REALLY bad days at the track

[Doc]

We've all had losing days...mine seem to outnumber the winning days. But some days are worse than others...like the time I lost my shirt at the old Gulfstream Park in 1998 (didn't hit a damn thing all afternoon), got disoriented and left through a different entrance than I came in from (Christ, they were all lined by palm trees), and then drove for miles and got lost in an area where English was not the native language. With no money (I think I had 35 cents in my pocket, and had forgotten to bring my ATM card) and the gas gauge reading a quarter-tank, I stopped at a convenience store and had to use a combination of sign and body language to ask the clerk how to get back to the track. I finally made it back to the hotel but then found out the air conditioning in the building was off for repairs...hot, broke and miserable was how the afternoon ended until I found my ATM card and then bought the coldest 12-pack of beer I could find.

Doc ;)

[GaryG]

I had a similar experience at Calder with a rental car. I was in such a hurry to get into the track I didn't notice exactly where I parked. I think I played 5 races and it seems like I lost a photo in every one of them. When I left the lot was still full and all I remembered about the car was that it was white. Then I thought of looking at the keys...aha a Chevy Monte Carlo. It took 45 minutes of walking in new shoes to finally find it. I limped barefoot into a conveniece store and bought a 12 pack for the road then couldn't find my hotel which was in Plantation. Also got lost in what resembled the Birmingham ghetto but eventually made it. Then went out for more beer.

[Valuist]

Gary-

Are you a Skynyrd fan?

[GaryG]

Gary-

Are you a Skynyrd fan?Free Bird now and foever...Miss you Ronnie!

yes

[Valuist]

Saw them recently on VH1 in the Rock & Roll HOF induction. They've aged a bit (no surprise there). Definitely no 20 minute version of Free Bird.

[GaryG]

Yeah, but who were those guys? If Gary Rossington is still there he is the only one. Leon Wilkeson died a couple of years ago. I think they have Ronnie's (much younger) brother singing lead. I say Skynrd is a memory and let's keep it that way and thank God for the CDs. I heard Mike Love is still touring as the "Beach Boys".

[twindouble]

Red head, short skirt, legs that we dream about. The most expencive date I ever had. I never made it to the track. In the T.D. half the pool would have been mine not counting the flat bets, exacta's I intended play. :( There's a lot more to the story but I'll never say. :cool:


T.D.

[GaryG]

Red head, short skirt, legs that we dream about. The most expencive date I ever had. I never made it to the track. In the T.D. half the pool would have been mine not counting the flat bets, exacta's I intended play. :( There's a lot more to the story but I'll never say. :cool:


T.D.I'll bet it was worth it though....:jump:

[dav4463]

I have two worst days I remember at the track. The first one was when I was in college. My college buddy drove us to Trinity Meadows. The financial aid had not kicked in yet as it was the week before the semester started and we each had about $60 to our name. So, we decided it would either be a broke weekend or we would win enough to have a good weekend. Well, we lost every penny ! To top it off, we went back to the car and saw that we left the cooler top off and the lunchmeat we had in the cooler had spoiled in the 100 degree heat so we had nothing to eat. He got a speeding ticket on the way home and we had to scrape up enough change that night to go to Taco Bell and load up on bean burritoes and tacos!
My other worst night was a losing night at Lone Star Park a couple of years ago. A huge storm had flooded the area the night before and I tried a shortcut that I had used before to get back to the interstate. I managed to hit a gigantic pothole full of water and totalled my car! I had to wade through knee deep rapidly rising water avoiding a water moccasin on the way out to get a cab. I actually won some money that night and had to give it all to the taxi driver to get me home. It was a very forgettable experience!

[Doc]

Wow, David, the water moccasin story makes my Gulfstream afternoon seem like a walk in the park! Now THAT'S a bad day at the track!

