I still remember it like it happened yesterday (OK, maybe a bit fuzzier with the details): back in the early 1980s, a buddy and me would hit the Del Mar race track and bet on the horses. We really didn't know what we were doing, but we learned how to read the Daily Racing Form, so we made handicapper's guesses at losing our money. By the end of that season, we still hadn't picked anything worth bragging about. I was done for the year.
It was the last day of racing for the season. Steve calls and pleads for one last stab: "C'mon, it's the last day. We'll hit the 8th and 9th (races) just for the heck of it." I really wasn't up for it, but what the hell. Two races can't do too much damage. Besides, they didn't charge admission to see the late races, so that's a couple more bucks for bets.
We get there just in time for the eighth race and place a couple of cursory bets that don't pay off. Final race. Last chance. We didn't even have a program or Racing Form, so we scrounged for one that was disposed of on the ground. "Let's box an exacta, and bet on the highest odds we can." OK...So we decide to pick one horse each...one is some 30-1, the other is something like 16-1. But they didn't look so bad according to the Racing Form.
We throw down five bucks a piece to cover the exacta...if both horses come in first and second, any order, we win. Yeah, sure. The horses break from the gate and we make our way near the finish line. As we listen to Trevor Denman's race call, we notice something weird: our horses are moving up in the pack. Hmmmm, could it be our day? Nah.
But yes! The horse race gods somehow decided to smile on us that day. As our horses roared down the homestretch, Steve and I looked at each other: this might be the one! A thundering pack of thoroughbreds hit the finish wire at once...but one thing was clear: our 30-1 long shot was clearly the winner!
What wasn't so clear was our 16-1...he was less than a length behind the winner, but second place was too close to call. It was a photo finish for second. Our hearts pounding, Steve and I waited for the track stewards to review the photo. It seemed forever. While sweating out the wait, Steve and I made a pact: if our horse takes second and we win the exacta, we will absolutely not scream.
Second place is flashed on the tally board: our 16-1 horse is declared second place! The crowd roars, then buzzes. Steve and I are too stunned...then we lose it. We scream and shout "Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!" We hadn't even scanned what the payoff was. "My god, the exacta paid $1,300" a woman shouted next to us. Steve and I roared again, hugging and slapping each other on the backs. We were busting!
Damn near hyperventilating, we waited for the grandstand to clear, then ran to the betting windows to cash out. The gruff attendant smiled, "You guys won the big one." We were just smiling big and dumb, too stunned to say anything coherently. After he counted out our cash, we tipped him $50. "You guys have class," he replied. Yep, that's me and Steve.
Our pockets stuffed with cash, we ran to the car. We didn't really know what to do next, we were too high. We ended up going out for steak and lobster at the Butcher Shop. We were kings of the world.
When I woke up the next day, I reached over and touched my half of the loot. It wasn't a dream. And I haven't been able to repeat my feat ever since. I guess the gods only smile on you once. And that's my horse tale.
