had Alka Seltzer.
When we were done celebrating the two of us decided to pool another $10 from our winnings and pick out another horse for the second race. That filly's name I am no longer able to recall, but she won. We were on to something. As what had now become the afternoon wore on, our collective IQ, thanks to an ever increasing drink tab, was going down faster than a hooker at a Shriner convention. BUT WE KEPT WINNING! Other railbirds were coming to us for advice; people were springing for drinks and--OOPS--our wives were wondering where the hell we were. Judy, Bob's wife, had called Linda sometime around 3PM and they formed their own angry search party. They found us, like Cliff and Norm at Cheers, occupying the two stools at the end of the Sahara bar where we had been planted since that first race at Aquaduct. (Didn't want to mess with what was now our "system".)
I don't remember the exact tally of the loot we won that mostly unbelievable day in 1985 but I am certain it was the last time I ever won money betting on the horses. I do remember a large--make that VERY large--pile of green in front of us and two extremely pissed off women standing over the scene demanding some sort of explanation. I may have tried faking a broken leg. I'm not sure. I do remember dining that evening at a very expensive restaurant the girls picked out. They had the lobster and split the rest of our hard won racing spoils.
Bob and I had Alka Seltzer.
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