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This article is not about poker. It has nothing to do with it. Nothing at all. This story is about a bunch of people going to the Kentucky Derby. It is a story about a guy having some sick swings. But it is mostly about luck.
The original plan was simple. Eight of us were to converge on the Derby, see some horse races, go to a party or two, drink some mint juleps, have a bit of fun, and then go home. The group was… Me, Jennifer, Antonio (+1), Robert and Cate Williamson, and Kasey Thompson and his lovely date Shandi Finnessey (Miss USA ‘04).
What ended up happening was sort of close to the plan, but one story surfaced that I will remember until the day I die.
This next part is me complaining and being a crybaby. It has nothing to do with the real story. Feel free to skip it and rejoin me below where it says… “RESTART HERE”
Getting to Kentucky from Los Angeles is a bitch. Unless you want to drop fat cash on a private jet, you will be flying commercial and will need a connecting flight. When we arrived in Houston, our connecting flight had been cancelled. Needing to find a way to Kentucky, we headed to the American Airlines counter.
We were greeted by an agent who was angry at her computer. Apparently she thought that new machines would arrive if she complained enough to the people who came to her counter. She told us that we would have to fly to Washington DC, wait five hours, and then take a morning flight to Kentucky. Concern for the luggage crept in. But like a fool, I listened to this bitter counter person. She curtly explained that our luggage would be in Kentucky when we arrived.
The correct play in a spot like this is to do whatever it takes to get control of the luggage. Lug it around the airport. Take it to DC. Take it to the hotel. Then re-lug it to the airport and have it travel with you to the final destination. The weak-minded and lazy play was to listen to this rep assure us that our luggage would meet us there. Not having a lot of training in this particular spot, I fell prey to her hustle. We left her alone to her bitterness. Surprisingly the twelve hour detour was not annoying.
We arrived in Kentucky about twenty hours after we left Los Angeles. Not only was the luggage not there, but the airline was not sure where it might be. This was slightly annoying. They gave us a claim ticket number and an 800 number. Four hours later I called. I had to get fully Zen to deal with these calls. The luggage recovery people were not the sharpest pencils in the box. As a non-practicing urban Buddhist I was vastly under prepared for this. Twelve hours later, no luggage, and I was very annoyed.
I couldn’t believe my luck when 15 hours later from when we landed, and 35 hours after we left LA, our luggage arrived. How did that happen? And then I remembered. I am the luckiest man ever. Wow. Almost as amazing was the fact that the airline handlers had not gone through the luggage and stolen anything. It was going to be my weekend after all.
Wow, that was pretty lame, Phil. To me that reads like I am a prima donna crybaby telling a bad beat story. Pathetic. Just pathetic.
RESTART HERE Ok, so here is the main story and what I came to tell.
The Derby weekend was broken up into two parts. There was the horse track stuff by day and parties by night. The party stuff was great. Robert Williamson and the Southern Gaming guys knew where to go and they were all a blast. I am not so much the party guy, so I don’t really have too much to go into there, but for the horse stuff. Well, have I got a story for you!
There were races on both Friday and Saturday. On Friday I didn’t make a single bet, but had a great time nonetheless. Ronnie Ebanks showed us the paddocks (the area where the horses are assembled, saddled, and paraded around a bit before each race – yeah, I didn’t know that either). We had mint juleps. (Similar to a mojito, only better.) Basically, we had a fun day at the races.
I have to admit, the only thing I didn’t like about the horses was that I didn’t have a clue about what to bet on. Being around all this action and not getting involved sort of ate away at me during the first day.
The night before the second day at the races (the actual Kentucky Derby race day that is) I was determined to be more involved. Normally I would steer clear of horse betting, but I was having withdrawals from poker (yes, it had been three days now without a single hand) … and I was starting to get the shakes. I needed to be in action.
Enter Kasey Thompson.
Kasey Thompson is a madman. He will bet on anything and everything. Get him to a place like a race track, and you had better put your seat belt on.
Well, I didn’t even have to wait until we got to the track. Kasey wanted to start making bets on the way over!!! Without even having a program!! Now that is sick. He had a feeling about long shots that day and wanted to get to work ASAP.
So we marked the time and he had the long shot in the next race for 1,000 bucks. We made the bet at 12:30, we arrived to the track at 1pm and, luckily for me, the 5 horse won in the 4th race, which went off at 12:45. Uptick 1,000 bucks.
Kasey dug in his heels and started making the bets bigger. At first I was hesitant, keeping his bets to a max of 2,500 bucks. But after a bit I noticed a pattern; I loosened up a bit with his limits. What was that pattern you ask?
The long shot horses were more like “no shot” horses. They would come out of the gate and be so laggard and pathetic that they might have just as well been grazing on hay. They were out of their league with these other horses. I mean, at least the other horses ran fast – win or lose. But not the long shots; they were utterly and totally useless. Today at the Derby I did the math and it was clear. The long shot horses had no chance.
In fact, it was time to raise Kasey’s limits. The first race his limit was 1,000. He bet the max. For the next 3 races I let him bet up to 2,500. He did. But once I figured out that the long shots couldn’t win, I raised his limits one last time. To 5,000 bucks per horse.
