Off To The Races

Zack Oleinik

Okay so here is something I do every week or so during the summer; I'm drunk at the horse races and I lose a lot of money. This is how the story goes, I drive up to the Del Mar Fair race tracks, in sunny San Diego with of bunch of my naive buddies. The talk throughout the whole day prior to the first race is about how great a time we are about to have, and how much money we will be making throughout the afternoon, plus how hammered we are all about to get. The thing is I have lived on the beach my entire life, thus I know nothing about farming and livestock, and for that matter I have no clue what to look for in a horse. I have been trying to figure out what it is in a horse that makes it faster than the rest of the pack for years now, and well this is what I have learned, or at least been told. Keep in my mind I've never meet a cowboy, thus I receive most of my knowledge at the track from the guys there. The thing is, all the guys at the race track are fucking duechbags who pretend to be something their not, as they hop out of their '94 Geo Metros, and strap on their fake Rolex's while popping the collar of their Salvation Army grade shirts. Basically the demographics at this things is similiar to that of a Kid Rock concert, a bunch of dudes who don't know shit yet still have a swagger in their step. And sadly I have for sometime time now, taken and applied the advise these indivduals have given me.
The selection process, for what horse I will be putting my money on begins at an area known as the paddock, the place in which the proud usually mexican trainer gracefully walks the horse around a small lap in front of many speclators. Every step, every movement of the horse is noticed by hundreds, but really what part of the step is relevant to a winner, and whats just horse shit? Well I heard, bet on the horse with the fattest ass that means great acceleration, or go for the lengthy horse with long lengths, good stamina and long strides. My uncle told me to go for the horse that shits or pisses before the races because he is clearly comfortable and phyiscally a few pounds lighter. It sounds like trying to choice a women that could make a wife, damn near impossible. But I don't know, I'm kind of a romantic I whissle at every horse as if it were a dog, and sometimes a horse will aknownledge me with a glance of eye contact. I found the perfect horse at the paddock this one time, when I was whissling the horse looked me in the eye but it was not a glance it was a moments of eye contact, I fell in love with the horse and in unison we both knodded our heads at each other.
With the smell of American brewed beer, filtered cigerattes and horse shit all part of the eroma it was time to chose my fast horse. My choice was of course the horse I had had the moment with, it was the four horse in a race of twelve but regardless of the number there was nothing I needed to see past old mr. four. So I put my twenty dollars down and rooted for the best. Two minutes after the guns shot fired my four came in tenth out of twelve. Then after the race it shat, damn I wish there was rematches in horse facing, I bet my uncle's advise would be right, fuck what a hick hobby. But I bet I will win next time, just vote for the last horse to shit, I throw fifty on it!