My love-ambivalence relationship with horse racing
For years, I carried in my wallet a winning ticket from the Saratoga Race Course.
The ticket was folded like a receipt, frayed at the corners, and tucked away with old business cards I'd never looked at. Every few months, I'd pull it out, open it and read the printed words:
Race 9 $2 WIN 4.
For many people, that's mere jargon. But for me, that ticket conjured a scene:
The sun rises over Saratoga's backstretch; a dark bay colt, nostrils ...
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