This was an especially dumb move on my part. I had become so convinced that I was printing money that I had not really looked at the downside as carefully as I should have. Five thousand dollars? Some of these horses were 40 to 1. That would mean losing 200k. Gross. But this was not a day for clear thinking; this was a day of carefree decision making and mint juleps. I can be such a dummy sometimes.
I will never forget race eight for as long as I live. Up to this point Kasey and I were both right there looking out over the track for each race. However, I was going down to the paddocks with Ronnie Ebanks again, and this would mean Kasey and I would be watching race eight from different places.
Before I left our table I confirmed with Kasey that we had a bet on race eight and what it was for. “Yup,” he said, “Race 8 – Horse 3 (the long shot) for 5k.” As I walked on towards the paddocks, I thought that maybe I should have just taken a break for that one race. The flow was weird. I was leaving our group’s area and about to go for a drift-about. The last thing I wanted was some race clouding up my head. But of course that is exactly what happened. Actually it was more like a tornado than a cloud.
So we get down to the paddocks and the horses walk by. I want to see what this fool horse looks like up close. And there he was, looking just like the other ones. Huh? What is that all about? Why doesn’t this horse have a leg splint on, why is it walking all fresh and all? I don’t get it. I thought the long shot horses were like mules or something. But here I was up close to the action and from the looks of it – it seemed that this was as normal a horse as they came.
So a bit later the horses assemble and get ready for the start. Off they go. From the area I was in I had to rely on the overhead screen to track the action. What is going on here? This is crazy. The three horse must be jacked up on cocaine or something. The thing is going crazy fast. This long shot horse has suddenly become a demon horse from hell and just keeps going faster and faster. Before we are at the half-way point you can see that this guy is five or six horse lengths ahead of the others. The camera can’t even capture all the horses in the same lens view.
Oh my God. What have I done? This is a 41 to 1 shot. I am about to suffer the single most devastating loss of my entire gambling career. This stupid race is going to cost me $205,000. Arhgghghghghgh.
It is at this point in the story that my legs start getting a bit wobbly. I am having trouble standing, but there is nowhere to sit. There is only wet grass and flower patches around. I can feel my strength giving way. I am about to collapse. I remember things getting sort of fuzzy and surreal looking. I could hear Antonio screaming at the top of his lungs. “Hold! Hold! Hold!” That’s right. He was pulling for Kasey’s horse to win. He is sick, but I can’t blame him. He is going to have fun ribbing me for the next century on this one.
Meanwhile, I can’t see where the finish line is - the camera is tracking the three horse and the finish line is still out of sight. Time is moving so slow. This is a long shot horse, what is going on here? The other horses look like they have given up. The distance between this horse and the rest seems like the Grand Canyon.
With not much race left, it seems that two horses are making some sort of last ditch effort to do something. They are trying to close the gap! But it seems too much. One of them sort of gives up, but the seven horse just keeps trying. The gap is getting closer but it seems useless. The finish line has to be just seconds away.
Before the race ends, I have already come to terms with it. I was going to lose 205 thousand dollars and that was that. Wow. Gross. The single most awful moment in my gambling career was closing in on me. I had maybe five to ten more seconds of hope before it was official.
Watching the live video feed from the grounds, I could see the seven horse. He was up against a demon and though he was trying it looked like too little too late. Then the sickest thing started to happen. The seven horse had somehow slammed his way forward just a bit more and was now giving this jacked-up manic horse a run for his money. Still not seeing the finish line in sight, I could see that there might be as much as a 5% chance for a turnaround.
“Oh God, Oh God.” I am not a praying man, but now I pray. “Oh please, God, let that seven horse do his thing. Please let it happen.” The finish line passed right as they became neck to neck. Oh my God. Did it happen? Did that seven horse come through in the eleventh hour? Please let it be. Oh, dear God, please let it be.
And then it flashed, a new camera angle. The slow motion replay. The freeze frame truth. It was clear as day. The seven horse won by about a foot or two. Holy shitballs! I was free. No 205k downtick today. No siree.
When we got back to the upper deck area, Kasey was crestfallen. He had had 205 thousand dollars snatched out of his hands. He went from a long shot – to nearly a sure thing – to the worst near-catch gambling moment that Kasey had experienced (gambling- wise) in a long long time.
The epilogue to this story played out with no fanfare at all. It happened over the next two races. I had escaped certain and brutal pain from a Kasey bet, but he wanted revenge. I wanted to quit him so bad, but that would have been very bad form. So I had to sweat the next two races, and expose myself all over again to the same huge bets on a few more long shots. The second time around was easier. I knew what it felt like (for about a minute) to lose huge, and let’s face it – this was not a long shot day. It was a no shot one. The story was over. There would be no last minute swings of fortune. There would be no near wins. The long shots were, in fact, just what I had suspected all along. No shots. The rest of Kasey’s picks did just what they were supposed to do. Absolutely nothing.
And so it goes. I am still the luckiest guy I know. Thank you, horse number seven, for saving my ass.
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