A Humbling Day at the Races
by Mad Dog

   It was Dollar Day at Golden Gate Fields—dollar admission, dollar program, dollar parking, dollar hot dogs, and dollar beer. If there’s anything better than a day at the race track it’s a day at the race track wholesale.

   I felt prepared for the races. After all, I’d played the part of Nicely-Nicely Johnson in Guys and Dolls when I was 10 years old and can still sing “I’ve got the horse right here. His name is Paul Revere. And there’s a guy that says if the weather’s clear, can do” and chime in with the other parts too. I’ve seen the Marx Brothers’ A Day at the Races umpteen times, can sing along with Queen’s album of the same name, and once a long time ago went to the Camptown Races in Ashland, Virginia, where I probably said “Doo-dah” at least 75 times. And yes, I’m sure I was the only person to ever have done that.

   But that was a plain old horse race. No betting windows, no racing forms, nobody named Two-Bit Harry trying to convince you that Ain’t Gotta Chance is a shoo-in to win the seventh. It was about tailgate barbecue, mint juleps, and Bubbas mixing it up with Muffys. I’m sure there was betting going on in the crowd. And equally sure that no degree in Information Technology was needed to place them.

   The lines at the betting windows were long, but a lot of the automatic betting machines were free. That should have tipped me off. Keep in mind that I built my first computer from parts 25 years ago. I can fix most anything that’s mechanical, electrical, or spiritual. I can follow instructions, figure out how to use a complex computer program intuitively, and even read a manual if it comes to that. But I couldn’t figure out the automated betting machine.

   I bought a voucher from one machine—that part was easy—then inserted it into the betting machine. I followed the instructions, but each time it said there was something wrong with the wager. Meanwhile Fatface Frankie and Donnie the Dumbbell walked up to the terminal next to mine and placed what looked like 42 bets in four seconds.

   Feeling self-conscious and defeated, I got my machine to spit out the voucher and stepped back, trying to see what others were doing without being too obvious. After all, no one likes to have people looking over their shoulder, especially at a race track where my bet could water down their winnings from the hot tip they’d gotten from the guy who cleans the restrooms.

       I tried three different machines, entering various combinations of win, bet amount, and horse. No luck. Each time it appeared to take it, then said there was an error in the bet and started laughing. Or would have had it a voice. I finally thought I had it figured out when the betting screen went blank. The race was starting.

   The two horses I’d accidentally picked for the Exacta finished 6th and 8th. I still didn’t know what the Exacta was—it turns out to be your pick for first and second place winners in order—but I was pretty sure it wasn’t to select two horses at random to finish last and near last. I went back to redeem the voucher and at least get a few of my bucks and a modicum of self-esteem back.

   The machines that sell you vouchers apparently don’t redeem them. Or not that I could ascertain after feeding it my slip three times. The lines at the windows were long so I decided it wasn’t worth waiting just to get three dollars back. I walked away holding the most useless souvenir since the first time I went to Paris and put money in the machine on the street that said “Paris Carte” to buy a telephone calling card only to find out I’d just bought a parking permit for a car I didn’t have.

   I’ve since learned what the problem was. It turns out you couldn’t bet win, place or show on that race, you could only bet fancy things like Exacta, Quinella—which is not to be confused with the Peruvian grain popular in vegan restaurants, Trifecta, and various other combinations with Pig Latin names. It would have been nice if the machine had told me that. Or let me know why it rejected each of my bets. It also would have been good if I’d had even the slightest idea what I was doing.

   But that’s not all I learned. I also learned that there’s a reason the lines at the betting windows are long while many of the betting machines aren’t being used, that the phrase “A fool and his money are soon parted” is a truism, and that Dollar Day is a better deal than you think. Not only were admission, programs, hot dogs, and beer a dollar, but the peanuts in salted shells were only $2, a third of what they cost at the baseball game a few nights later. Though they were worth it since I didn’t have to worry about betting machines at the baseball stadium.

©2009 Mad Dog Productions, Inc. All Rights Reserved.
These columns appear in better newspapers across the country. Read them while waiting in line to place a bet.