Why I Didn't Win the Derby

As it is now Monday morning, I've had about 36 hours to reflect on why I did not win the Kentucky Derby.    First of all, I've spent way too little time in an OTB over the past year - and over the first 30 years of my life for that matter - to be taken seriously.    As I inched my way forward, slowly closing in on the ominous ticket window amidst hundreds of people screaming at OTHER races that didn't seem to have anything to do with the Derby, there was only one thought going through my mind - namely, when you get up there, stick with the plan no matter how much the lady in the window heckles you or how badly the members of the screaming throng laugh at you.     After 30 minutes, my time had almost come, as there was now only one person between me and the ticket woman, and I still had no idea whether or not a superfecta was considered an "exotic bet", and if so, how to fill out one of the multitude of wager cards.   Luckily, the old lady in front of me must have bet on every horse alive on the planet, as well as put down some futures on other horses that were yet to be born, so this gave me a little extra time to compose myself.    

When she finally wrapped up, I had decided to go with plan A (put down your wagers on the two horses to win first, as this is child's play and will make the woman think you're a pro, and then move into the heavy stuff that could require "a little hand holding") over plan B (jump right into the superfecta, hope for the best, and then finish with the winner bets, hopefully providing enough of a buffer that the people directly around will forget about the first part of the transaction).        Picking the winners was simple.    I went with Greeley's Galaxy at 22-1 (since Nina went to Horace Greeley high school) and Buzzards Bay at 44-1 (where Nina's parents live).   With that behind me, I tried to grease the wheels a bit with a $2 Trifecta box (boxing a bet means that you buy every possible combination of those horses - in this case meaning 3 x 2 x 1 = 6 combinations).    Since this is not considered an exotic bet, it's  apparently about the trickiest verbal bet that you can make without having to fill out one of those crazy cards.     With that behind me, I moved in for the main event - a $1 superfecta box, meaning 4 x 3 x 2 x 1 = 24 combinations.    I non-nonchalantly mumbled something about a superfecta and started waving my pen near the card, threatening to make a mark on it and hoping that some advice would be offered.   None was.    So, I dove in and started coloring in holes that I thought MIGHT correspond to the holes that represented my horses.   As it turned out, they didn't.    Luckily for me, though, before the masses got wind of the fact that there was a rookie at a window, the woman at the counter hushed her voice and said, "just tell me what horses you want".    It must have been clear to her that any further attempts to correctly fill out the card would have ended up with the same result.

With the high pressure of successfully making a wager now behind me, I walked out of the OTB grinning from ear to ear with that all encompassing high that comes hand-in-hand with knowing that you're about to win a lot of money.     Which brings me to the second reason for why I did not win the Derby - I was way too cocky about my bets.     The way I figured it, the superfecta would probably pay out about $50-70K, a roughly 290,000% ROI on my investment.    Of course, the chances of this happening were roughly 1 in 116,280 without taking into account the fact that 3 of my horses were significant long shots, likely making the odds much worse.   But that didn't phase me.    In my mind, the money was essentially as good as won.    I called one friend to brag about my imminent good fortune.    I told another that I was going to pay to have all of 74th Street covered in fur, and that I was going to buy everyone below 44th Street a ham.    

But as the race neared, a calming collectedness came over me.    I reminded myself that nobody likes someone who gloats, and with the exception of everyone below 44th street who likes ham and a couple of weird people on 74th Street, most people would be less than fired up about my horse picking talent.    So, as the horses were being led to the starting gate, I was gazing out the window, thinking to myself about how gracious I would be as my fourth horse crossed the finish line.     I wasn't going to run around the room screaming.     I wasn't going to jump into anybody's arms.    I was going to calmly stand up, shake hands with the friends I was watching the Derby with, and then make some (totally untrue) speech about how it was all luck and that any one of them could  have won just as easily.      

The gates closed.     A couple of deep breaths.     The gates opened, and my mind started to wander.    I started to worry that 74th Street might start to smell bad with all of that fur after a couple of rain storms, particularly in the fall when the ginko trees started to shed their fruit.     Perhaps I might have to alter that part of the plan.    Then the excitement in the room started to build, horses started to cross what seemed to be a finish line of sorts and one of my buddies was screaming awfully loud in my right ear.

Which brings me to the 3rd reason why I didn't win the Derby this year - none of my horses finished in the top 10.    The good news is that I guess my street will smell fine this fall, but I wonder if I need to send some sort of note apologizing to everyone below 44th street that got their hopes up for a ham.