Teach
08-17-2013, 10:25 AM
As I sit here in front of my computer in Boston-West (Metrowest) waiting for the scratches from Saratoga, I thought I'd send out a racing story from my past. I'm not sure this is the slot or venue for the story on this board, but most of you have seen my moniker here so I thought I'd send it out from "Selections". The story is true, only the names have been disguised to protect the guilty. The story is entitled (see below):"The Horse With The Three Rs".
"The Horse With The Three Rs"
"We won! We won!" I screamed out. "My dream. "The Horse With The Three Rs".
I had a dream. Now that's not so unusual - except this was no ordinary dream. For one, I remembered nearly all of it, and secondly, my dream took place at a racetrack: Suffolk Downs. I dreamt that my friend "Bucko" and I had founds seats in Suffolk's clubhouse. In my dream, I had just gone up to make at bet when I ran into one of my horse-playing buddies, a fellow teacher nicknamed "RB". "RB" was a character straight out of a Damon Runyon novel. He would often regale me with stories about the time he owned horses and ran them at Rhode Island's Lincoln Downs and Narragansett Park. "RB" was also a fixture on the MA fair circuit: Marshfield, Great Barrington and Northampton. Oh, I should also mentionthat "RB" was friendly with several trainers; he was usually good for a tip or two.
Well, in my dream, I asked "RB" a question that I often asked whenever I saw him in real life: "Do you like anything?" "RB" responded, in a nearly inaudible voice, "I like Robs Rollin Robin." Or, at least that's what it sounded like. The only thing I could definitely recall was that there were three alliterative letter Rs in the horse's name. And then, as soon as "RB" had given me the tip, he disappeared, as if he had evaporated into thin air.
I should mention that the real "RB", whom I taught with in the Boston Public Schools, had died just a few weeks before I had my dream. I recall that seconds after I hadfinished speaking with "RB" I headed back to the table that I shared with my friend "Bucko". I wanted to tell him about the tip. But, before I reached the table - I woke up.
That next morning, the trees were covered with ice. The roads were as slick as skating rinks. As I looked out my bedroom window, I thought I had been transported to a scene right out of the movie Dr. Zhivago. It was February, 1999. The forecast that day for the Greater Boston area had called for an end to the overnight freezing rain, but the temperatures would not go above the freezing mark until later in the day. That morning, I called "Bucko". Earlier in the week, we had made plans to drive down to Foxwoods in Connecticut. "Bucko," I asked, "do you think we should still go to Foxwoods? The roads..." Just then, "Bucko" interrupted. He said, "Teach, we can make it." And thus, minutes later, I was in my car and off to "Bucko's" house to pick him up for our trip to the casino. What normally took me no more than fifteen minutes to get to "Bucko's" now took more than a half-hour. As I walked in, "Bucko" asked, "Teach, how are the roads?" "You had to ask," I replied. I continued, "In word - treacherous." Then, I uttered one of the few Italian phrases I knew, "Tu sei pazzo!" "And, I am too," I added.
Well, that day, the trip to Foxwoods took more than one hour longer than it usually does. When we finally arrived at the teal blue towers, a.k.a, Foxwoods Resort and Casino, I now knew what Little Richard had meant by: "Slippin' and Slidin'." Eventually, we made our way inside the casino. We walked up some stairs, hooked a left, and walked into Foxwoods'race-book teletheater. We found adjoining seats. Yet, we still had a solid hour before any of the East Coast tracks would be getting under way. We decided to grab a sandwich and a coffee at a nearby take-out area that was located just above the race-book. It was at this time, as we were waiting in line, that I began to tell "Bucko" about the racetrack dream that I had the previous night. I remember beginning by saying something like, "Now 'Bucko', don't take this too seriously. It's just a foolish dream,"I added. Well, "Bucko" would have none of it. As soon as I mentioned the word dream, "Bucko's" ears perked up like a hound dog who had just picked up a scent. "Dream," he said. "You had dream about a race track.," he continued. "Tell me about your dream, Teach." At that moment, I felt like saying, "Yes, Dr. Freud." I should mention that "Bucko" is big on anything that has to do with the occult: Tarot cards, numerology, palm reading, astrology, etc. He even has a "popcorn machine" that spits out numbers for his lottery picks. In fact, "Bucko" once saw a rainbow over the cemetery where is parents are buried; he immediately started buying lottery tickets with their birthdays. Wouldn't you know it, he nailed a couple of tickets.
