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In my youthful, crazy, misguided, the world is full of idiots and I'm a genius days I literally viewed every bet I'd ever lost as some star-crossed anomaly and believed that I'd never tear up another ticket.
This narcissistic insanity lead to plenty of risk taking for which I paid dearly, but I do fondly recall one instance when it paid off handsomely.
Somehow tasked with buying about $300 worth of trifectas with one specific "steam" horse on top, I endeavored to instead plunk the guy's dough on the horse I liked.
The catch was he might arrive from work at around post time-or maybe just a bit after- in which case it would seem odd to have already "discarded' his tickets. Not to worry. I simply placed my wager and retreated to an out-of-the-way restroom, planning to emerge only after some time had passed.
His horse was the 8, mine the 7. From the bowels of this (downstairs) bathroom, I could make out the call which crescendoed in a tite finish between the two horses. His, I was sure, had gone off at long odds, mine at decent price.
At last then, after the sort of interminable delay that meant a very close one, came the screams indicating it was no dead heat. A number had been posted.
I've never felt more alive than when climbing those steps. Either I was flush, or would have to face the music. 7-8 the monitor displayed. $16 on the winner.
Back then I thought it was money-or the acute lack thereof-that compelled me to risk so much, but decades later I well understand it was the rush I sought, and was addicted to.
I think I was 20 or 21, and would like to say I soon outgrew that behavior, but in truth, it took another few years for me to come to my senses.
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