Monday, March 24, 2008

Win, Place or Show

We're going to the races this coming weekend with Brighton and her favorite husband, Bruno.

Last year was my first ever time at the horse races and that’s fairly unheard of here. Even though we are a good five hour drive away from the activities, horse racing seems to herald the arrival of Spring around these parts and everyone sojourns to Hot Springs to take in some history and wager a dollar or two at Oaklawn.

Even though I wasn’t blogging this time last year, I wrote down some things intending to put it on MySpace.

It never happened.

I never got the hang of social networking. My Facebook languishes also.

So you lucky ducks get to read my musings about last year this year and I will post about this year next year. I mean next week.

I might even take a photo or two.

The following post perfectly showcases my utter lack of class and breeding and demonstrates why I’m rarely asked to go anywhere with anyone.

Here’s the thing about going to the horse races in Arkansas. After driving the Hell that is HWY 7, you are so happy to arrive you will kiss the ground.

…literally not figuratively.

I'll stop here to tell you I get car sick. Not to the point of losing my cookies, but I get green around the gills and have to stop and walk around till it passes. So curvy roads can sometimes get me. Especially if I have to ride in the back seat. Which, when I'm with Brighton, I do. Since they do the driving in their rig, she makes the men sit up front and we sit in back.

I feel like we are a carload of bluehairs heading to the Moon River Theater for the Sunday matinee. We'll be done by 5:00, hit the early bird senior citizens special at the buffet and be in bed by eight.

Sorry...that has nothing to do anything.

But one more thing before I continue.

Bruno drives with his foot constantly hitting the gas...letting off...hitting the gas...letting off...hitting the gas...letting off.

I'm sick thinking about it.

As a first timer, here are my observations:

  • Dramamine
  • Sunscreen is a good thing even if it’s overcast and much too cool to contemplate a burn.
  • Middle aged men should NOT wear their shirt unbuttoned to the waist
  • Neither should middle-aged women
  • Try the corned beef, but only from a particular vendor. Evidently, we chose poorly. So I can’t recommend the good one because I don’t know who it is. And why does the racetrack feature corned beef anyway? Is it a horse thing or an Arkansas thing...
  • Those jockeys really are tiny little guys
  • Know how you are going to bet before you get in line. People behind you get testy if they have to wait on you to ask the teller what “box it in” means. (You didn’t have to swat me with your racing form, Lady! A simple ‘hey dumb-ass make up your mind’ would have sufficed)
  • Don't call them ‘horsies’ - It’s never cute no matter how many beers I've had...I mean you've had
  • The same people who play Bingo play the ponies-I think they bus them in from the retirement home
  • Watch where you walk-trust me on this one
  • You can pee between two open car doors and no one will ever know (or is it no one will care, I don’t remember)
  • The word is ‘furlong’ not ‘furlough’
  • An old woman will smack you down if you elbow her out of her place at the finish line
  • Everyone is drunk as Cooter Brown
...not me of course.


Primal Sneeze said...

I don't know what Dramamine is and we never have corned beef at the races. Other than that, you've got Irish racing pretty much to a T.

Other small differences: We do a heck of a lot of jump racing which is uncommon in the US. And some of best jockeys are actually girls. The very best is a very pretty one in fact and an out and out wild child to boot. See Nina here (2nd pic down, in centre).

Sugar Britches said...

Dramamine is a motion sickness pill you can buy over the counter from any drugstore. I don't think any of the jockeys were girls last year. I'll have to pay better attention this weekend.