Almost Opening Day at Saratoga!

I could once again remind you of the overly dramatic moments of my parents taking me to Saratoga as a young kid. Saratoga has been much more than that in my life because I have spent so much time there. I’ve seen wildly drunk guys at the track. And once, I was that guy only because a girl I was seeing broke up with me at the track. Talk about bad luck. Losing money and a girl equals a bad Saratoga drunk. Local people who frequent Saratoga all have a drunken story day. Just ask my wife, my brother, and maybe my sister. Or is it just my family. 

I’ve had days at Saratoga where I could do no wrong. Betting the wrong race and keeping the ticket only to have a 30 to one shot come in, you know just blind luck. And I’ve had days where I’ve gone to Big Red Springs out in the back picnic area and took a sip of that nasty mineral water because Mom told me it would change my luck. I’ve seen days when it rained so hard that you couldn’t see the backstretch. And days so hot and humid that you would grow in temper over a losing race.

Seeing the track for the first time is similar to the feeling that you get when you walk out of the tunnel only to find the green of a ball park. You’ll notice that it’s small and tight when compared to a place like Belmont. The green contrast of the red/brown dirt track is spectacular even in the rain. There’s a pond in the middle of the infield that of course holds the painted canoe of the previous Travers winner. And the pine trees, it’s just a cool place to hang out.

I like to people watch. The women with their hats, shoes and long legs and the men who can still rock seersucker suits come alive at the track. And somehow the glamorous all fit in with the picnicker’s in a dirty Mets shirt. No not me, I like to wear a nice shirt and pants when I go to Saratoga. It’s tradition. My dad would wear a suit. So you get dressed nice for the old girl.

The place is just a lot of fun. Dixieland bands walk through the back yard, bluegrass bands under the grandstand along with the rows and rows of betting windows. I don’t go to the betting machines, which they have all over the place as well-way too complicated. I like picking one person who’ll sell me my winning tickets. Winning, I’ll stay with them all day long. If I’m on the skids, I search for the seller who will bring me luck.

I like the bar in the lower clubhouse. It’s there my Dad told the 13 year old version of me that I just saw history when Secretariat was beaten in the ’73 Whitney. (and I said I wouldn't do that) After that he ordered a double scotch rocks with a twist. My Dad was cool.

If you can’t get to Saratoga, try like heck to get there. If you are going, I’ll be on one of the benches in the clubhouse or I’ll by the Mac and Cheese Truck eating Heaven in a cup. And I won’t be wearing seersucker, it’s just not slimming. Riders Up!!