MY LAST TUESDAY NIGHT AT THE PUPS
There’s nothing like going to the dog track on a random night in February. When I received a call last Tuesday from my friend Bill, a long time dog track patron, asking me if I wanted to go to Wonderland, I gladly accepted. Normally, I find myself at Suffolk Downs to bet on the ponies, so when I go to “Wondy” I stay away from betting on the dogs. Instead, I wager on horses from the various tracks around the globe via simulcast while the others bet on the live dog racing there at Wonderland. Besides myself and Bill, the cast included our buddy Dave, also a Wonderland veteran, and Bill’s buddy Tony, owner of 4 dogs that run at Wonderland and also a regular bettor there. Below is my account of our trip to Wonderland Greyhound Park in Revere last Tuesday night.
6:55 – As we enter Wonderland and purchase our programs, we walk through the smoke-filled sea of degenerates in the main betting area, catch a mild case of emphysema, and escape into the “classier” bar area to the right.
6:56– Throw down our programs and sit at Bill and Dave’s usual table. The waitress approaches and says, “I was hoping you guys would be here, we have the cream of broccoli tonight!” Bill and Dave happily order the “C.O.B.” I pass. (Note: The fact that the waitress at the dog track knows you like cream of broccoli soup is ranked #2 on my “signs you have a gambling problem” list. #1 is the time the blackjack dealer at the Tropicana remarked on our buddy Jerry’s new haircut and told him he sees Jerry “more than his old lady”.)
7:00– Tony arrives, and immediately calls in a bet on the first race through his phone account. I have the “Jessica Simpson doing a crossword puzzle look”. Tony explains to me that it’s better to wager via phone because you don’t have to risk being behind a guy in line who bets on every track in the country causing you to be “shut out” of the race. He also gets 1% of his bets put in a special account, kind of like Wampum points. I nod in agreement.
7:02– During the 1st race, the camera was shaking like a belly dancer on the Green Line, which caused us to miss ¾ of the race. The fired-up Tony screams like Tommy Heinsohn after a bad call, “Show the damn race!!” Pause. “They got F’n invalids up there!!” Tony loses his $20 quinela bet.
7:21– The third race is up, Dave studies the program intensely and claims he has “a feeling” on this one.
7:22– Dave discovers that the “feeling” was actually the cream of broccoli doing the Humpty Dance in his stomach.
7:45- Bill runs up to bet the 5th race, returns from the betting window and proudly tells me, “Pete, root for the 3-4-6-5 in this race. If I hit, I win the super-duper-tri-super.”
7:46- The super-duper-tri-super comes out 2-4-7-1. Bill loses his chance at getting his name engraved at the concession stand next to Raymond “Tiny” Bartoli Jr., the only man ever to hit the super-duper-tri-super in 1978.
8:09– I count exactly 44 TV’s in the bar area. 15 of them have the Wonderland races, 9 have various other tracks, 6 have ESPN, 4 are completely blank, 3 have Keno, and the other 7 have on American Idol, with volume turned up to “Grandma level”. So picture about 20 or so degenerates sitting in a bar, watching dogs and horses run around in a circle on TV, while some 300 lb. gay guy is belting out “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” in the background. What a sight.
8:25 – My request to put college basketball on one of the 2 big screen TV’s is immediately denied by an older, grizzled degenerate wearing a black satin jacket with “Murray’s” on the back, and the man’s name in cursive letters on the front-left. I see myself in 30 years.
8:26-8:44– Question my existence on the planet.
8:54 – I love the #6 at Balmoral, he’s at 7-1, so I go up to bet him to Win and Place, as well as take him in an exacta. This is going to be a big payout if I’m right. I get to the window and some Chinese guy is betting on every track in the f’n country. I’m itching like Vinny Baker in the bathroom line at Woodstock because the horses are already in the gate. Hurry up!! Finally he finishes, I rush up, place my bet, and sure enough the teller says, “Sorry, its gone.” “Damn it!”, I yell. Of course the #6 wins by 4 lengths, I would’ve won $90 and I’m ready to tackle the Chinese guy. I inquire with Tony about setting up the phone account.
