Post Parade Limps Back into the CyberWorld

DialUp4Ever

I think I once bet on that old nag. And if I recall, it wasn't too pretty.

For all of my friends, family, loved ones, not-so-loved ones ... I am officially moved. A little closer to the track and I have the luxury of waking up in bed with Gary West. Okay. More like, my husband reading me Gary West's column in the Fort Worth Star Telegram but at least I can look at Gary West's handsome face in the paper while I'm in some kind of sexy garment. I think I might own a sexy garment. It could be in a box ... somewhere. No, wait ... I'm sure I got rid of my last sexy garment in 1989. Yeah. Gary West and I hang out in the bedroom wearing old flannel jammies. Oh, well ...

I made my first sojourn back to Lone Star Park last Saturday. That would be June 17th. That would be the Stephen Foster Day, not to be confused with the Foster's Lager Day, and I had no preparation whatsoever in handicapping. But I had noted that a few of the "ol' reliables" were running: Happy Ticket at Churchill Downs and Nightmare Affair down in Calder. They were chalk, but when you've been busy unpacking boxes filled with clothes, dishes, placemats, Sponge-Bob-Square-Pants games, gizmos, why-in-the-world-would-we-ever-keep-something-these-useless things, there is a deep seeded need to wager on a horse that you know and love and does not in any way, shape or form require more than 2 minutes to review the race card and all past performances to know that it is a "cinch".

Speaking of the Foster, who the heck was that 91-1 loooooongshot who won? If I could actually access the internet at this writing, I would scribe something wise and profound. However, good-n-smart pal, Alan, probably did a full write-up last weekend, as well as cashed in some kind of winning exacta and/or trifecta and is now actually retired on some South Pacific island where the men serve exotic drinks with umbrellas and the women are scantilly clad. Sheesh. I'm really behind reading all the blogs.

Here's a tout: WheresMyDSL