DEL MAR

One day when I had my own six and eight-year-olds, we hired a babysitter and went to Del Mar: the racetrack created by Bing Crosby and his ilk for their enjoyment. The racetrack sits beside the Pacific Ocean. Only a two-lane road separates it from the beach. On opening day, Del Mar looks like the Kentucky Derby West. The beautiful people, the Hollywood Glitterati, turn out in limousines paid for by their studios. Opening day is a feast for the eyes no matter how you do with your bets. But we weren’t there for opening day. We were there for my birthday, though not exactly but close. Because, believe it or not, we had something left in the budget. Something more than enough for me to buy tickets for Thoroughbred Club where the high rollers sat. But unlike the high rollers, we were merely a prince, with his Cinderella, and both in Levi’s. For a young couple, with two small children, a day at Del Mar is like having the glass ceiling part. Maybe shatter, because my carefully applied handicapping chops had us ahead by the seventh race. But, while I studied the racing form before the eighth, Cinderella asked.

 “Are you going to bet the five horse?”

“Why would I do that? He’s 30 to 1.”

The eighth race is a maiden claimer. Which means a horse that has not yet run a race is put for sale by its barn. It also means the race is short—like seven furlongs—because the owners doubt the horse can run much farther. Offering up an untested horse for two thousand dollars seems like a smart move despite the fact the horse would sell for more at auction if it ran well. I grew up in a family of gamblers: cards, dice, dogs, and horses. I learned early how to tell a good gamble from a bad one. Putting a horse that has not run a race up for sale is a bad gamble. But, under the unfathomable rules governing the Sport of Kings, the barn has the option to claim it. If the horse runs well, it does. If not, someone else may, maybe. More likely, the horse is off to a sale where it is sold—quickly.

“You always do.”

“Do what?”

“You always bet horses whose names remind you of that song you hate.”

“What song?”

Not wanting to embarrass me of the in front of the other high rollers, who could also afford babysitters, Cinderella whispered the name.

“Oh, come on, I don’t do that.”

“Yes, you do.”

An excerpt from "Del Mar", a spoken word piece taken from the collection "I Remember Radio." Available on Amazon or from me, signed. Thanks for your interest!