There are times in life when the chance to be part of a grand historical event just falls in your lap. Not a very frequent occurrence mind you, so you have to jump at it whenever you get the chance. I was presented with such an opportunity last Saturday when my cousin Erin offered me the chance to go watch the horses run down at Belmont Park, including one Smarty Jones who just so happened to be going for the Triple Crown — a feat that had not been accomplished since 1978 by Affirmed.
The original plan had been for erin and her sister Trish to go, but Trish is just a wee bit pregnant these days and couldn’t make it. In fact, her dud date was the date of the race. Best to err on the side of caution. Sorry ’bout that Trish, but at least you should know that your ticket went to good use. ^_^
The day started at 10 am when Erin swung by my place and picked me up. We cut through Manhattan and into Queens, making a time saving wrong turn that actually cut down the time we spent in traffic on the way to Belmont Park. Was lady luck looking down on us, or was I just reading far too much into this?
Anyway, we managed to find ourselves a decent parking spot on the far side of the track, but with all the tailgating going on I could have sworn it was the far side of Giants Stadium.
By the time we made it to the grandstand it was race number 6 of the 13 scheduled for the day; the Belmont Stakes was race 11. I settled in with my program and started reading through the overwhelming amount of information of all of the horses, with Erin helping me to understand what was what. It helps to have someone who’s done this betting thing before when you’re wagering on the ponies for the first time.
Things like turf conditions, breeding stock, previous race records (including a breakdown of their position at multiple points in the race), who was the jockey had to be carefully weighted. Well, I could have gone with something slightly less scientific, like picking a horse because he had a cool name or something, but this wasn’t Monopoly money I was playing with. I wanted to make the most of every dollar I was betting.
Races six and seven were my warm-ups. I made the picks in my program, but never went to the betting window. I don’t think I got a single finishing position right with those two races, but that was fine by me; get the bad mojo out of my system before the greenbacks when on the line. With race eight looming, Erin and I went to make our bets. I left the window with a handful of tickets scrawled with numbers and strangely worded phrases like trifecta, exacta box and pick four.
The pick four was the big bet for the day. The idea is you select the winner of four races in a row; in this case races 8 through 11. If you get it right, you get a big ass pay out. There are also pick sixes and a host of other bets I’m sure I’ve never heard of. See, horse racing is more than just win, place and show.
When the first real race of the day (i.e. a race I had an actual stake in) went off, I was excited but refrained from any thoughts of how I would spend my massive winnings. While the horses were on the back straightaway things still were quite subdued in the stands, myself included. But once they cleared the last turn and headed for the finish line, the crowd sprang to life in a chorus of cheers, screams, curses and prayers.
At least for me, those screams and prayers were answered, as my horse came in first. Wow, first bet, first win. Is it always that easy? Races 9 and 10 finished with the same results, with each race finishing in a more dramatic fashion than the one before. My total win loss record should have been 3-0 at this point, but that damn box exacta did me in. So my record was 2-1 with my most important bet (the pick four) still alive and the most important race coming up.
Call it beginners luck I guess. Now if it would just hold up for one more race.
As the horses were paraded in front of the grandstand it was easy to tell who the crowd wanted to win. Being part of that screaming mob of fans rooting for Smarty was one intense feeling. If he could have used our cheers as fuel, he would win by 30 lengths.
But as you’ve probably heard, the Triple Crown coronation of Smarty Jones did not go as planed. He opened up just a touch too soon on the back straightaway and was overtaken in the last length by Birdstone, and so my hopes of quickly-won riches fluttered away like the litter strewn about Belmont Park.
Erin and I stuck around until the last of the racees, pooling together a little scratch to make a handful of exacta bids on the last race. The theory is if one of them happens to hit you get a nice chunk of change to split, but the odds are really against you. The more people you have to throw in for something like this the better, I suppose. With only two bettors our chances were quite slim.
The only downside to that last betting streak is it put me behind for the day. With my two earlier wins I had made back what I bet and ammased a grand $2 profit.
The only downside to the whole day would have to be the crowd had been acting. When they were in their seats they were fine and courdal. But walking the halls and out in the lot they moved with utter disinterest in the wellbeing of those around them; as if everyone was in their own little world and not watching where they were going.
Then there was the litter. It was everywhere, and 90% or it was alcohol related. Boxes, cans, bottles — it really offended my hippy sensibilities, what with trying to protect the earth and all. The mess extended to every corner of the facility. Even the parking lot was awash in waste. I did not envy the sanitation crews that would have to clean up this mess one bit.
All in all it was a great day out and a lot of fun. Still, I would have really loved to see Smarty win. Money aside, it would have been a real feather in my cap to say I was there when history was made and the 26 year long drought ended. Instead I’ll just have to be content with a grand day out and my tales of “almost”.
Tags: Personal