Doc

[cnollfan]

Three come to mind, but none are up there with the Lone Star pothole/water mocassin fiasco:

I had visions of becoming a professional horseplayer when I was in high school and college, and spent my summers at now-defunct AkSarBen in Omaha. A good friend who was not a horseplayer came to stay with me for a few days. To get in the spirit of things he stayed up the night before reading the Form with me, and for some reason we ended up arguing over the first race. I thought the horse Jonna Dee could go wire to wire. My friend liked the favorite, whose name I believe was Latin Wayfarer. I bet $300 to win on Jonna Dee, which at the time was the largest bet I had ever made. He got caught at the wire by Latin Wayfarer, and as soon as the race was over my friend started waving his $2 place ticket on Latin Wayfarer in front of my nose.

Visiting Oaklawn Park in the early 1990s I had a rental car and parked in a lot where they wanted to keep your keys, and somehow the keys locked themselves in the car. Nobody believes me when I tell them that this can happen, but I would own up to it if I did it and they locked themselves in there. At any rate, it was a weekend and I had rented the car in Little Rock at the airport, not Hot Springs, and the local rental car agency couldn't help with a replacement key -- I ended up missing several races walking to a car dealership to get it fixed, and missed betting on a pick 3 I had mapped out that paid several thousand dollars. But I did bet $100 to show on a Pat Day horse just before I left that finished up the track. (I am not normally a show bettor and definitely not a Pat Day fan but I have a theory about big crowds and generous show prices on favorites that I was trying to implement, unsuccessfully)

At Pimlico in 1998 for the Preakness there was a power failure. The betting windows were only open in one section of the track and the lines were gigantic. I stayed in line about an hour and then bet the rest of the card and left the track to watch the race on TV at my cousin's house. I wrote Pimlico a letter to complain and they never answered. It wouldn't have taken much to keep me happy -- "sorry, pal, here's a coupon for free admission and a coke the next time you're in town" would have done the trick, but not answering ticked me off. I haven't been back.

I can identify with the Lone Star flood -- last Memorial Day weekend it poured and turned I-30 into a river/parking lot, so I snaked my way (no pun intended) back to my downtown Dallas hotel on a bunch of side roads, barely knowing where I was going.

[Joe L.]

My worst day actually had nothing to do with losing a bet or photo. I had played a round of golf in the morning and was to meet up with friends at the track for the afternoon. My buddy and I had just walked in and were heading to our usual spot, when I noticed another friend of mine who is a small guy in a heated argument with a rather large guy. The large fella takes a poke at my small buddy and I just reacted and ran full speed and tackled the big guy.Well when we went down, this guys face hit the ground first and he was KO'd. On top of that his nose was broken and a pool of blood starting forming around his head. I immediately thought, "Holy sh*t, I killed him." By this time, a crowd had gathered and security came and we helped the guy up and got him cleaned off and on his way to the ER. When I looked around, my small friend was nowhere to be found. I found out later that he ran out of the track when he saw the blood for fear of getting in trouble. The big guy ended up being OK and we actually talked to each other a few weeks after the incident and straightened things out which was good because we both frequented the track and would see each other often. I was also asked by track management to leave the facility for the remainder of that day, which I did. So thankfully, I didn't kill anyone that day, but it is my REALLY bad day, which could have been much worse.

[dav4463]

Wow, David, the water moccasin story makes my Gulfstream afternoon seem like a walk in the park! Now THAT'S a bad day at the track!

Doc

I was even too tired to buy that 12-pack and on the Trinity day we were too broke to buy the 12-pack ! Easily my two worst days ever at the horse track.

[QuarterCrack]

My WORST day at the track:

Took off early in the day for Suffolk. On the way, I stopped at the Dunkin' Donuts near the track (across from the Necco factory) and asked for a coffee and a chocolate glazed donut. They didn't have any chocolate donuts, so I called the lady an Ugly Diseased Whore to her face, which she didn't appreciate. She threw the cup of scalding coffee in my face, which I MYSELF didn't appreciate (because it hurt).

I settled for a boston creme donut, which was okay, I suppose. The back end of the donut leaked when I bit into the front end, and boston creme poured onto my pants, which looked REALLY REALLY bad. I don't have to explain, I'm sure.

I drove the last half mile or so to the track and pulled into the parking lot, where the goddam Cirque De Soleil was going on. I bumped into an elephant and he DEFACATED on my fender which kind of sucked, I must admit. Then some trapeze lady came out of nowhere (the sky maybe?) and did all kinds of crazy backflips and splits and whatnot and she landed on the roof of my car and dented it.

