There was some swearing and drinking and betting and no one got hurt--well, almost no one. It started on the train down. First, Rick, our resident poet, got things rolling with his "Ode To Del Mar," a poem he writes each year to inspire the trip. Someone, I won't mention any names (Greg), brought pre-mixed Jack & Coke. I tried to be good. Really. I brought some knitting. I was planning to avoid the alcohol until I got to the track. But I got bored. All the fun people were sitting a few seats ahead of me. I went to talk to Chris and Troll, and well, it was all downhill from there.
That's Chris in the hat, and Troll in the glasses. (and Scott doing the Gene Simmons imitation) You can see where I went wrong. Someone had to taste their drinks to assure they weren't being poisoned, right? And those drinks kicked like a mule. Damn, Greg.
After two Del Margaritas (seriously, they made them stronger this year) and a Kamikaze from Jamie (Thanks a lot), I was somewhat impaired. I had a HUGE hot dog with bun-o-plenty to try to soak up the alcohol and fries out the wazoo. It helped a little, but then I kept drinking.
I bet and won and bet and won on the same $20 all day. It's not really about the horse races, you know. One of the highlights was when the guys took over the Information booth and actually gave information to passersby. Also, I heard the best joke:
A pirate walks into a bar with a steering wheel attached to his crotch. The bartender says, "hey, you have a steering wheel coming out of your crotch." The pirate replies, "Arrr, it's driving me nuts."
The train home is always the best part. First, it's packed because this is pretty much the last train to Clarksville. Well, there is one at 9:00, but after the races are over, what are you going to do until 9:00? Second, all the daytrippers and commuters from San Diego are already on the train when it gets to Solana Beach. What do we do? We bum-rush the cars knocking the slow and weak aside. Half of the group goes to the front to commandeer the first semi-empty car they see. The other half rushes the cafe car and wipes out the beer cooler. Here I must give props to one Becky from West Covina. Becky shamelessly used the "Oh, please let me ahead of you. I left my daughter alone at our seats and I have to get back to her," ploy to get to the front of the line where she then secured $110 worth of beer, as well as the scornful looks of everyone who now thinks she's a bad mother (and a drunk). No, Becky's daughter was not with us. The five of us who got the beer now had to do the old Bugs Bunny "pardon me, 'scuse me" all the way back to the seats. Kevin, a rookie, asked "When do we stop?" I told him, "When the people start to look familiar, stop."
Those poor people who got stuck sharing a train car with our group. There was singing, including the much-loved Neil Diamond sing-a-long featuring Steve "Don't call me Maurice" Miller on vocals. There was drinking. There was swearing. There was political arguments with some fellas who just wanted to get home (and who subsequently missed their stop because one of them was deep in discussion with Chris). And boobs were exposed.
The day was capped off with dinner at El Compadre (near Dodger's Stadium, not the one on Sunset). And someone (me) stole a glass. It was for Troll, I swear.