A day at the races
We went to the dog races for our leaving do the other day. I've only been once before and I loved it then. I was getting some insane heart palputations that time with the excitement. It felt like my chest was going to explode, and knowing my luck my guts would probably hit the dog I was betting on and make it lose. As it was, everything stayed in my chest and I more or less made my money back my first time around.
This time however, my heart behaved itself. I did seem to be the only one betting most of the time, but that may have been because I was so concentrated on betting that I didn't notice anyone else. This time around I was insanely engrossed. I studied the forms. Previous positions, racing times, the dogs name didn't even come into it. It all seemed to work out too because I left £10 up. Overall I won about £26. It seemed that the more and more I won, the more and more people got pissed off (especially the Monk hahaha). It got so bad that he went round and asked people he know's if they'd beat the crap out of me. Considering I was forewarned that I was going to get a good smack anyway, I was surprised no one stood up. The next day I was slightly disappointed no one did (although admittedly I would like to keep my teeth). It wasn't until the day after that I found out exactly how many people hated me for winning. Some people hehe.
I also developed a habit of shouting at the dogs. I don't think they could hear me from where I was, but it seemed to help. I may have developed a little racing torettes. Whoops.
At one point I claimed that Monk was a pigeon who was going to jump down a manhole and hang himself on a tiny noose I had placed there. I don't quite know if I was delerious from the victory, or someone was slipping things into my drinks. Either way, my victory dance just kept getting more and more elaborate, as well as lasting until the next race.
On the very last race I couldn't decide which dog to pick. One had won it's past 6 races, another had some damn fine lap times. In the end I picked both. Soon after the race was on, they ran into each other, and came almost joint last. Oh well, £10 is £10.
This time however, my heart behaved itself. I did seem to be the only one betting most of the time, but that may have been because I was so concentrated on betting that I didn't notice anyone else. This time around I was insanely engrossed. I studied the forms. Previous positions, racing times, the dogs name didn't even come into it. It all seemed to work out too because I left £10 up. Overall I won about £26. It seemed that the more and more I won, the more and more people got pissed off (especially the Monk hahaha). It got so bad that he went round and asked people he know's if they'd beat the crap out of me. Considering I was forewarned that I was going to get a good smack anyway, I was surprised no one stood up. The next day I was slightly disappointed no one did (although admittedly I would like to keep my teeth). It wasn't until the day after that I found out exactly how many people hated me for winning. Some people hehe.
I also developed a habit of shouting at the dogs. I don't think they could hear me from where I was, but it seemed to help. I may have developed a little racing torettes. Whoops.
At one point I claimed that Monk was a pigeon who was going to jump down a manhole and hang himself on a tiny noose I had placed there. I don't quite know if I was delerious from the victory, or someone was slipping things into my drinks. Either way, my victory dance just kept getting more and more elaborate, as well as lasting until the next race.
On the very last race I couldn't decide which dog to pick. One had won it's past 6 races, another had some damn fine lap times. In the end I picked both. Soon after the race was on, they ran into each other, and came almost joint last. Oh well, £10 is £10.
posted by The Warthog at
1:10 pm
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