Teach
12-27-2007, 08:02 AM
We've all seen them. They're about as numerous as opinions at a racetrack. They’re usually seedy-looking characters with unkempt hair and unshaven faces. They’re called “stoopers," or at least that's what they used to be called.
Fast forward your the "Time Machine” H.G. Wells. In the old days, the “stooper” needed a quick right foot (they woulda made good soccer players). You needed a quick turn of the ankle. "Stoopers" could turn over a face-down discarded mutuel ticket faster than you can say: "Invasor." Then, after gliming the ticket, they'd either pick it up, or they'd move on to the next. With all that stooping, it's no wonder some of those guys develped lumbago.
As our “Time Machine” fast forwards to the 21st Century, there's no more need to have an aching sacroiliac. All you need is strong pair of mitts (being two-fisted helps). It also helps to have deft fingers, grasping hands, and plenty of patience. Gone are the old-days with the lithographic-like mutuel tickets that were the size of baseball trading cards; today, the tickets are small. I've seen some "stoopers" bring their kids or grandkids to the the track. Many small hands make light work. These discarded tickets are then fed into the automated (who needs tellers) machines.
Yes, today a whole new arsenal of "stoopers" has emerged on the scene. They’re actually the "scavengers," (I’ll be kind and call them "the cleaners of the racetrack") like those snails in your fishtank that consume waste and scum.
Today’s "stoopers" go from carrel to carrel, from table to table scooping up discarded tickets. I’ve seen guys with hundreds of tickets in their hand. They bring them to the automated machine. This is where the process is finalized. Ticket-in. Ticket-out. In the vast majority of cases, this process is an effort in futility; however, as they say at the racetrack — all it takes is one!
The other day I was talking with one of the "stoopers". I asked him about his trade. He gave me some insights. He said, " The best time to stoop is when there’s somethin big goin on." e.g., Kentucky Derby, Breeders Cup. "That’s when there a lot of newbies," he added. "There's more a chance of pickin up 'winning' tickets."
Another area the "stooper" discussed was disqualifications. He said, "There's no telling how many winners I can pick up on DQs." He added, "The other day at one of Florida tracks one of those gate guys, you know the ones that steady the horses for the jocks, held onto the reins or somethin, the horse never come outta the gate. After the race, the horse was declared a non-starter. I knew there'd be a lot of stuff out there. Nothing big mind you, but good."
The "stooper" continued, "Stay away from the dogs. Waste of time. Did ya ever hear of a dog being DQed? I then asked, "What's the best payoff you've ever found?" "Big ticket," he said. "It lit up the machine like a Christmas tree. A tax ticket," he added. "I can't remember the amount," he continued, "but I was eatin high off the hog, even bought myself some new threads," he added. "What kind of ticket?" I asked. "He replied, "I think it was superfecta. Big investment. At least Sixty Benjies, maybe more. Must have been some disqualification; there always is." With that, "the stooper" continued on his stooping ways, er, or should I say grasping ways.
As a postscript: I was at the track early one day a few weeks ago. I saw a handful of tickets lying on this table in front of me; they had apparently been left there by the night crowd. I killed time by taking the tickets over to the machine. For fun, I tossed them in the slot. I put the tickets in, one by one. Reject. reject. Reject. Then on the fourth or fifth try. Buddabing! It registered. A four-horse exacta box at Delta: $24. Nice way to start the day. And I hadn’t even made a bet! This could be the start of a whole new career. Then again.
Fast forward your the "Time Machine” H.G. Wells. In the old days, the “stooper” needed a quick right foot (they woulda made good soccer players). You needed a quick turn of the ankle. "Stoopers" could turn over a face-down discarded mutuel ticket faster than you can say: "Invasor." Then, after gliming the ticket, they'd either pick it up, or they'd move on to the next. With all that stooping, it's no wonder some of those guys develped lumbago.
As our “Time Machine” fast forwards to the 21st Century, there's no more need to have an aching sacroiliac. All you need is strong pair of mitts (being two-fisted helps). It also helps to have deft fingers, grasping hands, and plenty of patience. Gone are the old-days with the lithographic-like mutuel tickets that were the size of baseball trading cards; today, the tickets are small. I've seen some "stoopers" bring their kids or grandkids to the the track. Many small hands make light work. These discarded tickets are then fed into the automated (who needs tellers) machines.
Yes, today a whole new arsenal of "stoopers" has emerged on the scene. They’re actually the "scavengers," (I’ll be kind and call them "the cleaners of the racetrack") like those snails in your fishtank that consume waste and scum.
Today’s "stoopers" go from carrel to carrel, from table to table scooping up discarded tickets. I’ve seen guys with hundreds of tickets in their hand. They bring them to the automated machine. This is where the process is finalized. Ticket-in. Ticket-out. In the vast majority of cases, this process is an effort in futility; however, as they say at the racetrack — all it takes is one!
The other day I was talking with one of the "stoopers". I asked him about his trade. He gave me some insights. He said, " The best time to stoop is when there’s somethin big goin on." e.g., Kentucky Derby, Breeders Cup. "That’s when there a lot of newbies," he added. "There's more a chance of pickin up 'winning' tickets."
Another area the "stooper" discussed was disqualifications. He said, "There's no telling how many winners I can pick up on DQs." He added, "The other day at one of Florida tracks one of those gate guys, you know the ones that steady the horses for the jocks, held onto the reins or somethin, the horse never come outta the gate. After the race, the horse was declared a non-starter. I knew there'd be a lot of stuff out there. Nothing big mind you, but good."
The "stooper" continued, "Stay away from the dogs. Waste of time. Did ya ever hear of a dog being DQed? I then asked, "What's the best payoff you've ever found?" "Big ticket," he said. "It lit up the machine like a Christmas tree. A tax ticket," he added. "I can't remember the amount," he continued, "but I was eatin high off the hog, even bought myself some new threads," he added. "What kind of ticket?" I asked. "He replied, "I think it was superfecta. Big investment. At least Sixty Benjies, maybe more. Must have been some disqualification; there always is." With that, "the stooper" continued on his stooping ways, er, or should I say grasping ways.
As a postscript: I was at the track early one day a few weeks ago. I saw a handful of tickets lying on this table in front of me; they had apparently been left there by the night crowd. I killed time by taking the tickets over to the machine. For fun, I tossed them in the slot. I put the tickets in, one by one. Reject. reject. Reject. Then on the fourth or fifth try. Buddabing! It registered. A four-horse exacta box at Delta: $24. Nice way to start the day. And I hadn’t even made a bet! This could be the start of a whole new career. Then again.