Horse Racing

Horse walks into a bar. Bartender says, Hey, buddy! Why the long face?

I repeat myself a lot. You might have noticed. I do it in person as well.

One of my favorite expressions is, “That’s what makes horse racing!” Meaning, if everyone bet on the same horse, the whole betting arrangement would come crashing down. Nobody would make any money.

My first taste of horse racing happened during a summer vacation when I traveled to Destin Beach, Florida with several of my high school buddies. That’s right. Our parents allowed three or four teen age boys to drive from Dallas, Texas, to the panhandle of Florida. And back!

It sounds so implausible I sometimes wonder if I merely fantasized the whole thing.

Of course, at the time, the drinking age in Texas was 18 which means, I was knocking down Pabst Blue Ribbon beers at the local bar at the age of 15. Again, it sounds implausible in this era, but those are the memories I still retain from my high school years. I was the same height as I am now - at the age of 15 - but I was much more svelte and sported a mustache reminiscent of Burt Reynolds’ in Smoky and The Bandit.

Where was I?

Right. Horse racing.

While we were in New Orleans, Louisiana, we decided to go to the race track. None of us had much to spend and none of us knew jack squat about horses or horse racing but we were all looking for experiences. Like the night before.

The previous night, myself and someone else, who I am not going to name because I can’t remember (not because I am unwilling to divulge their name) experienced a ‘table dance’ in the French Quarter. It was my first and last table dance and I don’t remember it being particularly titillating or sexy. I think I spent most of the time worrying about whether our sultry dancer might fall off the table.

At the race track, we pored over the stats and information provided about each race and horse, and then would make our way to the area where the horses were paraded prior their race. My grandad raised Tennessee Walkers and I probably thought I was blessed with the genes to be able to determine whether a horse was spirited or eager or destined to break from the pack just by giving them a once over before they were led out onto the track.

But I lost my bet on race after race after race.

I was only betting $1 or $2 or $5 but it didn’t make the losses sting any less.

And then, I saw him. He was a reasonably tall Black man wearing a white linen suit and a brilliantly white Panama hat and he exuded confidence. I watched as he checked out the horses. I watched as he scribbled notes on the Daily Racing Form. I casually followed him to the betting window and listened as he placed his bets for win, place and show.

When he stepped away from the window, I drew a breath when I realized I had followed him to the $100 betting window. I scurried off to place my single digit bet repeating in my head the list of horses he had bet on.

I don’t remember how much I won, but it more than covered my losses. I do remember what a thrill it was cheering “my” horses as they made their way down the home stretch. Winning, placing and showing just as my Panama friend and I had wagered. Even more incredibly, as a teen ager, I managed to refrain from betting again. I decided to take my winnings and call it a day.

I congratulated myself for deciding to follow a professional. I was also a little bit bummed I hadn’t gone all in and risked a bit more.

I thought by the time I reached this part of my story I might have uncovered a modern day parable or, at least, be able to bring it all back around to our current political climate. I don’t think it is going to happen.

But, what I will say, which I have mentioned before, is to be aware that the pundits, talking heads and media mavens love a horse race. Meaning, no matter how weird things might get, they will continue to breathlessly act as if the election is not unlike any other election before it. Breathlessly report every semi-normal gesture, statement and stance Biden’s opponent takes as being a pivotal moment for his otherwise shameful, criminal and monumentally disastrous presidency. Breathlessly speak about the polls in toss-up states knowing that one party is pulling out the stops to prevent people from exercising their civic duty.

They want a horse race.

We want the figurative reenactment of the sacking of Rome in 1527.

Or maybe it is this: As a rank novice, I was clueless about horse racing and all of my wild speculations and guessing came to naught. If I had not been willing to seek the expertise of others, even surreptitiously, I would have left the park poorer than when I arrived.

If you are clueless as to who to vote for, up and down the ballot, heed my professional advice and vote blue, no matter who.

Let’s end the reign of terror, and rebuild.

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Alert Ass Readers Shan and Nancy have submitted two items for your consideration.

First Nancy’s contribution: A website that lists way you can take back control of your life without having to sail the Pacific Ocean or go on a winter Grand Canyon trip for 60 days. Everything from turning off notifications to supporting local journalism.

Shan’s contribution is in a similar vein. It’s a New York Times article about a guy who created his own media-deserted “island” following the 2016 clusterf*ck. It’s the story about a guy who purposefully cut himself off from the outside world in Ohio. He calls it The Blockade. The author does address the glaring “privilege” issue, as does the man himself. Interesting read. The Man Who Knew Too Little.

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Or a night on the town! Thanks for reading! - JLM