I didn't even get there in time to score a free Crocrock t-shirt

Good god, what a miserable afternoon at the track yesterday. Didn't cash a lousy cent all freaking day long. Nine bloody races of futile, hopeless gambling. It was like a flashback to 2002, or 2003, or 2004. These are supposed to be the gravy days of 2005! By the third race I knew that every single god-damned bet I laid down was going to be a dog, but I kept going up to the ticket window anyway until the crappy little bank account that I'd allotted myself for the day had dwindled to nothing. Sparks had no better luck, but he doesn't seem to have the psychological constitution (such as I possess) to accept being a loser. By the ninth race he was threatening to knife jockeys and disembowel thoroughbreds and do various unpleasant things that can't be published in a family-friendly forum such as this to Pat Day. We had to spike his beer with some hastily acquired horse tranquilizers and even then we couldn't let him out of our sight.