Day at the Races

I haven't been to the track since late June. I believe it was the last Friday night for Churchill...or the one before last. Who knows. There were some uh...ladies of questionable morality there.

So a typical night in Louisville.

[3kings]

The closest thouroughbred track to me is Mountaineer. I would rather play from home than attend except for a few big race days. My opinion is completely different when it comes to other tracks like Saratoga, Arlington or even smaller tracks like Tampa, I go out of my way to visit if I'm in the area.

[jrajf]

I love going to the end of the Saratoga Grandstand. I ask for seats in a section that is near empty and ask for an isolated seat and if that isnt the case I buy three seats for the room.

Watching the turn into the stretch is an adreneline boost and with the recent bigscreen tvs you can pick up the rest of stretch run quite well.

I bet through my phone so no lines. The bathrooms are right there and if desired you can bring a small cooler with you.

Paradise

[Rudeboyelvis]

Some tracks do a great job of enhancing the on track experience, while other are still lost in the 80's and couldn't care less who shows up - if you're near one of the latter, then I would probably be echoing Helo's sentiment.

For example, I've had a blast at Arlington Park when visiting Chicago - beautiful facility, tons of fans, lots going on, etc. but something tells me (totally speculating based on what I've heard - I've never been there) that experience at Hawthorne in February might not exactly translate.

[satan's twin]

Originally Posted by Rudeboyelvis

Some tracks do a great job of enhancing the on track experience, while other are still lost in the 80's and couldn't care less who shows up - if you're near one of the latter, then I would probably be echoing Helo's sentiment.

For example, I've had a blast at Arlington Park when visiting Chicago - beautiful facility, tons of fans, lots going on, etc. but something tells me (totally speculating based on what I've heard - I've never been there) that experience at Hawthorne in February might not exactly translate.

Oh, pish posh, sir. Enough of this blasphemy. How dare one besmirch this winter palace of racing without full consideration of all its treasures. Where else but this crown jewel will the diligent horseplayer find all that he seeks, requiring only warm clothing, a strong stomach and, on most occasions, a fully loaded weapon.

Consider the sensory overload of the Hawthorne experience. First, the unparalleled skyline of Stickney, Illinois, resplendant in towering smokestacks, billowing mammouth clouds of industrial glory for all to inhale and savor. If not ingesting the rich blends of sulphates and ores, it is hard to ignore the toe-tapping serenade abounding from the adjacent Stevenson Expressway or nearby Midway Airport. Be it the roar of a departing jet or the wafting aromas from the nearby filtration plant of the Chicago Sanitary District, the sights, smells and sounds of Hawthorne is like none other.

Besides the idyllic, park-like conditions of the surrounding areas, one never tires of the interaction with those quaint railbirds one finds at HRC. Oh sure, on the walk from the parking lot to the grandstand, you may see the occasional wheel-chaired bound patron hopelessly stranded in a snow drift, but if you divert your eyes quickly enough, you're just as apt to see local legend Sun Tan Tommy, clad stylishly in a t-shirt, shorts and flip-flops, hustling to the front door from the Cicero Avenue bus stop, hoping to win enough to buy a seasonal windbreaker, though highly unlikely, since his last big score at the track went for a roll of duct tape used for flip-flop repairs.

On those occasions when temperatures drop to single digits, and the street industrialists working the entrance to the expressway just can't seem to find enough consumers for their packages of white tube socks, they may switch products and hawk hand-packed bags of salted peanuts at the entrance to Hawthorne. Who can resist that heart-tugging sales pitch of that vendor holding a bag of peanuts in one fingerless gloved hand and that Turkish blend we commonly call a Lucky Strike in the other, which he inserts with morbid rapidity into that tracheal hole four inches south of his chin....But aside from the questionable sales presentation, who doesn't fondly link the purchase of a bag of peanuts with some irresistably memorable experience from one's youth? And who can resist tearing open the bag to bite open the crunchy shell.....to taste the peanuts themselves...........and that lingering taste of the salt...........which is an odd taste of salt............sea salt? Considering the purveyor, I'm going with either.....hand sweat......or, urine?

But the best prize of all is the racing itself. Full fields or five, sometimes six, runners sporting as many as two, and sometimes three, good legs running in memorable four-figured, and on some rare days, five-figured purses!
With such an enviable purse structure, it is no wonder that Hawthorne can attract "the best of the best" for their riding colony. And no truer is that fact demonstrated than when the likes of a racing stalwart like a 'SpongeBob' Eddie Perez heads up your racing colony. There is no bigger thrill in the game today that when seeing that dwarf, clad in a snowmobile suit instead of racing silks during the winter months, ride a 3-to-5 favorite down the stretch for a hard fought fourth place finish. Many are the occasions when I have wondered how the Michelin Man secured a mount at Hawthorne only to be reminded that it was none other than E. Perez pulling the curtain down on yet another promising steed's racing career.

