Archive for the 'Kentucky Derby' Category

Spun Short by 2 Lengths

My much touted new favorite racehorse is a bit of a speed demon.

I know I know: what a smashing coincidence!!

Did anyone take my advice and bet smartly on Hard Spun last weekend? I didn’t. Oh I bet on him alright. Just that I didn’t bet smartly.

Whole thing reminds me of 3 years ago when I somehow managed to convince what must have been a dozen or more friends to bet Lion Heart to win the Kentucky Derby. Because Lion Heart was the #3 horse. And it just so happens that my lucky number is three.

“Are you sure this horse is going to win?” They asked.

“Oh shit yes.” I insisted. “Ab So Fucking Lutely!”

Occasionally I will take the time to peer pressure you, good readers, into betting on a particular racehorse. Like Hard Spun. When I do just, you know — don’t be a fool.

Bet more than you can afford to lose!

I’m right every single time.

Can I get a Witness??

It’s true.

They all came out to the Bar to watch the Big Race. Lion Heart led 3-quarters of the way around the track. Everyone cheered gloriously & reeled. I gasped elatedly. I’ll never forget the feeling; that a bar-load of friends would win cold cash plus a beautiful buzz — thanks to me! I felt deeply & dizzily pleased.

Now Lion Heart throws the gauntlet down & opens his lead by three!

So said the Churchill Downs track announcer. With only a quarter-mile left to race! It was all over in my book; nothing left to do but grin wildly & lay back — with my mind on my money & my money on my mind.

Bitchin!

But Smarty Jones is a stalking second as they reach the Quarter Pole.

That’s what the track announcer said next. I wasn’t sure what he meant — was there another horse in the race?

Bogus!

Stalking — I learned a few seconds later — is when a racehorse hangs strategically a few lengths off the lead and waits for speed demons like Lion Heart to tire in the homestretch.

My lucky #3 horse got sacked in the race’s final strides. The once-exuberant Bar din fell to what sounded to my ear’s like a disgusted hush.

Ah, fuck.

We who were once so mighty!

All eyes were on me.

Probably the only people in that Bar who felt more dumb than I did, about our collective loss, were the people who put their money where my big mouth was. I told them I knew for sure which horse would win the Kentucky Derby & their dumb asses believed me!

Why not? Remember — I’m never wrong about these things. Also remember: never believe me when I say I know for sure which horse will win a Kentucky Derby. That’s the fantastically wishful thinker in me talking. I have no clue who will win actually.

But I’ll tell you for sure who wants to.

And any racehorse who wants to win stands a fine chance of finishing In The Money.

Hard Spun likewise commanded a powerful lead at the quarter pole in last Saturday’s Derby. I lifted my NY Mets cap off my head and whirled it excitedly. Hard Spun!! Get it? Like, spun on drugs dude!

Awesome.

Way.

But I knew he would get sacked in the end; all good speed demons meet the same fate on Kentucky Derby Day. But you know what?

It was way awesome anyway.

Here’s why — and this is the secret to a good day of gambling anywhere on planet Earth.

I figure I’ll lose. But I want to win. How to reconcile? Make bets I’ll pat myself on the back for even when I lose. Like last Saturday, when I bet $10 on Hard Spun to Win. It was a bet, at the race’s end, that I felt good about. In large part because my heart wanted Hard Spun to win. And to a lesser, though nowhere near insignificant, extent, because I placed that bet with a $10 spot generously donated to my Cause by Absynth Eve.

It also helped that Absynth Eve had Street Sense to Win. I positively whooped on her behalf when her horse took over at the eighth-pole. And Absynth Eve kindly refrained from teasing me over the her/me won/lost scenario all the way up ’till today.

Not lost on us was the fact that our horses came in 1-2; we had the Kentucky Derby exacta. Not that we bet it but we could have. Shit for $2 apiece we could’ve boxed the fucker — to spare ourselves a quibble over particularly in which order those top 2 horses would run.

Also adding to the fun was the total of 1 friend who bet and won on my solid — if not exemplary — recommendation: My buddy KC bet $5 on Hard Spun to Show. A show bet is when you cash in — albeit at shorter odds than the straight bet to Win — when your horse finishes anywhere in the top 3. KC none-too shabbily banked $17.50 on that piddly $5 investment.

The same $5 would’ve returned $25 had I bet my new favorite racehorse to Place (finish in the top 2). How obscenely dumb of me not to!

Like I said: I picked one fuck of a good horse for this year’s Derby. Shit my bitch ass picked the second place finisher in the greatest horserace on Earth! And failed to win money only because I did not bet smartly.

But what the hell? There’ll be more Kentucky Derbies — end of the world notwithstanding. I’ll win money next time; and if not it won’t be for lack of Practice. With that…I’m off to the OTB.

Enjoy the smashingly good race!

