I love horses. Without horses, how could we, as children, have glued macaroni and glitter onto our handmade Mother’s Day Cards? Without horses, what would Braveheart have ridden into battle? Imagine William Wallace giving the ‘Freedom’ speech on the back of an Alpaca. Scotland would probably be a post-apocalyptic prison colony - such as the one found in the hit movie “No Escape” starring a young Ray Liotta - if not for that horse. But I especially love horses when little men ride them around in an oval at high speeds, because, good lord does that create a great atmosphere for day drinking.
You know how when you throw together a little flour and eggs and sugar and put it in an oven, you make a birthday cake? And how science has never been able to understand that, despite centuries of research? Because birthday cakes are magic. Well, throw together a beautiful day, a “bring-your-own-30-pack” policy, and several ‘roided up horses with rubber bands on their nuts and you’ve got one hell of a party. I can’t explain it. But, it’s like Marcel Proust once said: “Who cares? Let’s party! Who dost thou have the adderall?” If you haven’t been, stop what you’re doing right now and book your trip. And if you’re a little trepidatious, don’t worry - I’m about to give you the ins and outs of what you can expect. I’m like the Rick Steves of blacking out, minus the 12-inch-c*ck that guy carries around, and also the 83 confirmed sniper kills in Vietnam. Anyway...horse races - Go!
Drinking before 9AM
In college, I had to go to “alcohol class” a couple times for some minor legal infractions - no sweat, I’m fine (Mom and Dad), but they give you this test as soon as you show up that’s supposed to determine whether you’re an alcoholic. One of the key questions is, “Do you ever drink as soon as you wake up?” And I can just tell from the smug look on that lifeless piece of paper’s face that it’s a trap question. EVERYONE drinks as soon as they wake up. I mean, come one, how else are you supposed to get rid of the piercing headache and body-sweats? Anyway, horse races are a great reminder for me that I’m not the crazy one, THEY are.
Old People Getting Drunk
Am I the only one that gets turned on when older men and women (most likely both are recently divorced from other people...or about to be) start making out like 13-year-olds? Sheesh, talk about boner hour. And Baby Boomers getting plain old sloppy drunk is just great to be around. They tell you stories, make inappropriate advances on your girlfriend, talk about their sexual relationship (awesome), and sometimes one of the old dudes will slip you one of his Cialis’s (side effects may include hanging out in bathtubs that don’t seem to be near a running water source). One of my favorite things in the world is talking to a drunk guy in his 50s. He’s the most excited person in attendance. Every 6 minutes his eyes stray towards the ugliest chicks at the race and then he’ll say something positively filthy, like “Whoa check out those cans, I’d love to crisco up my snake and slither down that hole.” Disgusting. Awesome.
Dudes Being Dudes
Nothing brings out Dude culture more than a field and booze. Sometimes a P90X routine breaks out. It’s like Glee when the cast randomly sings during a musical only instead it’s frat guys doing “buddy pushups.” And we always skip the yoga part.
Filling The Void
I’m not in college anymore. Sometimes when I say it aloud I shed a single tear like a Native American watching someone litter. When I graduated, I went through that post college depression that seems to consume my generation; we were promised jobs and accolades and constant reassurance from bosses. Some of that was because of the economic reality of a country that’s in debt, with no real plan of turning things around, the other 90 percent was because there were much less reasons to day drink.
The Majestic Beasts
Yes I’m talking about the chicks. The atmosphere says every girl should be dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, yet they dress like they’re in a p*rno. Specifically, a film where they play the wife of a Plantation Owner; one that mysteriously has a hankering for some of the slave men (and women) and she’s torn between the social mores of the day and her wild, raging inner desire, and every time she churns butter she has to bite her quivering lip and suppress the slightest gasps (oh yeah). It’s an elegant look that says “I WILL give you that BJ in the woods near the track but nobody will see because of this big floppy hat. And then I’m going to go ahead and squat and pee right over there.”
You’ll Never See a Horse
Between the drinking, the old people sucking face, the blowjobs, and the frat-chants, it will be a miracle if you actually see a horse go around the track. Like forest sprites, I’m told they’re there, though I’ve never confirmed it. Frankly, who gives a sh*t? I just named my four favorite things in the first sentence of this paragraph and if that’s not good enough for you, then you’re in the wrong place. And I’m not talking about this website, I’m referring to Earth.
This weekend I’ll be traveling to South Carolina for the Carolina Cup - the South’s version of my beloved “Hunt” here in the Northeast. I’d imagine it’s very similar, only with more boat shoes and racism. I can’t wait. You should come. And, if you can’t make the trip, join me on Twitter - it will be like you’re there. Only you’ll probably remember more than I will.
Jared Freid is a New York City-based comedian. You can follow him on Twitter @jtrain56 for videos, column updates, pics of chicks in floppy hats, and plenty of pen*s jokes.