At the thoroughbred track I was today with my mom and Reggie. Forecast called for a cool temperature today so I reserved us seats beside the bar in the glassed in enclosure. Reggie and I did alright, my mom not so much.
"What the actual fuck?" my mom cursed several times loud enough for people to glance over at our table as they too cursed the gods of racing under their breath.
When the Canucks' broadcast began it was on the tv behind the bar. That's normal. What was not normal was the staff turned up the sound on the tv. Usually other sports play silently, if at all, on tvs at racetracks. Gamblers' generally preferred distraction is drinking and maybe watching the odd tall yellow walk by them on the way to make a bet. Not hockey.
It was not a good show by the team that represents the city that has not won a Stanley Cup in well over 100 years. It reminded me of the team's many years skating forlornly through the wilderness.
No one complimented me on the New York Ranger jacket Sonja bought me for Christmas shortly before New York kept Vancouver's losing streak alive 30 years ago. People in the village of Vancouver have long memories that will probably be giving them nightmares rather than Stanley Cup Dreams for the next 48 hours.
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