One of the best things about having visitors is finally having an excuse to try some things you've always wanted to do around your town but never got around to. Joe's parents were here for a few weeks, and towards the end of their visit, we began trying to come up with some new things to do.
Last Thursday when we were on our way to trivia at Ed's Tavern, Barb, Joe's mom, and I began talking about something to do for Friday.
"You know what I'd like to do...," she began with a coy smile. I wondered what she could have in mind. "I'd like to visit the dog track."
I was intrigued. I had driven by the dog track in Sarasota a few times and always wondered about it. So while Joe was going to be out filming, his mom, dad (also named Joe) and I would take in a few races.
Now, the only racing experience I ever had was going to the horse track back in New Jersey at Monmouth Park. We would go once in a while during the summer, and once I was old enough to gamble, it became much more exciting. And while it's no longer the jewel it once was, it still had a lot of charm.
As we walked into the sparse building, illuminated with harsh fluorescent lights and cheap beer signs, I had to smile. This was a place that had no disillusionment about itself. It's a rough and ready place built for the enjoyment for those with small pockets in need of cheap thrills. I like places like that.
Joe bought the program and we walked up to a window to place our bets. With tickets in hand, we went in search of a spot to watch the races and grab a bite to eat. We carefully ascended the wet outdoor stairs and came into a half-restaurant/half viewing area. Tables were set into cornered off boxes and went up several levels. We stepped up to the hostess stand and were met by an older woman and a waitress with a bloodied eye. The older woman led us to a table right in front of the window that overlooked the track and she began telling us about her experience training horses for races- in fact, it turns out she worked the Preakness in Baltimore and even visited Monnmouth Park a few times.
She gave us some pointers on how to bet and then showed us where we could place our bets. Barb and I went up to the betting window first. I was already fascinated by the people we would see enjoying a past-time that seemed well past it's prime, but it was even more fascinating see the people that still made their living there.
We approached two old men sitting behind what looked like cash registers from the 80s. I followed Barb's lead and went to the less frightening of the two. I listened to her wording when placing her bet, but I decided to be a little less cautious.
"$2 for KB Oscar to place."
The grizzled old man scowled at me. "Wha?" So I repeated.
"$2 for KB Oscar to place, please."
"I don't know what you're saying." Feeling flustered, I practically shoved the program in his face, pointing to the dog's name. When he still didn't understand, I simply said, "Number six...to place."
"Oh, six to place," seemingly less tense now that the misunderstanding had been cleared.
I walked back to our table with ticket in hand, but I couldn't understand why the man had been so confused. I relayed the story to Barb and Joe and as we looked at the program a little closer, we realized why.
"This is the third race, not the fourth. We've been betting on the wrong race!" Barb said. We all laughed and groaned at our mistake.
After that, we began betting on the right races, and managed to all win a little something here and there. But as we were waiting for the next race to begin, I watched as the dogs were led to the track. Meanwhile the announcer described each dog. So-and-so from someplace, weighing in at 60 pounds. So-and-so from another place, 72 pounds.
I noticed one dog sniffing the grass and suddenly squat to do it's business, and a funny thought popped into my brain. Barb and Joe are some of the most relaxed and easy-going people, I so I thought I'd share it.
"You know what would be funny? If the announcer saw that dog pooping and said, 'Number 4, weighing at 75- no, wait....72 1/2 pounds.'"
We both busted out laughing and after we shared it with Joe, we began to place bets on which dogs coming out were going to relieve themselves before the race.
Yes, it was a classy night all around. I don't know if I'll ever go to the dog racetrack again, but thanks to my in-laws, I can at least say I've gone once. And I did love the low-down, laid-back attitude of the place. You come to a place like that and leave your expensive loafers and pretensions at home, because when you're here, highfalutin is for the dogs :)
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