Editorial
Front Page - Friday, March 19, 2010
Are we there yet?
In the stretch
Jay Edwards
"Horse sense is the thing a horse has which keeps it from betting on people." – W. C. Fields
The golf cart motored us back to Central Avenue and the looming horse track across the street. We had parked the car behind a motel nearby after paying a guy the reasonable sum of ten dollars. Behind us in the cart, in the space once reserved for golf clubs, sat two older gents who were also hoping for a bit of luck that day.
Above I saw two men were coming out of a room on the second floor. They both wore boots, smoked cigars and carried a beer, which I recognized through the clear cups in their hands. They laughed and looked prosperous, seeming unconcerned with the economic problems of their fellow citizens.
We rode and the air, just two days before the last week of winter, was cold. People I’d talked to were ready for spring football to begin. Basketball had ended for the Hogs about 12 hours before, in the Music City, with no swan song.
We left the cart and passed in front of the bar across the street from the track. It was dark and inviting. The door opened and an old woman came out, draped in a cloud of cigarette smoke. “No kids in there,” I thought. She looked up and stretched a grin, as if to show off the silver that had replaced ivory. I turned away and stepped onto the asphalt road, hoping the cars would obey the law and stop, and that none were Toyotas. We crossed and I looked back, but the old woman had gone.
I thought of the old days when there wasn’t a crosswalk law, or maybe there was and everyone just ignored it. In those days there was a traffic cop that would stop the cars when he felt enough people had congregated to cross. Some couldn’t wait on him however and dropped inside that same dark and inviting bar.
We made it to the other side and I was glad to pay my two dollars at the gate and escape the cool air.
Inside we bought Racing Forms and walked to the escalator. The Oyster Bar, off to my right, was about a third full. On one of the tables a dozen on the half shell glistened. They made me wish I hadn’t quit eating them a few years ago. I had given them up after reading a sign in Bill’s Crab Shack in St. Petersburg, which said, “Eat raw oysters at your own risk.”
I always knew there was a risk, but when you see it in big black letters it leaves an impression.
Still, the thought of a cafeteria tray covered with open shells and meaty mollusks, splashed with lemon juice and Louisiana hot sauce, was tempting.
We got off the escalator and searched for the elevator, which would take us to the floor where the Oaklawn Club was located. The elevator doors were shutting when a beefy hand grabbed one of the doors and pushed it back open. Six people joined us inside. We were packed in and one guy got out and announced he would take the stairs. A woman said, “He needs to walk off those Bloody Mary’s anyway.” They all seemed to have enjoyed a toddy or two (or seven), already that morning.
After making our way inside the club and locating a beer, I headed to the buffet for some corn beef, then to our table, high above the fast dirt track. It was time to pick some winners, to gamble, on the “Sport of Kings.”
After some bush league handicapping in The Racing Form, I went with my favorite number, 8, and favorite jockey, Calvin Borel. The horse was Horizon Point, who had even been on the tip sheet our golf cart driver gave us back at the parking lot.
I got to the window and thought about an exacta but in-stead said, “5 across on number 8.”
It was a six-furlong race for maidens and Horizon Point ran well, until the end that is, when two others passed him and he finished fourth.
In the second I liked Irish Girl but boxed her with Bwana Z, who ran third. Irish Girl won.
In the third it was time to catch up so I played four ponies in an exacta. That didn’t work either.
So I went back to the buffet, even though I wasn’t hungry. I filled a plate and finished it all, looking like the “Man vs. Food” guy on The Travel Channel.
At last, in the seventh race, I cashed a ticket. I got back $11.75. Unfortunately, I had bet $12.00.
Oh well, maybe I’ll have better luck next time, which just happens to be tomorrow.
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