You Gotta Be Joshing Me!

And Oh, somebody talkin’ about serious?? Serious, serious??

Let me get this straight—Saratoga’s 12th race was run at the wrong damn distance. Not by a nose hair. Not by a few yards. Nah, a whole-ass 16th of a mile off, on a 9 furlong track, which means this race started near the first turn, that's a far as the liquor barn is from the piggly wiggly and y'all still got some moonshine and got drunk without getting mommas milk and eggs.

Duh, even a blind bat on social security waiting for a eye transplant could have seen that.

Like some official woke up that morning, rubbed the sleep outta his eyes and said,“ Rough nite last nite, Ah hell, mile and a sixteenth, mile and an eighth... what’s the difference? I'm hungover, It’s just a race, not like people got money ridin’ on this or nothin’. No biggie”

No biggie Hoss, seriously? We are just dumb bettors who don't know squat, but see right thru the big top and clown show. Yessiree Sundance Kid, we ain't as dumb as we look.

Cuz, cuz that ain’t a mistake. That’s a damn three-ring circus act with no safety net for the highwire handicapping portion of the show, sh*t just roll out Little Andy with a red nose and big red shoes nobody would know the difference. Right ? Right ?

Little Andy would roll in a hissy fit and fire everybody, their mamas and their next of kin.

I mean, cue the calliope music, roll out the red-nosed brigade—The Big Top needs to be erected over Saratoga RIGHT NOW.We got 20 clowns jammed in a VW Bug parked under the finish pole like it's a tailgate party at Barnum & Bailey's.

And what do they do?

They make it official.Yep. Stamp it. Frame it. Send it home with a kiss."Sorry, bettors! You lose. Don’t worry, we’re ‘lookin’ into it.’”

Even, the mild mannered Clark Kent of Racing, the Champ hisself scribed:

Ohhh and you're gonna “review the circumstances?” That’s adorable.

I'll review it for YA right here: They ran the race at the wrong F*cking distance. The gate was placed in a spot they never run from:

"Hey Cletus, put the gate right here, so they hurry up and finish and we can go home Daing it!"

This like your Uber droppin’ you off in Toledo instead of Tallahassee, then handin’ you a Chick-fil-A gift card, on the wrong side of town and sayin’, “We’re gonna see what went wrong.” Spoiler alert: everything went wrong, Jimbo.

And the kicker?

This ain’t even the first time. Nope. No siree Butch Cassidy.

Seven years and one day ago, same damn thing happened. Somelikeithotbrown, a real redneck glory pony wins a race... at the wrong distance. You can’t even make this up—unless you work for folks who, don't give a hoot, in which case, apparently, you can.

At this point, either Saratoga’s doin’ some time-loop multiverse Marvel reboot...Or they’re just allergic to accountability, while humming Steve Miller bands' 'whoooo whooo take the money and run, ahoooo lord'

What’s next?

• Run the Travers backwards?

• Run around the Hall of Fame building 3 times like the Palo Di Siena?

• First one to make it to the Spac wins 10% off a hot dog and beer?

  
  

Y’all... if this is “serious”? Then I am a goddamn astronaut ridin’ a Shetland pony to the moon and back.

This ain’t just unserious—it’s pro wrestling without the folding chairs or the showmanship.

Give us the F*cking chairs.

Just chaos, excuses, and a little ol’ “better luck next time” to the only people who keep this sport alive: the bettors.

But hey, by all means...Keep bettin’.Just make sure you bring a tape measure and a damn GPS with you next time, we'll get it right rain or shine.

Oh wait, if it does rain ......we'll get back to you.