THE BELMONT STAKES, GRUDEN AND VARIOUS AVERTED DISASTERS.  PART I

This Story is posted in two parts.  This is Part I.

The day started off well enough thanks in part to an ingenious decision by Ted and me to go to bed early on Friday night.  That investment paid dividends that fully vested first thing Saturday morning when I awoke feeling fresh and well rested - the perfect feeling for a day of relentless drinking, smoking, gambling and socializing; a day that ended, I should add, the next morning at 2:45am with an unprovoked shot-gun of a Schlitz can and an unwelcome sucker punch in the stomach from Gruden, but more on that later.  Today was supposed to be all about the Belmont Stakes and the chance to see the first Triple-Crown winner in more than three decades.

As you've read elsewhere in SandJ, the Belmont is not as refined as the Derby or as shitty as the Preakness, but there are plenty of faux-boulevardiers and authentic low-society scum bags to keep even passive observers of sociology enthralled.  Anyway, here was the plan for the day:  Pick up Ted, Gruden and Espo (Geno has shingles so he stayed home); swing by the Beverage Barn on Jericho for beer and Marlboro soft-packs; stop off at the OTB to place some bets; meet up with Pete and Jack at Jack's house in Floral Park; and walk over to the race track in time to catch Race 11.  The events of the day were planned and for the most part performed, but, as they say, the devil is in the details.  For us, as usual, the details include preternatural acts of prodigious stupidity and boundless rage performed with gusto by Gruden -  last year we were kicked off the grounds of Belmont Park when Gruden was caught shooting a potato gun toward the track during Race 1.  We didn't know what he was doing until he and the rest of us were violently hauled away by security.  We were back at Jack's in time to hear a bugle off in the distance signaling the start of Race 3 - Gruden was in jail, where we let him stay for the night for his own good.  It is important to note that none of us thought it was funny at all, but for whatever reason, this is our friend.  So we tolerate his bullshit on the one weekend a year that his job allows him some R&R. 

This year he promised to behave and to help him keep his promise he hired an English policeman he met in London while scouting a Monarchs game.  No joke, he brought a real English police officer with him to keep the peace that he always threatens to break.  Both of them climbed into the way back of my Land Rover with Officer Brown wearing a full English policemen's uniform, complete with a tall helmet, chin strap and a night-stick.  "Right, right, right." he mumbled as he managed to get into his seat.  What the f*ck? 

Gruden sternly warned Ted not to ask any questions.  We all listened and quietly assumed that Officer Brown would escort us, drive the car after we got drunk, keep paparazzi at bay, and first and foremost talk Gruden down from perceived threats and provocations from innocent bystanders.

Officer Brown served us well almost immediately.  Walking into the Beverage Barn, Gruden became disgruntled when Ted refused to get into the shopping cart.  Jon enjoys pushing people in shopping carts, but the Beverage Barn in located on Jericho Turnpike with 4 lanes of aggressive traffic to tempt Gruden.  No thanks.  Ted was smart to say no.  Anyway, moments after we entered the store Officer Brown saved a random woman, early 30s from New Hyde Park, from serious pain and lasting debilitation that surely would have been expertly inflicted.  Here's what happened (and this happens all the time): Espo and Gruden were busy buying out the entire stock of Young's Double Chocolate Stout when this woman asked Gruden for his autograph.  He was nice and accommodating enough, but things went bad when she kissed him and offered her condolences.  "Wait, who the f*ck do you think I am?" "Ummm, Larry Birkhead, right?" Gruden was f*cking livid - picture Jack Nicholson at the end of a Few Good Men lunging at the poor girl.  Using his night stick and tazer-gun, Officer Brown subdued Gruden while Ted escorted the confused and terrified woman out of the store. Disaster Averted, I guess.

Around 12 noon we pulled away from the Beverage Barn stocked with eight 4-packs of Young's Double Chocolate Stout, a case of Corona, a case of Blue Moon and a sweet six of Schlitz.  We were headed to the OTB located on the Nassau/Queens border.  If you're not familiar, there is nothing quite like the inside of an OTB.  I don't know if they have OTBs in other places, but we have them in New York.  They are usually located in close proximity to a liquor store, a Western Union and subsidized housing facilities.  OTB stands for Off Track Betting.  You can place bets at an OTB I think on every horse race in the country - probably in the world.  Many of them have bars and restaurants right inside the store.  It sounds good, but it's horrible.  Picture a disgusting interior with dirty walls, dingy windows and a floor littered with losing tickets.  There is no smoking inside, but it looks, feels and smells like everyone in there is blowing stale Pall Mall smoke out of their noses.  Most patrons have moustaches and bullet-proof glass necessarily separates the gamblers from the cashiers.  Regardless of the day, the place is always packed with four-star losers.  I feel compelled to add that OTB is a State run gambling operation and should be Exhibit "A" for any argument in favor of privatization.  Believe it or not, OTB is in the red.  I know that seems impossible - how can a gambling ring lose money, right?  The answer is I don't know, but I think we should all take note that the same imbeciles who lose money on a legal gambling enterprise also want to overhaul and manage our national healthcare system, but I digress.   

I was starting to sense that something was askew with Officer Brown.  He smelled of gin and I noticed that Espo was delighting in the fact that Brown was deep into his third Boddingtons tall boy not 5 minutes after we left the Beverage Barn.  Desperately shouting that HE was the real Big Brown, his novelty was wearing off with me.  Espo and Ted seemed to be enjoying it, but I suspect that their source of their pleasure was not with Officer Brown, but more likely the six pack of 7oz bud can "puddings" that they were drinking as an appetizer for the day. Gruden was distant and seemed to be plotting something.

At about 12:15 PM we rolled up to OTB.  It was determined that going to the OTB on the day of the Belmont made sense even if we were actually going to the race. Here we would bet on every race of the day and get it over with.  This way, when we finally get to the track, we could stake out and fortify an area without having to leave to place bets.  The only thing that we'd have to do is make beer and bathroom runs- Gruden doesn't make bathroom runs because he uses a catheter known in Tampa Bay as a stadium pal.  It allows him to drink fervently and not have to miss any action on the track which is sort of ridiculous considering that he doesn't place any bets and there is a full half hour between races.  The real reason he wears a catheter is that he likes having a big bag of urine handy in case anyone disrespects him - which is inevitable. 

Because betting by players and coaches is frowned on by the NFL, Gruden doesn't place bets or enter betting establishments. So while we go in to the OTB he stays in the car lamenting his restricted freedoms while strapping on his stadium pal. 

I don't know anything about horse racing and, frankly, I'm suspicious of anyone who does- except Ted's father-in-law.  It seems to me that if you are well versed and up to date on horse racing it's likely that you are concomitantly performing poorly at work- and at home.  Notwithstanding, Big Brown is going off at 2-5 meaning that if you bet $5 and he wins, you win $2.  Every other horse on the board has long-shot odds, so I do a quick little (and probably wrong) calculation in my head and determine that the safest bet is to bet hard on the long-shots.  Espo claims that an un-cashed winning ticket for a Triple-Crown winner will be worth a lot of money some day.  Despite my considerable doubt that anyone would ever pay any extra money for an unused win ticket (it's less interesting to look at than movie ticket), I also place a $5 bet on Big Brown to win. 

The bets are placed and we feel good about our chances.  The sun is now high in the sky and the temperature is pushing 98.  We're on a blistering sidewalk somewhere in Queens.  This is a good time to have a cigarette.

Stepping back in the car, Officer Brown is conspicuously missing and Jon Gruden is sleeping with his eyes open.  

To Be Continued.....