Oh, as for the dream, "Bucko" wanted to know every detail. When I told him about the tip that "RB" had given me on "the horse with three Rs", he became totally focused. He was hanging on my every word. I remember "Bucko" emphatically saying, "We've got to find a horse with three Rs in its name." Logically, he started with Suffolk Downs, the scene of my dream. But, just as "Bucko" began scanning the SD races, someone from the race book got on the P.A. and announced that Suffolk had canceled. We then began scrutinizing the entries at all the other tracks. I recall that we were both hurriedly turning pages in the DRF and "The Little Book" looking for a horse with"The Three Rs" in its name.
Then, suddenly, like the first time Archimedes figured out the concept of displacement, "Bucko" blurts out, "'Teach', I've got it! The horse with the Three Rs", he added. The race was the seventh at Calder. A route. The number #4 horse. The horse's name was Rorys Rolls Royce. "That's it!" I blurted out."That's it!" I repeated. "That's the horse." At least it sounded like the name the "RB" had given me in my dream. "Bucko" added, "That's got to be it. My niece's husband's name is Rory." he added. We were both ecstatic. If you had been a bystander walking by at that very moment, you might have thought we had just hit the lottery, or, at the very least, had just nailed a telephone-numbers mutuel ticket. We were both celebrating victory in a race that had yet to be run. . In reality, we still didn't know whether this whole undertaking was a revelation,or just a fool's errand. However, one thing was for certain, the whole three Rs thing was quite intriguing.
Over the next two to three hours, "Bucko" and I did our best to bide our time by playing "small money". We both knew we had bigger fish to fry.
Well, the "Rory" race was fast approaching. "Bucko" and I decided that we would "form a corporation". We shared several Pick-3s. We started with the the Sixth (the previous race) ;the Seventh (the"Rory" race); and finally, the Eighth.
I recall that we hit the sixth race (our first leg) in the Pick-3 with four of our tickets. In the next race, the seventh, we had "singled" Rory on each of our Pick-3 tickets. In addition, we were betting Rory with straight money and in exactas.
The seventh race from Calder, "the Rory race," was about to go off. Rorys Rolls Royce was a medium long shot at 8-1. As the race began, Rory was in the middle of the pack several lengths behind the front-runners. As the horses reached the far turn, Rory is beginning to make his move. He was on the outside. I still recall the track announcer saying, "...and that's Rorys Rolls Royce quickly moving into contention on the outside." At that moment, I looked at "Bucko," he looked at me. The feeling was palpable. I don't know if either of us were breathing. In the stretch, Rorys Rolls Royce is gaining with every stride. "Come on Rory!" I'm screaming. In the end, my horse, our horse, the one whose name I dreamt about, the one "RB" had given me in my dream, wins the race by a length. Rory pays $18-and-change.We've both hit the exacta (the"chalk" was second); that was in addition to straight money on Rory's schnoz. And, as if to add frosting to the cake, we're both alive with the four tickets we shared in the Pick-3. Two were "Bucko's" picks; two were mine. If anyone of our tickets hit, we share the proceeds.
The 8th race and final race of our Pick-3 was a route that had been taken off the turf because of heavy rains in the Miami area earlier in the day. One of my selections was an MTO that was being piloted by Jorge Chavez. To this day, I can't remember the horse's name, but I do recall that he was the #14 horse. I recall that he started from the extreme outside post.
Well, the horses were now loading right in front of us on our TV monitors. In less than two minutes, we'd know if we had scored. Chavez's horse, the #14 horse, quickly jumped into the lead and was angled over to the rail. Throughout the race, Chavez's horse, one of our horses, would be on the lead. The horse would be challenged on two or three occasions; yet, Chavez, with is hand-chopping motion, fought off all challengers. In the end, our Pick-3 horse, Chavez's horse, held sway. I remember screaming out, "We won! We won!" As Chavez's horse was about to get his picture taken, I thought to myself, "This is what makes horseracing so great!" As soon as the race went "official," "Bucko" and I began pumping our fists and slapping each other on the back. The Pick-3 ended up paying "Three-Huge" for a $2 ticket. We split the $1 payoff.
