Everyone wants to be right at Saratoga.
Early morning of the opening day got me somewhere between New York City and Albany.
No luxury of enjoyment from gas station coffee, but you gotta do what you gotta do - fill your just waked body and mind with bitter drops of energy.
The weather was so cruel to me, that even without visual on the sun, I was still dying from the horrible heat. High eighties are killing me, although the Las Vegas heat can drop one hundred twenties on me and I'll still be all right and even smoke time to time.
Yes, for the record:
It was July 21, 2017. I hope I was somewhere not to far from the middle of my life term and Saratoga Springs.
Graveyard of the champions - Saratoga Stakes put down Triple Crown winners like Men Of War, Secretariat and American Pharaoh. Nothing lasts forever. Even the unluckiest can get lucky someday with certain rules applied. "Energy can neither be created nor destroyed; rather, it transforms from one form to another." - according to law of physics. Eventually the luck and fortune has to be transferred from the Champions to the unlikeliest. However it's always your call - to dare to remove a crown from the king's head. skater prom dress
Especially when it's Triple Crown.
Was she a queen, wasn't she? Who knows, better than the sun, which gave her those multiple golden freckles on her nose bridge? The skin structure was definitely borrowed from the desert sands of Death Valley and an exclusive dress seemed like it was manufactured from roses dipped into oil, revealing a pattern of the card game colors.
I had never seen more radiant lady in my entire life. Her long blonde hair swiped her amber shoulders, when she was moving her head in order to break another heart with her gorgeous celestial smile.
She was a killer bee. And I knew exactly why she had came to the race course.
Was I right? Yes, she was the queen.
Although the next day was all about other astonishing lady - Lady Eli at Diana Stakes. The 5 year old mare, had a record once 6 wins from 6 starts, but then stepped on a nail, which led to a life-threatening case of laminitis. A long recovery after, she came back on tracks and crowd desired to see if she is able to win races again.
I believed in Lady Eli and she didn't let me down, gaining winning fourlongs on the last stretch. She amazingly won by nose. I was happy for her, despite my failed bet. At least a picked her first in my unsuccessful TRIFECTA.
I was swinging among the Grandstand, the Clubhouse and Box Seats. The cheering and vivid, well dressed crowd made me feel "feliz y venturoso". Haven't eaten since last night in NYC, I was fed with mysterious energy of social life. In some point I was lying and wasn't belong to those people, disgusting myself in an appropriate and required "dress code". But I uncoded myself when spilled Sazerac on my blazer and had taken it off, exposing my bleak and old tattoos.
My bookie called me about the news from Del Mar and said:
- Arrogate wasn't in the mood.
Fucking slutty mother of horny Mary! The odds were 1/9, a solid lock! Exacta was blown away.
Sunday morning moaned with the sound of pleasure and calming nature of happenings. Racing people were taking breakfast on the porch of the Clubhouse. Thick smells of turf, coffee and fresh bakery were enriching and tasty.
Out of blue I overheard this incredible pronounced "Darling" addressed to some baller-lawyer from Boston, whom I visually knew. It's recalled my warm memories about "Honey" - the word oftenly used by missis Sonia and wich fulfilled a house and whole Fort Lauderdale with unspeakable generosity and pure love.
- Don't offer me Champagne, darling! It's only nine in the morning!
A blue dress with matching blue hat and white flowers in it.
Was she the queen, wasn't she?
Races satarted at 1am and all the way through the day I had lost 11 bets it the row.
Monday mornings always tough venture if you gotta work. This was hard one by other nature - I had been down big time with my betting money, but still was confident and assured that I will be right at Saratoga.
Afternoon gave me one Exacta and a couple WIN bets.
- Here we go! - I heard her voice behind my back. - Have scored a bit, my dear?
Unfortunately , I got a mental block at this exact moment and spat something like:
- Just got lucky, gorgeous.
While I was putting cash in may wallet, she grabbed my wrist.
- Don't hide the money yet, let's put on next race and have drinks.
I regretted to be under the necessity of betting just after wins, but my pour soul was entirely at disposal of her bright smile and casual laugh.
- Lets go for it!
I had gotten my essential Four Roses and offered to her as well:
- Don't offer me Bourbon, darling! It's only eleven in the morning!
The quite familiar taste brought old memories of the person with severe mental problems and degenerative addiction to losing. My conscious mind didn't have a coherent response, because she was my "Always Dreaming"...
- So, how're you been? It's been a wile.
- Not much. Can't complain. Yourself?
I quickly pulled my lighter with sign "Caesars" and lightened her cigarette. The Caesars Casino was the place were I saw her for the last time many years ago.
- Some changes, you know.
- Not with your always blooming beauty.
- Cut it of, please. I want you to bet on this baby. - she smiled and put her finger towards the ginger mare.
- Will do.
Obviously, I never bet on not mine picks.
We went towards the race track, when
I was aware of my odds and my future bets. She knew hers.
Boston mobsters were beating hell of me at the parking lot, while she was drinking Champagne with her baller-layer, who was holding my navy weekender bag with the full amount of the pay off for my recent amazingly hit SUPERFECTA..
The Rolling Stones were performing "Wild Horses" in my swollen head and at this time I wanted be wrong at Saratoga.