No More Kings

The racetrack offered live racing at 10:00 am on Sunday. They were hoping to entice some CFL fans on their way to the nearby football game being played later that day. Since I do not expect an opportunity to see morning racing again, the football team is only going to play near the racetrack until the stadium they usually play in gets the most expensive stadium renovation in history, I was there. Sonja came along to see if I would pick any winners.

I glimpsed some of the football team's cheerleaders as soon as we got there. The football team was promoting their business too. Nothing promotes a business like cheerleaders. I should not say nothing: full nudity works even better.

"They aren't that good looking," was Sonja's opinion of the best looking group of women I have seen since the last time I was at roller derby.

"The one on the far left looks like Lemmy," I said as I wiped drool from my lower lip. Or maybe a slightly older version of the sort of girl Lemmy likes fucking.

Sonja tugged at my arm, "Let's go see the horses." We proceeded to the walking ring. I had told Sonja I would pick the winner of the first race just by looking at the contestants. The horses were two years old. I don't think any of them had raced yet. I liked the six. He was real relaxed in the ring, like he was a race veteran. The horse was telling the other horses that he had what it takes and they could all just fuck off.

I put my money down and we went and leaned on the rail near the turn for home. The six went straight to the front but was joined by another horse as they made the turn for home. Izzy, fuck of a young jockey who has worked real hard at his craft, was riding the six. He went for the whip. The little fucker had more riding on the six than I did. As he brought the whip down on the horse's flank he dropped the whip and had to handride his mount to the finish line without any further encouragement from the whip. The six was second. Good thing I backed up my win bet with a place one. The six paid over eleven bucks to place.

When I checked the chart of the race later I was surprised to see Izzy's whip drop not recorded. That is inside information. The six might still go favoured in his next race but he will not be as favoured as he would be if the crowd could all read that the horse had likely lost the race because of an excuse.

Seeing the track manager likely had a moment I spoke with him briefly as we walked back to the ring to see the next race's horses. He told me what I wanted to know about a couple owners who are not running horses at the local track this year for the first time in many decades. (The lumber business is not doing so shit hot lately.) I also found out why I have not seen a trainer around the place. (Even the healthiest of cowboys sometimes take it on the chin.)

Quite a few football fans showed up. We drank some beer together. I picked a few more short priced winners and made a handful of bets at Northlands racetrack in motherfucking Alberta and at Monmouth Park in New Jersey before we left after the sixth race. Picked winners short and long. When you are on a winning streak with the horses you cannot go wrong.

Later on the Drive, after we had eaten and the beer and wine were starting to make us feel kind of funny, I tried to buy a t-shirt from an Anarchist. He did not have any left my size. The silk screened shirt read, "No More Kings." I am on board with that slogan. We have more motherfucking kings now than we did 500 years ago.