That evening, as we were leaving Foxwoods, I remember "Bucko" saying,"Now "Teach," if you ever have another horse racing dream..." (his voice trailed off). Well, unfortunately, ever since that February evening nearly fifteen years ago, I haven't had a dream that even came close. Yet, there's one thing I do know: if I ever have a dream where someone gives me a tip on a horse, especially one with three Rs, you know I'll take it seriously. Very seriously.
"The Horse With The Three Rs"
"We won! We won!" I screamed out. "My dream. "The Horse With The Three Rs".
I had a dream. Now that's not so unusual - except this was no ordinary dream. For one, I remembered nearly all of it, and secondly, my dream took place at a racetrack: Suffolk Downs. I dreamt that my friend "Bucko" and I had founds seats in Suffolk's clubhouse. In my dream, I had just gone up to make at bet when I ran into one of my horse-playing buddies, a fellow teacher nicknamed "RB". "RB" was a character straight out of a Damon Runyon novel. He would often regale me with stories about the time he owned horses and ran them at Rhode Island's Lincoln Downs and Narragansett Park. "RB" was also a fixture on the MA fair circuit: Marshfield, Great Barrington and Northampton. Oh, I should also mentionthat "RB" was friendly with several trainers; he was usually good for a tip or two.
Well, in my dream, I asked "RB" a question that I often asked whenever I saw him in real life: "Do you like anything?" "RB" responded, in a nearly inaudible voice, "I like Robs Rollin Robin." Or, at least that's what it sounded like. The only thing I could definitely recall was that there were three alliterative letter Rs in the horse's name. And then, as soon as "RB" had given me the tip, he disappeared, as if he had evaporated into thin air.
I should mention that the real "RB", whom I taught with in the Boston Public Schools, had died just a few weeks before I had my dream. I recall that seconds after I hadfinished speaking with "RB" I headed back to the table that I shared with my friend "Bucko". I wanted to tell him about the tip. But, before I reached the table - I woke up.
That next morning, the trees were covered with ice. The roads were as slick as skating rinks. As I looked out my bedroom window, I thought I had been transported to a scene right out of the movie Dr. Zhivago. It was February, 1999. The forecast that day for the Greater Boston area had called for an end to the overnight freezing rain, but the temperatures would not go above the freezing mark until later in the day. That morning, I called "Bucko". Earlier in the week, we had made plans to drive down to Foxwoods in Connecticut. "Bucko," I asked, "do you think we should still go to Foxwoods? The roads..." Just then, "Bucko" interrupted. He said, "Teach, we can make it." And thus, minutes later, I was in my car and off to "Bucko's" house to pick him up for our trip to the casino. What normally took me no more than fifteen minutes to get to "Bucko's" now took more than a half-hour. As I walked in, "Bucko" asked, "Teach, how are the roads?" "You had to ask," I replied. I continued, "In word - treacherous." Then, I uttered one of the few Italian phrases I knew, "Tu sei pazzo!" "And, I am too," I added.
Well, that day, the trip to Foxwoods took more than one hour longer than it usually does. When we finally arrived at the teal blue towers, a.k.a, Foxwoods Resort and Casino, I now knew what Little Richard had meant by: "Slippin' and Slidin'." Eventually, we made our way inside the casino. We walked up some stairs, hooked a left, and walked into Foxwoods'race-book teletheater. We found adjoining seats. Yet, we still had a solid hour before any of the East Coast tracks would be getting under way. We decided to grab a sandwich and a coffee at a nearby take-out area that was located just above the race-book. It was at this time, as we were waiting in line, that I began to tell "Bucko" about the racetrack dream that I had the previous night. I remember beginning by saying something like, "Now 'Bucko', don't take this too seriously. It's just a foolish dream,"I added. Well, "Bucko" would have none of it. As soon as I mentioned the word dream, "Bucko's" ears perked up like a hound dog who had just picked up a scent. "Dream," he said. "You had dream about a race track.," he continued. "Tell me about your dream, Teach." At that moment, I felt like saying, "Yes, Dr. Freud." I should mention that "Bucko" is big on anything that has to do with the occult: Tarot cards, numerology, palm reading, astrology, etc. He even has a "popcorn machine" that spits out numbers for his lottery picks. In fact, "Bucko" once saw a rainbow over the cemetery where is parents are buried; he immediately started buying lottery tickets with their birthdays. Wouldn't you know it, he nailed a couple of tickets.
