One Shot!

Zorina Shah

The best thing I have ever seen in horse racing. 

I sat with my arms folded. Next to me the guy pored over his trade papers. His cheap reading glasses rested on the tip of his nose, having slipped from the bridge a long time ago.

He raised his head, looked at me and asked, “What you playing Sista?”.

I wasn’t playing and I told him so.

“Do you have something?” He did

“Yes, but it is nine to four. I only have 20 dollars, I am going all out with it. If I lose I will have to walk home”

Nine to four is a vulgar fraction, two and one quarter, meaning that if his horse won, he would receive $3.25 for each dollar, a total of $65.00.

The race was just over nine fences. His horse trailed the other 11 runners, but not badly, its left hind leg hit a fence, and the jockey landed him safely. His ear perked, the little I could see of them on the huge screen. Then he got a wind and picked up steam. He started his move and everyone else looked like they were standing. We were standing too, cheering on Party Boy to the finish line. 

“Go boy, go, make it a party boy…”

His head went into the papers again, same scenario until he lifted it, walked to the cashier and collected his winnings.

“I am sinking my 20 plus 5 and playing with this forty dollars.”

He put the 20 dollar bill in his shirt pocket.

“This one is 7-1. If he wins, I will be good. I will try something in case he places. That way I will get back my 40 dollars.”

We got up again, repeated the actions of the jockey, urging Bright Light to rope in a beauty of a charcoal gelding to get past him by one head, just one head.

This time it paid 20 by 8 dollars for the win and 20 by 2.75 for the place, to collect the grand total $215. Everyone looked our way.

“You leaving now?” I asked.

“Sister, I now getting started.” The guys of African descent were like that. They never asked your name but they addressed you as “Sister”.

Six to four pays just $2.25 on the dollar. He put one hundred in his pocket to join the 25 he had placed there earlier and clutched the $115 tightly. 

“I am going for a hundred wins.”

I would have left, but he had my support and I joined him with 20 wins of my own.

This one was a nap, what one regards as the best bet of the day. Most people had played it, so they were all on their feet asking for the win. It did not disappoint. The jockey barely used his whip. He raised his right hand in the air and celebrated, moving to winners circle to be joined by owner and trainer, the owner’s wife and two daughters. They walked him in as we counted our winnings.

My buddy added another hundred to his bank to make it $225 and kept the rest in his hand, one hundred and forty dollars.

I collected my $50.

He skipped a race and I was glad he was done, until he moved to the teller to play a 4-1 in a flat race running at another track. He showed me the ticket. One hundred wins. Bonny Grey lagged badly, but it was a 10-furlong, a mile and a quarter race so we bided our time as did horse and jockey. Two furlongs out, we rose to our feet and called the race to the finish. My buddy collected his $500 and also $50 for me. The $500 went to his trouser pocket. He was clear by $500 in one place, $225 in his shirt pocket and still had forty dollars in his hand.

He went back to the photocopied form and kept his head down for two races. People looked in his direction, but he did not notice. They showed hand signals to me, asking if there was anything he liked. I did not know.

Then he surfaced with a 11-4 runner. That would pay $3.75 if it won. It did and he came back from the cashier with $150. This was an amazing streak of good fortune. Nothing could stop him today. He kept reading his dog-eared copy of the Racing Post and picking up winners. His movements were simple: read, go to the teller, collect from the cashier and go to the teller again.

The feature race, the 4:20 p.m. on the card at Windsor was about to run and other punters asked for his selection. Briar’s Patch was going to win. The going price was 4-1. They should play before the price dropped as it had already fallen from 7-1. He himself did not bet. He sat there and watched as the race pool became busy. People rushed to the tellers, got angry when they could not call their bets and then the bell rang, signalling that betting was closed and the race was on its way.

Briar’s Patch raced to take the lead under the “Man with the Golden Arm”. He looked cocky and the jockey looked over his shoulder to see the field some seven lengths back. He slowed down a bit and kept the distance all around the far turn. Then they were turning for home. He urged the mount forward and Briar’s Patch responded. Two horses left the group at the back and raced up. One moved to the rail on the inside of Briar’s Patch and it appeared it spooked him. He had been racing solo all this time and the movement on the inside was unexpected. Briar’s Patch missed a step, missed two and then three. The horse came through and caught him on the line. It was a photo finish. Everyone was sure that Briar’s Patch had held on for the win or at least it was a dead heat with the two runners. The judges took almost two minutes to get the photo and determine the winner. It came up on the screen. Green Caper had beaten Briar’s Patch by a whisker.

Angry voices filled the large room. They argued with each other and they pointed fingers at my buddy.

“You set we up. You didn’t play in the race.”

He sat there, put his head on his hands and listened to the recriminations. He was sorry he had given a horse that lost.

The minutes rolled by and he did not move, still feeling the wrath of the angry crowd.

“I think we ‘d better take a walk”, I told him. I wished I knew his name, but Brother was good enough for the time.

We walked to the bar and I ordered a drink for him. He gulped it down, one shot.

That’s what he said. “One Shot.”

He put his hand in his pocket as if to pay and I stopped him. I would pay the bill.

He continued. Then he showed it to me.

Race 14. No 7. Wins: $1,000. Early Price 7-1.

Easy come. Easy go.