Day of The Bird

In the Park at Belmont Racetrack, where the highly intoxicated cooler-toting spectators watched the closed circuit monitors an omen had already been cast. If the alcohol hadn’t flowed so heavily more might have taken note when a decapitated bird fell out of the sky moments before the start of the race.

It nearly struck a woman who had passed out inches from the pathway, beer in hand. Her awkwardly strewn body caught the eye of every passerby who looked at her then at me, standing five feet away and guarding the mutual bay doors which as much credible authority as the Big Bad Wolf would give the front door of the Three Little Pig’s house.

They don’t pay me enough to pick up dead birds dropped by a hawk. Perched in a tree it must have lost its grip when the partying fans let out a roar for an encore to a departing band. Those who were taking note of the passed out victim saw the bird drop within inches of her face. Those taking video which I am sure must be on YouTube stepped back. On cue the crowd let out an "ewwww" as loud as the little girls in the movie Lilo and Stitch after Lilo showed them her deformed dollie.

Moments later in the grandstand, the crowd rose to its feet as Mind That Bird pulled into the lead. Dunkirk battled to stay in the lead. Cheers filled the stands when Borel seemed to have done it once again, gone from last to first. It looked like he was to become the first Triple Crown Jockey done onboard two different horses. But the anticipation was short lived when Summer Bird also sired by Birdstone drew up and passed the contenders to take the third leg of the Triple Crown. An upset, once again at Belmont.

Dead bird disposed of and the passed out women rousted from her repose by friends, it had been a long day. Starting with a bus ride to Belmont. It was 2:30 AM when I reported in at the guard house in Saratoga. Thirteen races in the bag and time to sweep the yard of straggling racing fans who had no desire to leave the track. Wishing them a safe journey home was the most diplomatic way of saying, “Get the hell out of here, I want to go home.” Arrived home 24 hours later. How much money did I make?

Honestly, for all the Belmont horror stories I had heard, its unruly crowds, its dirty facilities and ungrateful staff I found none of this the case. The local staff I worked with were professional, the crowds despite their tipsiness were pleasant and the grounds where no more trashier than Saratoga’s after the end of any racing day. In fact I thought the ground’s keeping crews were far more professional and did a better job at keeping the trash in check.

I was good to see those I had not seen in a year. I reminded myself, "These are your primary colors. Blend them."