The WiseGuy was on the brink of failure due to the lack of contenders coming across the wire first. The Oaks wasn’t as bad so I had to blame today’s debacle on the rain. Just imagine how sloppy the infield was. The tall one and I participated in the Oaks a few years back and it rained just like it did yesterday. I never seen such large events as the wet t-shirt display was one for the ages.
I woke up wondering about the day ahead. Lady Tater slept an hour more than me. She’s not as excited I guess.
The magic of the Kentucky Derby had begun.
The Mayor was dead in the first leg of the Pick 5 and I involuntarily opted out on the second leg of the 4. I did however hit 3 of 4 even though it’s a big fat loser, so it wasn’t so bad on my ego. We tamed down the partying this year and only myself, Lady Tater and The Mayor attended. Joe and his entourage went to Vegas and Big Red, the Rican and No Show were no shows. Must be contagious. They’ll come up with some lame excuse for sure.
Okay, so we ate and drank way too much again by ourselves. Cheesy brats, brown sugar beans. Crown, Bud Light, an enormous amount of Lays and more beer led me to believe my belly was appearing lopsided as I looked down on the body shelf I had created where my half a bottle of beer stood.
Again, using the Contender lists only I placed 100 dollars worth of box trifectas and managed to bring in a big fat goose egg.
Lady Tater pulled in a 50 using Orb. The WiseGuy personal pick in the story, ‘The Field is Set, , , and Away they go’, quotes me as saying, “Orb, my personal pick, landed softly in the sweet 16.”, was used in way too many trifectas and no win wagers. “What the hell”, you ask? I know, I know, but I had my heart set on this year’s, Princess Pick, the number eight horse, Goldencents.
The Mayor casually says in his monotone melancholia-ridden lack of excitement, “Here he comes on the outside. I leapt from the couch and jumped toward the oversize TV. I thought I felt raindrops from the track and I was sure the horse I wanted, because of ‘The Wand’s’ announcement earlier in the week, was coming from nowhere out of the pack.
So set was my heart that when Larry Collmus announced Orb was making his move, gigantic goose bumps swathed over my entire body. Collums packed in the overwhelming excitement with a roar, “Orb!, he screamed, “Has come in with giants strides in the center of the track!”
“Go Orb! Go, go, go go,” I yelled at the top of my lungs. When Orb crossed the wire I leapt up several times and raced toward Lady Tater on the couch and gave her a very forceful double high-five. Her face was lit up with high emotion. She got up and we high-fived again. “The Wand did it! The Wand did it!” I screamed. I think she did a couple of jumps too.
Listen below and you’ll see what I mean! Larry and The Mayor got me all excited.
Then with the emotion of a luke warm cup of water, The Mayor spouts in a low, rain-on-my-parade, tone, “What’d ya mean?”
Lady Tater and I turned to him in unison. He was wearing his gray handicapper hat, who earlier I had made him remove for the National Anthem, and was stretched out on the Lazy Boy sofa recliner with three empty beer bottles teetering on the end table and the form also balancing on his belly.
“That wasn’t The Wand. The Wand is the number eight. Jeez, The Wand’s pick ran like a fat man.”
Then I realized my mistake. I’ve done it before. A couple of years back I had a huge Pick 4 alive to the last leg and held the favorite, number 9, and a long shot, the number 4, on my ticket. I had already posted two longs on race 6 and 7. It was raining on that day too. As the herd rounded the turn, I screamed, “Go number 9, go!” The horses crossed the eighth pole and I screamed it again. The Mayor announces, “F&^% the nine, you want the four. He’s the one in front!” The four crossed the wire lengths ahead.
“Oh, I thought that was the 9. The blanket is covered with mud and I couldn’t see.”
The Mayor gave me the same look of disgust then as he did yesterday. The kind of look as if he had just taken in a whiff of putrid air from someone who had just walked by us and crop-dusted us in the clubhouse. I cashed 6 grand that day, gave two to the government, so I thought I’d be generous as I bought him two beers that night.
“What? Why did you say he was coming on the outside?” I thought you meant The Wand.”
“No, The Wand was the number 8. He was going backwards.”
“Where’d he end up?” I asked.
“I don’t know. All I saw was your fat ass jumping up and down in front of the screen.”
I replayed the entire race for him and sat quietly on the adjacent sofa like a good boy.
A few minutes later, Juicy called and wanted his money. I had placed a 20 dollar bet for him on Orb at Harold’s while Lady Tater and I had our traditional breakfast of huevos rancheros. He at first thought he won $12.80 for every dollar he spent and wondered why I only said he won 128 bucks. Math today is much harder for the young ones I guess.
Then he tormented me by telling me the horse looked him straight in the eye as did every horse at last year’s Breeders’ Cup did the same thing and caused him to win every race he bet. So much for beginner’s luck. He’s done it again.
Well, today I have the doldrums again, exactly like every year before. It’s much like the day after Christmas to me.
Even though The WiseGuy picked the right horse again on the Contender Sheet I already miss the excitement. Remember, this is numerical, not running order. One of those three horses out of twenty should win. This year I posted it early so no one thought I was cheating.
The year-long anticipation of Derby is gone for now. The Preakness and the Belmont are coming up quickly. The WiseGuy and The Mayor are re-focusing on Hollywood and then onto Santa Anita and the Breeder’s Cup.
I wonder which horse, The Wand, will choose as The Princess Pick in next year’s big race? Just wondering you see.
I’m just wondering about the magic. . .
P.S. For those who were unfortunate and not able to view the best 2 minutes in sports, here it is again.
“The best part of life starts at the top of the stretch.”