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Welcome To The Monkey On My Back.

For speedWay readers who wonder how they can bet on the next Spun Cookie Race; or for that matter aren’t yet clear on what a Spun Cookie is…Here’s a good rule of thumb: the cookie has nothing to do with it. In fact I think that cookie has out-lived its’ usefulness.

Fuck cookies.

From now on: It’s 24/7 Spun Kookie races on the world famous open container speedWay!

Spread the word.

The question then is what is Spun?

Spun is like a perma-tilted pinball machine. Though the Game Over light keeps flashing the Credit counter, clearly malfunctioned, registers enough credits to provide free pinball until the 2010 mid-term elections. After that it plans to run for President.

Ever hear of a pinball game called Strange Torpedo? Me neither. I called the manufacturer to inquire about the machine’s origins. They told me that it was the only one of its kind.

Weird thing is even when the machine is unplugged the lights keep on a-flashing. It claims to pick up the extra credits in dimensions parallel to and equally as ‘real’ as our own. Quantum physisits insist these mathematical necessities — called Elsewheres — exist in realms flung so far through time & space we will never encounter them.

Strange Torpedo disagrees. Says those Elsewheres — far from flung — are really so close to our own Reality Assumption that without the right kind of eyes we don’t see them.

Strange Torpedo never shuts off for a more obvious reason — the pinball machine somehow convinced some psychiatrist to prescribe him mix-salt amphetamines for a bogus case of A.D.D.

Strange Torpedo — the sleepless extraterrestrial multi-dimension leaning orphan pinball machine — is one good example of Spun.

“Yo those Spun Cookies on your blog are pretty stale.” A friend pointed out recently. “Can we smoke ’em?”

Pippi: can you smoke a Spun Cookie?

Heads Up: To The Youth! You can take Pippi at her word. She is not just an expert. Pippi is long gone Pro.

She writes a weekly column for the successful fiber-craft web rag Knitty; a column Pippi sneakily & bravely named Get Spun.

Wicked frikkin funny. No shit.

Not the column itself — though it’s no doubt speckled liberally with cult knitter inside jokes. The title though is all-time classic art by itself; it will live brilliantly on. The joke not only identifies Pippi’s allegiance — on our side — it also spews chuckles aplenty out of every old-time drug user I tell.

“Hey my friend Pippi calls her column in a knitting magazine Get Spun!”

“Do the knitters know?” One friend asked.

Only the knitters who know shit about anything.

“Man I am Spun.” A friend once proclaimed.

“Hard Spun.” I assured him.

And that is all ye need to know.

Unless you still can’t figure out what Spun means.

One time in the passenger seat of a parked car I got so wasted on drugs — quality psychedelics — that I actually thought I was flying a spaceship.

It is the uncontested pinnacle of my personal far&wide drug experience. To this day I still swell some with pride at the accomplishment. Just you go an imagine the amount of drugs required. Plenty of people have taken enough drugs to forget momentarily which exact planet they are on.

But who here has borrowed & taken the actual spaceship out for a joy spin?

Truth told: The spaceship was not lent so much as conjured from brain resin — strange hypothalamic crystalline wash-off (reputedly the most potent drug concoction in the cosmos) — which lay sludge-puddled & stuck in the bottom of my skull. This residue of a 10-year plus drug binge is the leftover drugs that, for various unavoidable reasons, never made it to the hypothalamus; the part of the brain responsible for converting drugs into the neurotransmitter proteins — ie dopamine & seretonin –which rule so total-way awesomely.

Normally these sludge pools lie dormant but under special conditions — when the bottom-skull reservoirs are full, a feat accomplished at maximum on 2 or 3 occasions per lifetime — erupt. Back into the brain. And settle. Thinly & invisibly blanket the hypothalamus. Then seep slowly if with pronounced efficacy over the course of the ensuing decade into the various synapses.

WAY! Free drugs dudez!

That’s the real reason I seemed to handle a strange and blistering fast spacecraft — my first solo flight — with the greatest of ease. Because my reservoirs erupted. YEAH!! So I wasn’t just high on the drugs I took that night but on a semblance of all the drugs I — or anyone else — had barreled into my brain ever in my life.

Expensive little spaceship ride! I tell you.

But it was awesome.

That’s why Pippi says Get Spun.

Hard Spun.

Off to the Monkey House — gone. Gone far & hard enough to never come back.

Spun.

Spun Kookie.

Round & round & round & round
Round & round & round
& Round.

And Round!

Singing Thank You!!
For a real good time.
>>Grateful Dead

Any questions?

Yeah! Got one:

Who is going to win the 2007 Kentucky Derby (hint: my new favorite racehorse)?

I will place a complimentary $5 Kentucky Derby bet on behalf of the first reader to email me the correct answer. Get Spun. Spin It Like You Stole It. Good Luck.