Fool About A Horse

Last weekend, Emily and I decided that enough was enough, and it was time to go bet on the ponies. The fact is, we have a certain fondness for horse racing. A couple of summers ago we made an homage to the Derby, and more recently we became accustomed to making infrequent visits to Hawthorne, a course on the South Side of Chicago. We liked its distant view of downtown at sunset, the quiet jingling of the harnesses, and its bleakly Edward Hopper-esque vibe.

The Hipodromo, an elegant 100,000 capacity track in the chic neighborhood of Palermo, is a world away from Hawthorne. With its bright buildings, neatly kept stables, and family atmosphere, it seemed like a cheery throwback to another era. Upon arriving, we immediately bought a racing form and took to appraising the ponies. Betting the Trifecta or Superfecta is tricky enough back home, so we resolved to stick simply with El Ganador––the winner.

At the Hipodromo, the owners parade their horses around a small ring before each race, giving observers a chance to scratch their chins and generally act like they know exactly what it means that such-and-such horse is frisky while another has a calm, confident gait. I liked the looks of #6, a black thoroughbred with a long stride and powerful-looking hindquarters. I ambled over to the booth to slap down my $5 peso wager.

By the time we arrived at the stands, Emily and I were shocked to discover that a race was already in progress. It turned out that we were appraising the horses for the wrong race––the one I had bet on had already begun. Shockingly, #6 managed the win at 6:1 odds. With $30 in my pocket, my head started to swell. It was Cokes and churipan all around.

Needless to say, I lost the next 6 races in a row (although I would be remiss not to mention that I was about 3 feet away from a 15:1 shot). It turns out that you do much better when you don’t actually look at the horses beforehand. Emily fared better by betting less often. She picked one winner, a 4:1 favorite, and lost 3 other races. We both left in the hole, but not embarrassingly so. Which, as it happens, is the best we’ve ever fared back home. -NSH