Layin' It On The Line: Just another wonderful day at the race track; or was it?
Just another wonderful day at the race track; or was it?

ADVERTISEMENT

It was gambling time.

So as I approach the gate, I pull out some greenbacks for a program and the “expert’s picks” brochures.

With minutes before the first race, I endure a situation which should have told me something bad was going to happen.

I make a few suggestions to Donald and he makes his quinella bet, and I am next.

I tell the teller I want the daily double, the 2-4 with the 3-5.

The language might as well have been French because she totally misunderstood me.

What is it? Do you want a wheel? Is this for the first race? Is it a trifecta? What numbers were they again?

Before I could utter another syllable, the bell goes off.

All she could do was put on this fake grin and say “I am sorry.”

I stammer away, using some profane adjectives and run to the fence to see the action.

Donald’s picks don’t come close and the first of my daily double does. As luck would have it, so does the second race.

I look at the toteboard after the second race, and I would have won $35 for hitting the double, if not for that old bag.

I cashed in on my exacta, so I managed a $9.60 winner on an $8 bet.

Feeling my oats, I am thinking “All right maybe I am rolling now.”

For the third, fourth and fifth races, I make a Pick 3 wager. I hand my cash to the teller and I am ready to collect. I win the third race, and the fourth, and the fifth race I have three selections in a seven-horse field.

Well, during the warm-ups, one horse dumps its rider and is scratched. The horse was the longest shot in the field, so not really a threat.

I am still sitting with a 50-50 shot.

The ticket reads 4-5-6, the horses are A Blonde Moment, Chrome and Tiptoethroughthetulips.

If Tiptoe, at 6-1 on the board, comes away a winner in this race, I know I could be walking away with probably $300-to-400, so I really liked my chances.

As they turned for home, Tiptoethroughthetulips gains a length lead and is well on its way home.

I can picture myself, rolling around on my bed with fresh money, happily tossing it in the air.

I start rubbing Delilah’s head for luck, I turn to Destiny and do the same, before she slaps it away in disgust.

I didn’t care, I was finally going to be a winner.

But as Tiptoe heads for the wire, Flying Home with Uky clips her by a neck.

In horse racing, many degenerate gamblers never remember the big wins, or the unforeseen longshot winner they pulled out.

It’s the losses.

This one stings bad.

We end the evening at Red Robin on the patio for a solid evening, and through the next two hours I had the opportunity to sulk in my losses along with my old buddy Mr. Screwdriver and the three Ds.

We met an attractive brunette waitress named Jessica, who coincidentally graduated from Fruitland.

She is quite the conversationalist.

We find out about every employee at Red Robin, their faults, weaknesses and any other embarrassing moment they have had in their lives.

One server owned three cats, rode a bike to work and still lived with his mother.

As we walk away, I flash my business card to ole Jessica the waitress.

You know nothing gets the females all lathered up more than an Argus Observer business card.

A few days have passed, and still no call.

I spent some quality time with some great friends, engaged in some great conversation and snapped off like 40 pictures to capture the moment.

I am so proud to be their friend.

I just wish their friend, the sportswriter, wasn’t such a loser.