I called her an Ugly Diseased Whore to her face, which she did not appreciate and she came up with a cup of coffee (I have no clue where it came from), which she promptly threw in my face, which hurt like HELL.

So now I park my car in the far parking lot and proceed to walk into Suffolk Downs.

I walk up to the grandstand entrance, and the VFW guys are out there, who I love because they kick ass and stuff, but all I had on me were large bills, so I didn't have anything to give them for their bucket or cup or whatever it was.
So some guy who was a colonel back in WW2 jumped on my back and pounded my face into the ground a couple of times. It hurt like hell, and then he poured his cup of scalding coffee on my head, which REALLY sucked. I had all kinds of blisters by this time and they started to ooze, before I even got into the doors, dammit.

Eventually, I got in, but I forgot my grandstand pass, so the old lady at the entrance spewed all kinds of insults at me for being so dumb. I cried a little bit because it made me sad, but I eventually got over it and forked over the goddam two bucks to get in because, by this point, I was afraid to call her a Dirty Whore (she might have had a cup of coffee to dump on me).

So finally I walk into the place and approach the stand where they sell the programs. They cost $1.50 but the lady there tells me I suck and therefore in order to get a program, I not only have to come up with $1.50, but I also have to sing the first few verses of "Oh My Papa" in Yiddish. Needless to say, I couldn't do it, so the ladies laughed at me and called me names.

I felt small at that point, and my manhood was thoroughly diminished. But I mustered enough sensibility to call the lady a Disgusting Whore to her face, at which point she kicked me in the balls and threw some coffee in my face. Of course, it hurt like hell, but I did get my program, at last.

I finally walked in, past the picture of Behrens on the wall (who told me I suck, by the way) and into the main area where all the betting windows are. There was still some time before the first race, so I sought out my favorite mutuel clerk, "Frank", who always provides me with good stories and good conversation.

"Sorry, you pathetic bastard, I can't provide you with any good stories or good conversation today, you ASS, because I'm sick and pissed off," Frank said to me as I greeted him warmly. I got the picture immediately and went off to cry in the darkened corner of the grandstand. Everybody hates me, I determined, so I was sad, etc. etc. bla bla bla.

I wrote down the scratches and jockey changes in my program after looking at the board. The guy at Suffolk with the Diseased Nose (those who attend Suffolk know who I'm talking about) proceeded to blow a snot rocket on my head while I was writing "Dyn Panell, 2 lbs. over" in my program. It was unfortunate, but I wasn't mad. I was pretty much broken by this point.

The first race was coming up, so I went out to the paddock area to look at the horses as they came in. Every horse either spit on me or had some sort of loose bowel movement in my presence. The groom with the Jamaican hat hosed me down and called me "pato" and laughed. I was demoralized.

The bugler lost control of the bugle during the call to posts, and it flew across the paddock and hit me in the face. It hurt, but I felt kind of special - I mean, who else ever got THAT CLOSE to the bugler's spit valve as I just did?

I got ready for the post parade and warmup, when one horse (I think his name was "QuarterCrack SUCKS") wheeled around and charged at me. He jumped the fence and stomped on my knee, destroying my ACL and MCL. I lay on the apron in pain and crying and pissing myself. All the other track patrons laughed at me and pointed. Some took pictures on their digital cameras or telephones. I just cried like a 4-year old girl at this point. The little Japanese guy (I call him "Hiroshima") pointed at me and laughed his ass off.

I cried some more.

Then I hobbled around and picked myself up and dragged myself to the windows. I bet $10 in the daily double, the 3 with the 5. I felt like the King of Handicapping at that point, because I felt like I had a mortal lock on the double. I was confident in the 3 and the 5. I felt the same way Andy Beyer LOOKED in that photograph on the cover of the first edition of "Picking Winners". Only I wasn't quite as greasy, etc.

Well, to make a (very) long story short, the 3 horse won the first race, and then the 5 horse won the second race. The double paid $104.20 for $2. I had won over $500!