So before one dismisses this treasure, one must ask himself "where will I be able to find so much amusement in one place if not here?"

[Rudeboyelvis]

Originally Posted by satan's twin

Oh, pish posh, sir. Enough of this blasphemy. How dare one besmirch this winter palace of racing without full consideration of all its treasures. Where else but this crown jewel will the diligent horseplayer find all that he seeks, requiring only warm clothing, a strong stomach and, on most occasions, a fully loaded weapon.

Consider the sensory overload of the Hawthorne experience. First, the unparalleled skyline of Stickney, Illinois, resplendant in towering smokestacks, billowing mammouth clouds of industrial glory for all to inhale and savor. If not ingesting the rich blends of sulphates and ores, it is hard to ignore the toe-tapping serenade abounding from the adjacent Stevenson Expressway or nearby Midway Airport. Be it the roar of a departing jet or the wafting aromas from the nearby filtration plant of the Chicago Sanitary District, the sights, smells and sounds of Hawthorne is like none other.

Besides the idyllic, park-like conditions of the surrounding areas, one never tires of the interaction with those quaint railbirds one finds at HRC. Oh sure, on the walk from the parking lot to the grandstand, you may see the occasional wheel-chaired bound patron hopelessly stranded in a snow drift, but if you divert your eyes quickly enough, you're just as apt to see local legend Sun Tan Tommy, clad stylishly in a t-shirt, shorts and flip-flops, hustling to the front door from the Cicero Avenue bus stop, hoping to win enough to buy a seasonal windbreaker, though highly unlikely, since his last big score at the track went for a roll of duct tape used for flip-flop repairs.

On those occasions when temperatures drop to single digits, and the street industrialists working the entrance to the expressway just can't seem to find enough consumers for their packages of white tube socks, they may switch products and hawk hand-packed bags of salted peanuts at the entrance to Hawthorne. Who can resist that heart-tugging sales pitch of that vendor holding a bag of peanuts in one fingerless gloved hand and that Turkish blend we commonly call a Lucky Strike in the other, which he inserts with morbid rapidity into that tracheal hole four inches south of his chin....But aside from the questionable sales presentation, who doesn't fondly link the purchase of a bag of peanuts with some irresistably memorable experience from one's youth? And who can resist tearing open the bag to bite open the crunchy shell.....to taste the peanuts themselves...........and that lingering taste of the salt...........which is an odd taste of salt............sea salt? Considering the purveyor, I'm going with either.....hand sweat......or, urine?

But the best prize of all is the racing itself. Full fields or five, sometimes six, runners sporting as many as two, and sometimes three, good legs running in memorable four-figured, and on some rare days, five-figured purses!
With such an enviable purse structure, it is no wonder that Hawthorne can attract "the best of the best" for their riding colony. And no truer is that fact demonstrated than when the likes of a racing stalwart like a 'SpongeBob' Eddie Perez heads up your racing colony. There is no bigger thrill in the game today that when seeing that dwarf, clad in a snowmobile suit instead of racing silks during the winter months, ride a 3-to-5 favorite down the stretch for a hard fought fourth place finish. Many are the occasions when I have wondered how the Michelin Man secured a mount at Hawthorne only to be reminded that it was none other than E. Perez pulling the curtain down on yet another promising steed's racing career.

So before one dismisses this treasure, one must ask himself "where will I be able to find so much amusement in one place if not here?"

I laughed so hard, I just sh1t myself...this might be the post of the year, Barney.

[blackthroatedwind]

Originally Posted by Rudeboyelvis

I laughed so hard, I just sh1t myself...this might be the post of the year, Barney.

Might be?

[Sightseek]

Originally Posted by Rudeboyelvis

I laughed so hard, I just sh1t myself...this might be the post of the year, Barney.

Best Post EVAH!

[cakes44]

Originally Posted by Rudeboyelvis

I laughed so hard, I just sh1t myself...this might be the post of the year, Barney.

I literally did as well. That is the most I've ever laughed reading something.

[hoovesupsideyourhead]

the v.i.p table at byks bbq toga..you never know who will be sitting there

[pmayjr]

As my location states-

"Canterbury Park, 3rd floor clubhouse (just south of Minneapolis, MN)". I have Comcast cable that doesn't carry TVG... and honestly, with Canterbury being about a 15-20 minute drive for me, that's enough of an enabler. I'll eventually succomb and start betting online, but I'm good for right now.

Not a bad place for people watching during live racing in the summer, but the quality of racing here sucks.