Going to horse racing tracks has always been my therapy. Though it may end up costing me a few dollars or lots, it's more entertaining and lasts longer than some office visit to a therapist who listens intently and then scripts you some mind-altering drug. You see, after racking my brain for a few minutes, deciding that # 6 is worth a few bucks to win, place and show, and then watching #6 fade to 4th place after a minute and 12 seconds, I know where I stand. Horses are better to deal with than humans. They do the best they can and then it's over. You either were right, or you were wrong. No lies, no games, no hanging on, in a minute and change, it's over. You're either happy, relieved, angry or sad. Then in another 15 minutes, you can start all over again. A typical race track has 10 races a day. That's 10 relationships. all concluded, in about 3 hours. It is how I cope. I love it. It's a dying sport, proved by the above photo taken in Lincoln,Nebraska on a recent Friday night but I still love it. The track is full of immigrants, white trash ex-hippies (myself included), drunken bikers, college kids, horse people and their families, and old people. That's about 98% of it. And I still love it. The sound of the rumbling hooves of racehorses is a sound I place up there with the crack of a wooden bat at a baseball game, the sound of my son calling me "Daddy", and peace and quiet.
They wont be racing in Lincoln much longer if the State Fair moves to Grand Island. What a loss for me. Yet another thing I love going away.
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