Oh, as for the dream, "Bucko" wanted to know every detail. When I told him about the tip that "RB" had given me on "the horse with three Rs", he became totally focused. He was hanging on my every word. I remember "Bucko" emphatically saying, "We've got to find a horse with three Rs in its name." Logically, he started with Suffolk Downs, the scene of my dream. But, just as "Bucko" began scanning the SD races, someone from the race book got on the P.A. and announced that Suffolk had canceled. We then began scrutinizing the entries at all the other tracks. I recall that we were both hurriedly turning pages in the DRF and "The Little Book" looking for a horse with"The Three Rs" in its name.
Then, suddenly, like the first time Archimedes figured out the concept of displacement, "Bucko" blurts out, "'Teach', I've got it! The horse with the Three Rs", he added. The race was the seventh at Calder. A route. The number #4 horse. The horse's name was Rorys Rolls Royce. "That's it!" I blurted out."That's it!" I repeated. "That's the horse." At least it sounded like the name the "RB" had given me in my dream. "Bucko" added, "That's got to be it. My niece's husband's name is Rory." he added. We were both ecstatic. If you had been a bystander walking by at that very moment, you might have thought we had just hit the lottery, or, at the very least, had just nailed a telephone-numbers mutuel ticket. We were both celebrating victory in a race that had yet to be run. . In reality, we still didn't know whether this whole undertaking was a revelation,or just a fool's errand. However, one thing was for certain, the whole three Rs thing was quite intriguing.
Over the next two to three hours, "Bucko" and I did our best to bide our time by playing "small money". We both knew we had bigger fish to fry.
Well, the "Rory" race was fast approaching. "Bucko" and I decided that we would "form a corporation". We shared several Pick-3s. We started with the the Sixth (the previous race) ;the Seventh (the"Rory" race); and finally, the Eighth.
I recall that we hit the sixth race (our first leg) in the Pick-3 with four of our tickets. In the next race, the seventh, we had "singled" Rory on each of our Pick-3 tickets. In addition, we were betting Rory with straight money and in exactas.
The seventh race from Calder, "the Rory race," was about to go off. Rorys Rolls Royce was a medium long shot at 8-1. As the race began, Rory was in the middle of the pack several lengths behind the front-runners. As the horses reached the far turn, Rory is beginning to make his move. He was on the outside. I still recall the track announcer saying, "...and that's Rorys Rolls Royce quickly moving into contention on the outside." At that moment, I looked at "Bucko," he looked at me. The feeling was palpable. I don't know if either of us were breathing. In the stretch, Rorys Rolls Royce is gaining with every stride. "Come on Rory!" I'm screaming. In the end, my horse, our horse, the one whose name I dreamt about, the one "RB" had given me in my dream, wins the race by a length. Rory pays $18-and-change.We've both hit the exacta (the"chalk" was second); that was in addition to straight money on Rory's schnoz. And, as if to add frosting to the cake, we're both alive with the four tickets we shared in the Pick-3. Two were "Bucko's" picks; two were mine. If anyone of our tickets hit, we share the proceeds.
The 8th race and final race of our Pick-3 was a route that had been taken off the turf because of heavy rains in the Miami area earlier in the day. One of my selections was an MTO that was being piloted by Jorge Chavez. To this day, I can't remember the horse's name, but I do recall that he was the #14 horse. I recall that he started from the extreme outside post.
Well, the horses were now loading right in front of us on our TV monitors. In less than two minutes, we'd know if we had scored. Chavez's horse, the #14 horse, quickly jumped into the lead and was angled over to the rail. Throughout the race, Chavez's horse, one of our horses, would be on the lead. The horse would be challenged on two or three occasions; yet, Chavez, with is hand-chopping motion, fought off all challengers. In the end, our Pick-3 horse, Chavez's horse, held sway. I remember screaming out, "We won! We won!" As Chavez's horse was about to get his picture taken, I thought to myself, "This is what makes horseracing so great!" As soon as the race went "official," "Bucko" and I began pumping our fists and slapping each other on the back. The Pick-3 ended up paying "Three-Huge" for a $2 ticket. We split the $1 payoff.
That evening, as we were leaving Foxwoods, I remember "Bucko" saying,"Now "Teach," if you ever have another horse racing dream..." (his voice trailed off). Well, unfortunately, ever since that February evening nearly fifteen years ago, I haven't had a dream that even came close. Yet, there's one thing I do know: if I ever have a dream where someone gives me a tip on a horse, especially one with three Rs, you know I'll take it seriously. Very seriously.