Relief

Feeling low down?

Feeling lowdown?

Owe a few lawyers calls?

Wondering what to do about the home office IRS deduction, the basement as a conference room?

Concerned with the wheeze?

Late with a payment?

Early with an excuse?

Overdrawn?

Undernourished?

Quick, to the simulcast joint.

They’re always there, ready with some Derby talk, the regulars, be it Winning Colors scoring from up front back in one of the days or, speaking of speed, be it The Factor who just won on the lead at Oaklawn Park, one of the better Kentucky Derby feeder tracks. Here’s what they’re saying about this year’s roses run. Uncle Mo needs to horse up, and fast. Enough with the virtual match races and low speed figures, that one needs some serious competition before the Derby. Vulnerable speed can’t shake a jackrabbit. Powerful speed like what The Factor possesses can shrug off party crashers like gnats.

Here’s who always has something to say at the horse races, here’s who has moved his Form and phobias from the live action to the simulcast venues. Here’s who is there for us, anytime, day or dark, cheap claiming race or stakes, whatever, where ever, whenever. These people know how to do everything except leave with somebody else’s money.

They have proper names but don’t need them.

We like them. We’re among them. What does that make us, one of the following, as well?

The one who just misses
You can walk into the place at noon or at eight at night, and this one will show you five tickets with dozens of horses on them, all but one, his. And the one he didn’t have just cost him a fortune. The one who just misses doesn’t just miss out on a $20 Exacta. He has just missed on thousands. Sometimes a check of what he just misses reveals he just missed by 10 lengths. Maybe he enjoys just missing, and talking about it.

The one who cheers at lots of high-priced winners
This one is really strange, because for all the yelling, he hardly ever sticks around, or shows a lot of money. You’ll frequently hear him yelling, “Come on seven,” with the seven being 30-1 and leading by nine. But after the seven wins, the one who had been yelling wanders soon after into the night without having stopped by the windows. Cash in later? Talk a good game? Nobody who said the ones who were there for us at all hours were 100 percent all there.

The one who can’t win
He has been getting killed since the late eighties. His favorites pay $3 and win one in ten times. His long shots, don’t ask. He is not losing as much as he used to. That’s because he’s betting less. He likes the company here, sure, who wouldn’t. It beats the tube. But all of the photo finishes and steward rulings go against him. He simply can’t hit a thing. Never has. Never will.

The one who knows everything
He knows breeding. He knows trainers. He knows crooks when he sees them. He knows the body language of a horse. He knows dosage. He knows where the smart money is. He knows exactly how far some horses ride in from the farm, race day. He knows vitamin shots. He knows riders, barns, and hot walkers. Loan him twenty?

The one who needs to win $10k.

The one who can handle beer and gambling.

The one very close to greatness.

The one who has inside information.

The one who loses when he starts volunteering information.

They’re all there, right this second, coast to peninsula, seaboard to dust bowl, the regulars hanging around the horse races, been there since the fedoras in the stands weren’t noticed.

New war?

What new war?

Originally Posted on ESPN