Coulda, Woulda, Shoulda

 

To every thing there is a season,

and a time to every purpose under the heaven: . . .

(a) time to get, and a time to lose. . . .

                                    -- Ecclesiastes 3:1,6a

           

At the start of the Kentucky Derby, the sentimental strains of My Old Kentucky Home always bring a tear to my eye and a lump in my throat. I just love the moment when the spectacular equines parade to the post. Yesterday's race was especially exciting, as a longshot came out of nowhere and left the favorites flat-footed.

 

 

Mine That Bird wins the 2009 Kentucky Derby.

 

 

But we have a friend who REALLY gets a tear in his eye and REALLY gets a lump in his throat when Derby time rolls around. And here's why:

 

Typical guy that he is, he has been betting on horse races occasionally for many, many years. Rather than enjoying the Derby for the beautiful horseflesh, racing strategy, outrageous hats, mint juleps, crowd ambience, or any of those things, he was a typical guy: he wanted to WIN MOOLAH!

 

So a few years ago, he pulled out all the stops, trying to pick the winner. He studied and studied the Derby field, handicapping every aspect of the race as thoroughly as humanly possible. He researched the pedigree of each entry back to the umpteenth generation. He made a special spreadsheet on the horses' win-loss records. He performed several mathematical calculations on each jockey's track record.

 

He threw in a little Ouija board magic, some coin-flipping, tea-leaf reading, and intellectual jujitsu, and after all that work, he was convinced that he had a brilliant idea for a winner.

 

It was a longshot. He thought it was going to go off at 30:1. As it happens, the odds soared to 70:1 for that particular horse - even better!

 

He keeps a small bank account for fun, and thought he had a little more in there than he did. So when it came race day, and he was ready to place his online wagers, he was a little short for his usual bets.

 

Plus, his custom was to ask his wife and daughter to also pick a horse, and just for fun, he would place a to-win bet for each of them as well.

 

His wife glanced at the paper and picked her horse in five seconds: that horse's jockey was the only name she recognized.

 

The daughter picked the horse with the neatest-sounding name.

 

So he placed three to-win bets on their three selections. He bet $2 to win for his wife and daughter. But since he had spent so much time handicapping his own pick, and since it was at 70:1, he bet $50. Not a bad risk, and it would return a $3,500 payout. Nice!

 

However, with those bets, he didn't have an extra $6 in his "recreational" account to place one more bet that he usually made: a trifecta. That's a type of bet in which you name the three horses that you think will come in the top three. They don't have to be in order, but you need all three top finishers. No harm, no foul, he thought: hitting a trifecta was a rare occurrence, statistically speaking. No biggie.

 

So he and his wife and daughter gathered in front of the TV set for the race.

 

They're off!

 

Our friend's expectant smile grew wider and wider. His crazy longshot took the lead! He held the lead in the backstretch! He hung on around the turn! He was coming down the home stretch, still out in front! Look! He was pulling away!

 

Visions of the goodies and toys he could buy with that $3,500 filled his dazzled head. His wife and daughter were screaming and clapping, too, as their horses were right in there.

 

The finish line neared! His 70:1 shot was still in front! But then . . . slowly . . . slowly . . . another horse's head drew nearer and nearer . . . the finish loomed . . . the horses were neck and neck . . .

 

. . . and JUST as they crossed the line, the OTHER horse's nose stuck out in front by a molecule.

 

His wife leaped to her feet, hooting and hollering. "I WON! I WON!!!" she exulted.

 

Those visions of a new chain saw, sparkling rims and glittering fishing tackle that he was going to buy with his $3,500 all winged away, out of sight.

 

His horse finished second.

 

And his daughter's horse came in third.

 

But suddenly, he realized something: the three of them had picked the top three finishing horses. They were all crazy longshots.

 

But this was the ONE time he HADN'T bought the trifecta!

 

And then the trifecta amount was published on the big screen:

 

OVER ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND DOLLARS!!!!!

 

If he had spent an extra six bucks, even though his horse hadn't won, he still could've scored the ultimate Kentucky Derby win . . . maximum bragging rights with the guys . . . and TONS of exciting toys and goodies, all because of his brilliance in handicapping, plus the lady luck of his wife and daughter.

 

AAAIIIEEE!!!! He fell to the floor, writhing in agony.

 

His wife tried to comfort him. "Why aren't you happy? I won $110!!!" she soothed.

 

He looked up at her from the floor in mid-writhe.

 

She sang a line from the refrain of My Old Kentucky Home - ". . . weep, no more, my darlin', oh, weep, no more today."

 

He thought about his beautiful family, everybody's good health, his fine home, his fulfilling job . . .

 

. . . the $100,000 . . .

 

. . . and went right back to writhing.

 

Hey! God never promised us any miracles, and God doesn't play any odds. But oh, if he'd only ponied up $6 . . . he could've been in the winner's circle, bigtime. †