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[Teach]

Good morning everyone from sultry Eastern Massachusetts. Well, the BoSox and Yankees are in a flat-footed tie in the A.L. East. On another note, I must admit my handicapping left something to be desired, yesterday. I'm looking forward to rebounding on this afternoon's "Afternoon Delight" 3 p.m. card.

Well, summer has officially begun and with July just about a week away, one has to start thinking about "The Spa" (there's still some excellent racing ahead at "Beautiful Belmont"). Yet when I think about Saratoga, I think about the only time I visited there, and the story behind it. If you've read this story before (I've told it a few times), please feel free to skip it. You can do that, anyway. It's called: "Cherry Toast".


Cherry Toast

"What kind of jelly would you like on your toast, Sir?" the waitress asked. “What kinds do you have?" I replied. "We have strawberry, grape and our famous cherry. It's made right here in the Glens Falls area," she added. "I'll have the cherry on my toast," I said.

Just the mention of those two words -- "cherry toast" -- brought back a flood of memories. For a moment, I was transported back in time. Back to my college days.
Well, it was my wife’s comment that jarred me out of my trance-like state. "Walt,” she said, as I awakened out of my lethargy, “I've never known you to have cherry jelly.” "Yeah," I said, "I’m having it for old-times sake.”

In 1981, my wife and I took a weekend “vacation” to upstate New York. We made one of those compromises that all couples make over the course of their married life. My wife acceded to my wish to take in Friday's race-card at "The Spa" and the harness racing that evening, if I would spend the rest of the weekend sightseeing and antiquing in the Lake George area. I agreed.

Yet, the thought of that cherry toast at the bed-and-breakfast that morning had brought me back almost twenty years; it was once again the early-1960s.

Nearly forty-five years ago -- August, 1963 -- I was about to enter my senior year at Boston University. Yet, that summer, I had suffered a terrible disappointment. At the time I had been dating this very attractive co-ed when suddenly -- out of the blue -- she said to me: "Walt, we're not right for each other." I was shocked. Taken aback. Not only had I enjoyed Sue's company, but I found her extremely attractive (If you've ever seen the movie, "Something Wild" with Melanie Griffith in that black pageboy wig...well, you get the idea).

Well, I was in a funk. Thankfully, the break-up occurred over the summer. If I had taken place during the school-year, I don't think I could have attended classes. I was that tore up.
One of the ways I dealt with my depressive moods was to go the track. The excitement of the track. The crowds…They perked me up. It was the ultimate diversion. And, when I made money, it was like a balm that soothed-over life's disappointments.

That Saturday, I had gone to NH's Rockingham Park. In hindsight, I should never have gone. I was too unfocused. My mind was totally scattered. I was trying to escape from the pain of the break-up. Under those circumstances, it was foolish to be betting races. Besides, I needed the money for books and tuition for my senior year.

Yet I recall that I had taken $200 with me to the track (in this day and age that may not seem like a lot of money, but for a relatively poor Boston kid, it was a heckuva of lot of money to be bringing to the track).

As I look back, I could do nothing right. Then, I started getting panicky. I started chasing. I was "grasping at straws". I was going "tilt." Thankfully, I did hit one of the later races, but I was still down over $100. When I left Rockingham that afternoon, I kept thinking, "I've got to recoup." But where? I recall shaking my head for a moment and then thinking, "Wonderland."

"Wonderland," of course, was Wonderland Dog Track in Revere, MA -- a stone's throw from Suffolk Downs. I remember driving south toward Boston and then cutting over to the east toward Revere. I recall arriving at the dog track about 6:30 PM.

As I walked into the dog track, I was down over a "C-Note." I desperately needed to get back. Yet, I again continued my foolish betting practices. Quinella after quinella hit the floor. I was now down well over $150. I was fast losing any chance of getting back to even. Panic, again, was setting in.

As I think back, it was about the sixth or seventh race that I spotted a dog, the name I'll never forget --- Cherry Toast. The "bitch" was the number #7 dog in an RC (Revere Course) 3/8ths race. The more I looked at the form, the more I liked this dog.

Moments later, I went to the windows and said, "$20 to win on the number #7." I then handed the teller the 'Double-Saw' and received my $20 win ticket.

A few minutes later, I heard the call: "Now there goes “Swifty” (the lure)." I remember that my #7 dog broke alertly from the outside and was second as they came down the front-straight. As they made the curtain turn and headed for the backstretch, my dog, "Cherry Toast," was now head-and-head with the leader. As the two dogs pushed into the far turn, Cherry Toast had gained the advantage and began pulling away. It was as if -- at that very moment -- a weight had been lifted from my shoulders.

I remember letting out with an inaudible scream (sounds like an oxymoron). If I had looked in the mirror, I know my face would have been flushed. Seconds later, the payoffs were posted on the infield tote. Cherry Toast had paid $15.80 to win. I collected $158.

As I think back, I remember playing a couple more races. I ended up the day down about $10. As I left Wonderland, I breathed a sigh of relief. I had survived. My tuition and book-money were still intact.
Just then, it was back to the present. My wife had just snapped me out of my trance-like state. She said, "Walt, are you all right? You seem distant. You look a little flushed. You're not allergic to that cherry jelly." "No Dear, I don't think so," I said. "It's just that the name cherry toast; it brings back so many memories. Some day," I added, "I'll tell you all about it."

I'll be back, later.