I went to the window to collect my winnings. I handed the teller the ticket, and he ran it through the machine. "Nice score," he said as he counted out $521.00 for me. I thanked him and threw him $20 for a tip.

I walked away feeling pretty good about myself. Then suddenly, everything went black. I got cracked in the head by someone who saw me collect the big money. I don't have a recollection of what happened after that. All I know is, I woke up several hours later in a corner of the grandstand with my pants unbuttoned and crust all over my face. I was bleeding from behind, but more importantly, my money was gone. I was bruised and battered. I cried a little bit, because it seemed like the right thing to do, and then I hobbled out to my car and began the drive home.

It was, without question, the worst day I've ever had at the track.

But I keep coming back.

I love it too much not to come back.

[PaceAdvantage]

That was some lame-ass fiction man.....

[rastajenk]

Yeah, the part about a $20 tip on a $500 payout was totally bogus.

[Doc]

Yeah, it was a believable and funny story until the part about the defecating elephant...

Doc :)

[QuarterCrack]

I forgot to add the part about The Ghost of Sid Fernandez coming to visit me while I parked the car.
It would have made it more believable.
But it really WAS the worst day ever at the track.
:D

[QuarterCrack]

Also, I tried to get into the track once with one of those nuclear backpacks.
For some reason they stopped me, and I never got to detonate it.
That was probably the worst day at the track, now that I think of it - because I ended up having all of the radiation sickness to myself.
It was uncomfortable and messy.
:(

[Joe L.]

I'm no literary expert... but I know humor...and that was a funny story. :D

[RedSound]

My WORST day at the track:

Took off early in the day for Suffolk. On the way, I stopped at the Dunkin' Donuts near the track (across from the Necco factory) and asked for a coffee and a chocolate glazed donut. They didn't have any chocolate donuts, so I called the lady an Ugly Diseased Whore to her face, which she didn't appreciate. She threw the cup of scalding coffee in my face, which I MYSELF didn't appreciate (because it hurt).

I settled for a boston creme donut, which was okay, I suppose. The back end of the donut leaked when I bit into the front end, and boston creme poured onto my pants, which looked REALLY REALLY bad. I don't have to explain, I'm sure.

I drove the last half mile or so to the track and pulled into the parking lot, where the goddam Cirque De Soleil was going on. I bumped into an elephant and he DEFACATED on my fender which kind of sucked, I must admit. Then some trapeze lady came out of nowhere (the sky maybe?) and did all kinds of crazy backflips and splits and whatnot and she landed on the roof of my car and dented it.

I called her an Ugly Diseased Whore to her face, which she did not appreciate and she came up with a cup of coffee (I have no clue where it came from), which she promptly threw in my face, which hurt like HELL.

So now I park my car in the far parking lot and proceed to walk into Suffolk Downs.

I walk up to the grandstand entrance, and the VFW guys are out there, who I love because they kick ass and stuff, but all I had on me were large bills, so I didn't have anything to give them for their bucket or cup or whatever it was.
So some guy who was a colonel back in WW2 jumped on my back and pounded my face into the ground a couple of times. It hurt like hell, and then he poured his cup of scalding coffee on my head, which REALLY sucked. I had all kinds of blisters by this time and they started to ooze, before I even got into the doors, dammit.

Eventually, I got in, but I forgot my grandstand pass, so the old lady at the entrance spewed all kinds of insults at me for being so dumb. I cried a little bit because it made me sad, but I eventually got over it and forked over the goddam two bucks to get in because, by this point, I was afraid to call her a Dirty Whore (she might have had a cup of coffee to dump on me).

So finally I walk into the place and approach the stand where they sell the programs. They cost $1.50 but the lady there tells me I suck and therefore in order to get a program, I not only have to come up with $1.50, but I also have to sing the first few verses of "Oh My Papa" in Yiddish. Needless to say, I couldn't do it, so the ladies laughed at me and called me names.

I felt small at that point, and my manhood was thoroughly diminished. But I mustered enough sensibility to call the lady a Disgusting Whore to her face, at which point she kicked me in the balls and threw some coffee in my face. Of course, it hurt like hell, but I did get my program, at last.

