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February 2003
Fortunes are probably won and lost more often in horse racing than anywhere else in the sports betting world. But even better than the tales of woe, which, let's face it, are far more interesting than stories of success, are the jokes. No sport offers such a wealth of humor as horse racing does.
There are the one-liners such as, "Horses must be smart because I never saw one bet on a human." Or, "The racetrack is the only place where windows clean people." Or, "There are 100 ways to lose a race and, unfortunately, I bet on a horse who knew every one." Or, "The horse I bet on was so bad he was wearing horse shoes for luck." Or, "I wouldn't bet on a nag; I'm married to one." Or, "The longshot I bet on was so slow that he went off at 20 to one and came home at a quarter after two."
The jokes are better. Here are a few favorites.
The Daily Double
A man celebrating his 99th birthday goes to the track and plays a 9-9 daily double. The 9-horse in the first race, an impossible 43-1 longshot, takes a five-length lead around the final turn but begins faltering in the stretch. The favorite closes mightily in the stretch and he and the 9-horse hit the wire together. After an agonizing 10-minute wait, the photo-finish camera shows that the 9-horse held on by a desperate nose, paying $88.00. The excitement is too much for the elderly gentleman who collapses on the clubhouse floor, still clutching his mutual ticket in his hand.
A security guard trained in CPR is on the scene immediately, applying his knowledge to try to revive the elderly man. A crowd quickly surrounds the guard and the stricken bettor. "Is he alive?" asks someone in the crowd.
The guard looks at the man lying on the floor. Then he looks at the mutual ticket.
"Only in the double," he says.
Five Easy Pieces
A horseplayer gets up one morning and notices that his digital clock radio reads 5:55. He goes out for breakfast and the bill comes to $5.55. He gets his morning paper and sees that yesterday's winning lottery number was 555.
Figuring he's on to something now, the superstitious gambler gets on a bus to go to his bank. The number on the bus is 555. The bus drops him off at his bank at 555 Main Street where the horseplayer fills out a withdrawal slip with the number 555 on it. The player withdraws $555.
Next, the man hails a cab to the track. The number of the taxi is 555 and the fare to the track is $5.55. He pays $5 to enter the track through window number 5.
The man sits out some races before he bets $555 on the 5 horse in the 5th. The horse goes off at a robust 55/1 and opens up a 5-length lead, maintaining it until deep stretch when half the field rallies. The man watches with horror.
His horse finishes fifth.
God Help Me
A horseplayer is on a long losing streak and thinks that maybe divine intervention will help him. He bets his last $20 and starts to pray, well, bargain, with the Almighty.
"Please, God, just make him break on top and open some daylight from the gate," he says.
The horse gets a great start and has four lengths on the field before they've gone a furlong.
"Please, God, just make him be eight in front at the half-mile pole," says the player.
The horse cruises to a long lead down the backstretch.
"Please, God, just make him hold his lead around the turn and get him to the quarter-pole five in front," pleads the gambler.
The horse glides around the final turn, easily in front passing the quarter-pole.
"Thank you," says the horseplayer. "Now, please, God, make him open up 10 lengths in the stretch."
The horse starts to widen in the lane. He gets to the eighth-pole far in front with no one threatening.
At the sixteenth pole, with the horse on his way to an easy victory, the devout horseplayer says, "Thanks, God, but I can take it from here. C'mon you son of a bitch!"
God, Help Me II
An addicted horseplayer who's deeply in debt hopes divine intervention will turn things around for him. The gambler sits down to write a message to Jesus.
"Dear Jesus," he writes, "if you let me get even at the track today I promise to give up the horses for a whole month."
The player considers the note for a moment then, realizing he could never stay away from the track that long, crumbles up the paper and begins a second letter.
"Dear Jesus," he writes, "if you let me get even at the track today I promise to give up the horses for a whole week."
The player reads the note then, recognizing he could not stay away from the track for a week, rips up the letter. He goes into the next room to retrieve a statue of the Virgin Mary. Gently, he wraps the statue, places it in a shoebox and sits down to write a third note.
"Dear Jesus, if you ever want to see your mother…"
Lunch
Two Irishmen were in a pub on a Friday night discussing the following day's racing at the Curragh when one said to the other, "I've got a tip on a horse called Lunch, tomorrow."
Eventually, the two men parted and went their separate ways, each very much the worse for wear. Next day, the man who got the tip couldn't remember the name of the nag. He felt so rotten that he went to the nearest pub for some hair of the dog. Desperately, he tried to remember the name of the tipped horse when he saw the pub notice board: "Lunch 12 to 1."
"That's it," he shouted, and went to the counter exclaiming, "I'll have 200 pounds on Lunch at 12/1."
The barman would have none of it and threw the Irishman out.
Undeterred, the fellow went to the next pub and spotted the board: "Lunch 11 to 2."
"Oh my goodness," shouted the Irishman, "Lunch has been backed." He went to the counter and asked for 400 pounds at 11/2.
Again, he suffered the indignity of being thrown out. So he tried the next pub. In he went and saw "Lunch 1 to 2."
"Bloody hell," he muttered, "he's now odds-on. I can't back him at that price."
At just that moment, the waitress shouted through the hatch to the chef, "Sausages, one."
"Thank heavens he got beat," screamed the relieved Irishman.
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