I got lucky on prom night

[ChrisLovesYou]

I hate prom. I'd never, ever be caught dead it. I think it's phony. I think it's an opportunity for kids to be rich and stupid, as North American kids so often are. So I didn't go to mine. For one thing, I had no interest, for another, I had no date, and for yet another, I'd rather stay home and dance to music I like, as I normally do on Saturday nights.

I got off work about 5:30 that day. It was a particularly notable day, because the awards presentation for the county Student Art Show had coincided with my 15-minute break, and since I had won the Senior Mixed Media award, I sauntered down to the Gallery Lambton and picked up my envelope, went back to the library to close up, and went home. On my way, I stopped at the bank to cash the cheque they had given me...

Seventy-five dollars. The life of an artist has its benefits sometimes.

Mom says I have to go home and change quickly because at 6:00 we're going to the horseraces. There's a Kidney Foundation benefit going on, and since basically everyone in my family is a member I feel obliged to go. I switch from my business-casual work clothes into a grubby T-shirt, out of some strange desire to be the complete antithesis of my friends out there riding in limousines.

I enjoy the buffet, eat a lot of rice, and watch the horseraces. Now, gambling runs in my family- hey, it's how I was born- but other than the odd game of blackjack, I have never shown much interest in games of chance. I just took in the atmosphere. The magic of live harness racing failed to capture my imagination.

In the meantime, horses ran and the sun set. It was about half past ten in the evening, the last race of the night. I consult my programme. Horse #7 is called Russian Symphony. His odds are 20:1, and 7 is my lucky number. I had to take action.

I take my seventy-five dollars out of my pocket. Ten minutes to post time. I ask my mom to put my money on Russian Symphony to win. She flat-out refuses, so I go to my dad. He's more reasonable, but thinks I should be more rational and put it on for him to show. I tell him that it's all or nothing, but he refuses.

I go to my Uncle Boris. Uncle Boris is this huge Ukrainian guy, and betting on horseraces is basically the closest thing he's got to a hobby. I know he's basically the closest thing I've got to a cool uncle, so I go to him and ask him if he'll put my seventy-five dollars on Russian Symphony.

No questions asked, he takes the money and places the bet. Two minutes to post time. I watch Russian Symphony trot by. His eyes are bugging out and he's waving his head around. My horse is crazy. This will be incredible.

The race begins. Russian Symphony falls to last place. My heart sinks a little. I knew that he stood no chance, but somewhere in my heart of hearts I thought he stood a chance. It's alright, seventy-five dollars isn't much anymore. Cash comes and goes. There'll be another time.

I'm distracted by this longing and self-doubt and fail to notice that the horse in the lead has tired and is moving into the middle of the pack, while Russian Symphony breaks from the rest of them and begins to move to the front, lodging himself into third place. Then, he just plows past second and gets right up against the horse in 1st- Ochre Hawk, I think its name was. It's like the chariot race in Ben Hur, their wheels are grinding up against eachother. Sparks are flying everywhere. They kick up a huge cloud of dust and I can't see anything through them. The dust clears just as they pass the finish line- Russian Symphony comes in first.

Everyone loves an underdog, it seems, especially when it's the last race of the night and they have to win back what they've lost, so Russian Symphony's odds got better and I didn't win as much as I thought I did. It didn't really matter. Uncle Boris handed me two hundred and fifty dollars, nodded to me and walked to his car. I looked at the paper money in my hands and resolved that I would never gamble again after this. Nothing could ever match the purity or the righteousness of my small victory.

fin

[aquaphase]

That's what makes a Forker. Damn good job Chris. Now go out and spend your hard earned winnings on booze and whores.

[NerfHerder]

Are people really so desperate at the end of a night that a horse with 20:1 odds goes to almost 3:1 odds?

Methinks the fix just came in is all.

[Jan]

The only right thing to do is spend that money on is drugs and womenses.

[Sybil]

Are people really so desperate at the end of a night that a horse with 20:1 odds goes to almost 3:1 odds?

Methinks the fix just came in is all.

Ah, the vagaries of the pari-mutuel. A lot can happen between the publishing of the morning line (the odds in the program) and post time. Bookies hedge bets, stables place large wagers, desperate plungers looking to make up their losses. I don't know about harness racing, but thoroughbred racing is probably the most tightly regulated sport in the world - I doubt it was a fix. Sounds like the horse went off at honest odds.

A very exciting story, Chris. And way more cool than prom. Don't listen to these damn Forkers - you save that money for your education!

Sy "I keed" bil

[sam]

...A very exciting story, Chris. And way more cool than prom. Don't listen to these damn Forkers - you save that money for your education!

Sy "I keed" bil

We are talking about education. I mean, what more important lessons are there than how to not get stabbed by your 'escort' or shot by your dealer?

[aquaphase]

...A very exciting story, Chris. And way more cool than prom. Don't listen to these damn Forkers - you save that money for your education!

Sy "I keed" bil

We are talking about education. I mean, what more important lessons are there than how to not get stabbed by your 'escort' or shot by your dealer?

Or the rarest gem of them all: when your "escort" stabs your dealer.

[monet2u]

That's what makes a Forker. Damn good job Chris. Now go out and spend your hard earned winnings on booze and whores.

seems to me that's what makes a forker.



sounds like ti was a fun and exciting night chris, thanks for sharing. and you're right, proms are pretty silly things.

[KathrynTheGreat]

I can't believe you'd pass up Beyonce's greatest hits for a bunch of growth hormone deficient bulimia cases sitting on the future bonding material for kindergartner's macaroni craft projects everywhere.