I finally walked in, past the picture of Behrens on the wall (who told me I suck, by the way) and into the main area where all the betting windows are. There was still some time before the first race, so I sought out my favorite mutuel clerk, "Frank", who always provides me with good stories and good conversation.

"Sorry, you pathetic bastard, I can't provide you with any good stories or good conversation today, you ASS, because I'm sick and pissed off," Frank said to me as I greeted him warmly. I got the picture immediately and went off to cry in the darkened corner of the grandstand. Everybody hates me, I determined, so I was sad, etc. etc. bla bla bla.

I wrote down the scratches and jockey changes in my program after looking at the board. The guy at Suffolk with the Diseased Nose (those who attend Suffolk know who I'm talking about) proceeded to blow a snot rocket on my head while I was writing "Dyn Panell, 2 lbs. over" in my program. It was unfortunate, but I wasn't mad. I was pretty much broken by this point.

The first race was coming up, so I went out to the paddock area to look at the horses as they came in. Every horse either spit on me or had some sort of loose bowel movement in my presence. The groom with the Jamaican hat hosed me down and called me "pato" and laughed. I was demoralized.

The bugler lost control of the bugle during the call to posts, and it flew across the paddock and hit me in the face. It hurt, but I felt kind of special - I mean, who else ever got THAT CLOSE to the bugler's spit valve as I just did?

I got ready for the post parade and warmup, when one horse (I think his name was "QuarterCrack SUCKS") wheeled around and charged at me. He jumped the fence and stomped on my knee, destroying my ACL and MCL. I lay on the apron in pain and crying and pissing myself. All the other track patrons laughed at me and pointed. Some took pictures on their digital cameras or telephones. I just cried like a 4-year old girl at this point. The little Japanese guy (I call him "Hiroshima") pointed at me and laughed his ass off.

I cried some more.

Then I hobbled around and picked myself up and dragged myself to the windows. I bet $10 in the daily double, the 3 with the 5. I felt like the King of Handicapping at that point, because I felt like I had a mortal lock on the double. I was confident in the 3 and the 5. I felt the same way Andy Beyer LOOKED in that photograph on the cover of the first edition of "Picking Winners". Only I wasn't quite as greasy, etc.

Well, to make a (very) long story short, the 3 horse won the first race, and then the 5 horse won the second race. The double paid $104.20 for $2. I had won over $500!

I went to the window to collect my winnings. I handed the teller the ticket, and he ran it through the machine. "Nice score," he said as he counted out $521.00 for me. I thanked him and threw him $20 for a tip.

I walked away feeling pretty good about myself. Then suddenly, everything went black. I got cracked in the head by someone who saw me collect the big money. I don't have a recollection of what happened after that. All I know is, I woke up several hours later in a corner of the grandstand with my pants unbuttoned and crust all over my face. I was bleeding from behind, but more importantly, my money was gone. I was bruised and battered. I cried a little bit, because it seemed like the right thing to do, and then I hobbled out to my car and began the drive home.

It was, without question, the worst day I've ever had at the track.

But I keep coming back.

I love it too much not to come back.

:lol: :lol: :lol: :D :ThmbUp:

[Doc]

The Ghost of Sid Fernandez? Where is he, anyway? Is he still wearing the dark sunglasses?

[toetoe]

"The man with the diseased nose." Can you be WAY more specific, please?

[QuarterCrack]

"The man with the diseased nose." Can you be WAY more specific, please?

I can't! :(
I never was able to get his name.
But let's call him "Harold".
If we call him "Harold", maybe it's more specific?
Maybe a little, but not enough, I suppose.
Let's call him "Harold O'Leary".
It's a little more specific, I guess.

I'm not good on specificities. :(

I cry sometimes, though.
Specifically, I cry a LOT.
:( :(

[QuarterCrack]

The Ghost of Sid Fernandez? Where is he, anyway? Is he still wearing the dark sunglasses?

He's around someplace.
Tired of being known as "El Sid", he had an operation.

He is now "La Sid".

The operation cost like $50k.