Thursday, June 18, 2009

Movin’ on… Down?

To be perfectly blunt, I expected a zeppelin or blimp of some sort to be overhead during the course of the races. The best Long Island could manage was a pair of poorly-piloted whirlygigs, one of whose hovers were rather drifty.

A mind simultaneously aroused and dulled produces some awkward thoughts, and as a result, our party decided to view the middle races, which awarded considerably higher purses, from a better vantage point. Apparently, carrying a briefcase and wearing a preposterous outfit are the lone prerequisites for attaining an improved perspective. Additionally, oversized binocular telescopic devices pointed in the opposite direction of anything remotely of interest, as evidenced below by the man in the lighter blue shirt behind myself, also proved to assist one’s ease of entry:

As an aside, I must briefly note that, much like your driving, your equestrian speed competitions are done precisely in the opposite manner that was intended. When attempting to beat the clock, it’s best to run against it. Apparently this concept has been lost upon the proprietors of this fine establishment known as Belmont Park. Emboldened by both our dramatic vantage point and the diminished weights of our respective wallets, we decided to pursue even lower ground. Given that none of the equestrian competitors were in contention for a victory that would entail three more hats than a horse could comfortably wear, we again made ourselves to appear important and rustled through the brightly sunlit masses to an ideal location.

How’s that for a $22 seat?

Here I must pause to embarrass my handler, who rather fancies the above image of himself. I must admit that his eyes are nearly as concerting as my own. Apologies for the shadows. And the flower. Many regards must be paid to Bill, Alex, and a fellow Belmont virgin, Matt, for both their congenial manner and provisions of fine tobacco products. You will not go unremembered, sirs. I will send my regards to you, via (of course) my handler, at another running of this fine event.

Alas, boxed exactas did me in yet again during its course. Nevertheless, for a horse that is known for its late charges, I feel the pre-race favorite was brought on rather impatiently. Despite our losses, a certain exuberance was shown on behalf of my handler who, in his relative sobriety AND per his father’s direction, remembered to place a rather substantial bet (to win) on a relative of the one to which my friends and I had pinned our hopes and currencies so tightly. Had the wager been doubled, we would have had to fill out a tax form!

I must lastly declare that the name Dunkirk has somehow managed to be further sullied by the results of the race. 68 years after costing countless lives, it cost our party a profoundly tallyable sum.

Surmise it to say, our evening continued. Further wagers were not placed solely on the merit that this horse was not entered in any of the races.

I apologize for any implication as to the appearance of the aforeshown young woman, who was truly charming, but her hat befuddled me nearly as much as I confused her. Obviously, I reigned my response in much better than she could manage but, to be honest, I would have loved to see two races of drunken fans giving it a go for 6 furloughs or so following Race 11. It would keep the audience at bay, maintain the enthusiasm, and award monstrous cash prizes for the winner, merely at the expense of the reputation of the track and its representative sport.

Posted by Pooptoad on 06/18 at 10:41 PM
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