And they’re off

Tim and I recently had our first day/night out without the boys, besides when our moms were here. Tim’s work had arranged a post-Christmas celebration with some of their team, which included an afternoon at the horse races, and dinner in Liverpool.

Tim’s boss and his wife kindly asked their older son to watch the boys during that time, which was great because they were familiar with them and had so much fun playing at their house. I’ve never been that into or at all knowledgeable about horse racing, but I was open to checking it out.

Like many a girl who grew up in the country, I think horses are beautiful. We were lucky to have some for a time when I was young – a light-coated mare, Shine, her chocolate-colored colt, Sparky, and then a red and white pony, Rosie. I remember feeding them carrots and sugar cubes and using metal wiry brushes to comb their coats. I also remember that Rosie bucked a bit (I want to say she bucked me off, but it might have been someone else? Need a mom fact check here.) They were beautiful, but as our farming operation shrank, the horses went elsewhere. I love that my parents are enjoying farming again with cattle. Ponies next perhaps, Nana??

Polo and horse riding are popular in our area, I’ve surmised, from the sheer number of horses I’ve encountered on walking trails or on the road. There’s a polo field not far from our house, and we were graced with the presence of 10 polo horses in the back field this winter. I spent more time than I’d like to admit watching them out in the field behind our house. The best part is when they would spontaneously break into a full gallop, racing each other from the back corner of the fields up to where they were fed. These horses were born to run.

The boys came up with names for them, including Chocolate Fudge, Mudge, Kevin, Nolan, Bill and Arthur. Their names are probably something like Sir Kensington Chesterfield Sired by Lord Wallace the IV, but we like ours too. What must they think of the lady gazing at them through the patio door, sometimes even stepping outside to audibly greet them? Do they think I’m a stalker? Based on my photo evidence alone, they probably do. (To be fair, some of these were just pretty landscape/sky/weather shots and they happened to be there…)

 

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The horses left this week. Back to their high-flying, fast-living, polo pony ways, I guess. I was a little sad to see them go. It was nice to have their company out the back window. But they were probably relieved to have a break from my prying eyes. Eh.

I’ve digressed…back to the races. We boarded a bus in Liverpool and headed out to the Haydock Race track. I know what you’re thinking – did you wear a fancy hat? No, thank goodness. The attire for the race was smart casual and apparently not as dressy as other races, so I was off the hook with a pair of pants and a nice top. Tim wore a sport coat and khakis and we fit in pretty well, though I did see some fancy dress attire.

We walked into our box and were greeted with champagne – which is how I would prefer to enter any room ever, by the way – and then had some food while we waited for the race to start. We discussed betting strategies with Tim’s coworkers. I wasn’t sure I wanted to bet, in that I didn’t want to lose a lot of money. I go to Vegas for the Britney, not for the gambling. But there was a low minimum, so we gave it a shot. Plus, it gives you somebody to root for.

There was a race every thirty minutes, eight in total, and a desk outside our room where you could place your bet and collect your winnings. Turns out they make it pretty simple to take your money. We decided to bet “each way” on the races where we could, meaning that even if the horse we bet on came in second, for instance, we would claim a stake of the winnings.

 

I went on a gut feeling for my picks, mostly guided by their names. I didn’t have any winners, but I got a couple of second places. My best bet was on Ask Ben, a horse I chose because his name was close to Bennett. He was in the lead for a lot of the race but ended up second. It was fun to watch “your” pick and cheer on your horse – as I recall, a lot of favorites didn’t win that day.

Tim, however, did pick a winner:

It was a steeplechase course, so the horses had to jump over sporadic hurdles, which made me nervous for them and the jockeys. They went around the track anywhere from 2-3 times, always ending in front of us. I was in awe at their power and speed, and the sound of them thundering down the grass track. Because we were indoors and watching from the box, we didn’t really interact with the crowd though we did a lot of crowd-watching. There was a spot where you could see the horses coming out before their race, where spectators could get a closer view.

There were a lot of stag (bachelor) parties it seemed – crews of men dressed up nicely, but drinking and swearing like sailors. At one point, Tim said to me, “Man, this place is like a fight waiting to happen.” Foreshadowing!

So this happened (news story linked).

We started hearing commotion down below us, to the left a bit. There had been a smaller fight earlier and we had already watched one man get kicked out. Somehow, an even bigger brawl began and security couldn’t seem to get a handle on it. It was pretty rough, and as you can see, people had to dash out of the way so they didn’t get run into.

It really was a shameful and stupid event on an otherwise gorgeous day at the track, and we were grateful to be gawking from above! Because I know Tim would have wanted to get right in there swinging, and I would have had to pull him back. (Kidding.) I’m sure a lot of fists and heads were hurting the next day.

We watched the final race, collected our meager winnings, and headed back to Liverpool for dinner. It was cool to try something different in a new location, enjoy a nice day out with Tim and his colleagues, and immerse ourselves into the culture a little bit more.

Though, we’re thinking our next horse event should be a visit to our field ponies at a polo match. Unless they have a restraining order in place against me.