9:01– I point out that we’ve been here 2 hours and there are some people just sitting at tables and not betting. Tony responds, “Those people are here to stay warm.” “Oh”, I reply.
9:03– Citing “the spirit of the track”, Dave and I then bet $10 on which of these six or seven people will actually get up first. Dave takes the old guy wearing a flannel coat and a red and blue wool hat who’s staring at a pole. We both agree this man has never filed taxes. I go “contrarian-theory” and take an even older guy wearing garden gloves and a plain grey sweatshirt whose head is face down on the table. I want 20-1 odds, Dave gives me 3-1. I accept.
9:24– My guy moves his head and knocks over “Smoking Only” sign on his table. (Note: Apparently, you HAVE to smoke if you sit at this table. I love the sign, and want to steal it for my buddy Andy’s kitchen table.)
9:26– Dave’s guy begins to move. We can hear his knees crack from 30 feet. No!! Sure enough, he gets up and walks to the bathroom. Dave wins $10. Shit.
9:30 – After losing on every bet I’ve made at the various North American tracks, I try my luck over on another continent at Australia Downs. These are the most exciting races: they’re only 45 seconds long, they have 19 horse fields, at least 1 of them throws the jockey, you have no idea who wins because its so cluttered, and the best part is they run clockwise, which is the opposite of the US tracks. It’s the same way the toilets flush down there. Which is where my money is about to go. Who knows, maybe I’ll hit…
9:31-10:03– Lose the first 3 races at Australia, the last one on a photo finish and drop $33. I’m really starting to hate everyone from Australia. Yes, including Paul Hogan.
10:14- I decide to go back to “old school” and try a strategy that my Grandfather told me. “Take the horse that hasn’t won, he’s due”, he said. This same strategy has led to bets on Al Sharpton in the New Hampshire primary, Phil Mickleson in Majors, and the Def Leopard drummer in a Twister competition. So I wheel the #11 horse at Australia in an exacta, and needless to say he promptly loses again by 27 lengths. I still have not cashed a winning ticket, on any continent. Do they have giraffe racing live from Zaire on Tuesdays or no?
10:23– While standing in line at the betting window before the twelfth race, Dave points out a sign to me that reads, “If you or anyone you know has a gambling problem, call 1-800-STOP-BET for help.” I say, “20 bucks says I never call that number”. We laugh, kind of.
10:31– Finally the gambling Gods stop urinating on me, or so I think. I hit an exacta at Australia with 2 big long shots (16-1/12-1). We all estimate the payout I’m going to receive and figure it’s gotta pay between $150-$300. It takes them an eternity to post the payout, finally here it is… “Show me the damn money!!”, I yell. Official result: Exacta pays $43. 43 F’n dollars!! I throw my pencil at the big screen TV in frustration and in the heat of the moment curse out the entire continent of Australia calling them all “a bunch of frogs”. I even get a “sympathy shrug” from the guy with the garden gloves I bet on earlier. It’s kind of petty to complain after a win, but I got served a vegemite sandwich full of BS.
10:44– I’m now “on tilt”, which is never good, and don’t want to do anything stupid. I’m only down around $15 for the night so I decide to “take a knee”. It’s time to sit back, calm down, finish my Miller High Life, and watch my friends lose on the last race at Wondy.
10:48– Of course that doesn’t happen. I throw $20 down on a 99-1 dog hoping to “recoup” what I should have won the prior race. I go from “taking a knee” to “throwing a Hail Mary.”
10:50– The last race mercifully ends at Wondy and I lose. I think my dog is still running. My friends all lose too, Dave loses his 3rd photo finish of the night. He looks like he wants to “pull a Waco” and set the place on fire. On the way out, we get suckered in and each purchase $10 scratch tickets. We lose on all four and swear to God we’re never coming back. Well, at least until next Tuesday.