What track am I playing?

[dav4463]

What track am I playing is the first question I ask myself when I handicap. If I'm playing Mountaineer, Charles Town, or Indiana, I swing for the fences.

If I'm playing Lone Star, I know there will be a bunch of $4.20 and $5.20 Asmussen horses on top, but an occasional long shot will pop up in the exotics.

If I'm playing Emerald Downs, I know I will be lucky to see an exacta payoff over $30.

If I'm playing Hollywood, I know I have no other place available to play!

[Sid]

If I'm looking at the brown earth, occasional scrub, and dry mountain backdrop while the horses load, and I find my gaze drifting to the distance looking for a rider materializing in a dusty gambler's hat, wearing a serape, gritting his eyes, smoking a crooked stogie . . . then I know it's Yavapai.

If they're heading toward the home turn, the real running is about to begin, and the entire field disappears behind some trees that would only be allowed to grow in that spot by an owner who thinks racetracks are a place where you should be able to eat off the floor and the hot dog buns should have sesame seeds . . . then I know it's Arlington.

If it's always muddy, even during a drought . . . I know it's Fairmount.

If 80 percent of the runners in the current heat were sired by Ole Bob Bowers, and Vic Stauffer is saying "You better take a look at . . . " . . . then I know I'm on the Enterprise holodeck a quarter century ago watching the fifth from DRC (and I think Vic might say that the DRC press box sometimes felt like Hollywood's during a temblor).

If the field runs down a longer straight than Belmont's, then runs around two turns, and it's a six-furlong race . . . I know it's Mt. Pleasant Meadows.

If I miss the entire race looking back and forth from the PP track diagram to the track itself and asking: "Is this thing really shaped like a bent paper clip?" . . . I know it's Mountaineer.

If I'm watching on satellite, and the host says: "I love pick sixes. I've never hit one. But I love pick sixes" . . . I know it's TVG.

[DanG]

• If there are 9 gate scratches from an 8 horse field I know I’m at Charles Town.

• If an animal is throwing a fit behind the gate, still held while the gates open or just generally off poorly I know I’m often at NYRA where 3 of the current gate crew should be sacked…immediately. (Yes; I’m aware it’s among the most dangerous professions known to man and their under paid / under appreciated etc…but there is a problem not being addressed for several years now imo)

• If The Godfather hands the reigns to Rodney Dangerfield I know I’m at a California fair or Turf Paradise. (Frank Mirahmadi)

• If it’s the 7th race and the 2nd still isn’t official I know I’m at Penn National.

• If the 1st quarter of a route is posted as 39:00 seconds I know I’m at Gulfstream.

• If I hear the floors creak with history and the customers look like they are the product of eight consecutive generations of grade-1 breeding I know I’m in the Saratoga clubhouse.

• If the guy next to me is wearing a hat with a beer siphon while he is urinating on my shoes I know I’m in the Preakness infield. (Prior to 2009)

• If the weather is perfect and 99% of the customers appear to be having a great time I know I’m at Del Mar.

• If 6 college age men are staring a hole in 6 college age women I know I’m at Keeneland.

• If the announcer says “and the last one away” I know I’m at Tampa.

• If I’m walking down a palm tree lined street in a 'Jack Lord style shirt I know I’ve made it to heaven…or dreaming of Hialeah.

[Cadillakin]

And if everywhere I look, I see only nipples, I know I'm at Del Mar....