If you embrace the impulse to engage a perfect stranger wearing a fur-accented garment with an indignant “Is that real?” … well … you won’t much care to learn what a perfect stranger asked me the other day.
“You got the scratches?”
The question visibly startled me for three reasons.
One, I was convinced that I had blended in with the small crowd of cab drivers and cable wirers who had paid a buck for admission to Wembley Park in Commerce City for a matinee set of 15 dog races.
Two, I was engrossed in my $2 program with its tables of exotic numbers, the likes of which only the combined brainpower of Billy Beane and Will Hunting could make heads or tails.
And three, the concourse featuring the betting windows and overhead monitors — its length and width akin to a field for — just so happened to be as solemn as the Western History archives at the Denver Public Library, affording the man’s question the resonance of a homily at Denver’s Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception.
“Um, sir?” I replied. “This is my first time here.”
|
DOG RACING: WEMBLEY PARK
|
|
|
Thus began my initiation into the world of Mile High Greyhound Racing.
My program listed information for eight dogs in each race, the man kindly informed, and “scratches” were last-minute withdrawals from the field. With this pivotal bit of new information, I pored over the “How to Read a Program” and “How to Bet” pamphlets in time to make a bet for each of the 15 races before the 1 p.m. post time. In less than an hour, I had clumsily learned the lexicon, spitting out words like “quinella,” “exacta” and “superfecta” to the mutuel teller as I wagered $5 apiece on dogs with names like El Gold Rush, Paw McCartney and Glo’s Quiet Riot.
It was an unseasonably warm day, so I elected to take in the races from the grandstands, which faced the December sun. I went without most of my fellow racing enthusiasts, however.
I soon learned that the myriad monitors adorning the concourse broadcast not only the Wembley Park races, but also greyhound and horse racing from across the nation. The racing experience — wagered with pension and rent more so than disposable income, judging from the crowd — was not at all limited to the dirt track just 100 yards beyond the concourse doors.
The first race started at 1 p.m. with kennel staffers marching the eight dogs to the finish line in the shadow of the giant scoreboard opposite the track. Each of the eight dogs was presented by number, name, weight and kennel, while a ninth staffer checked the muzzle and bib. Then commenced the procession to the starting gates.
This is where it got morally murky.
Once the dogs were set in the gates, their howling rose to a crescendo during a grueling two to three minutes before Rusty the Big Foam Bone moved up the back stretch like an electric train. Before the dogs could chase Rusty for 30-plus seconds over 566 yards, the racket took a toll — one not levied on those who paid an extra two bucks for a seat behind the glass in the clubhouse.
Dismissing the commotion as trash talk did little to sooth my soul.
I quickly learned, however, that the cries from dogs are quickly substituted by those of humans once the gates open. Only in those half-minute bursts, the crowd found a voice in pleas of hope and desperation.
|
RECYCLED RACERS
|
|
|
“C’mon, Five!”
“Get in there, Two!”
“Hold it, Seven!”
In cases of a photo finish, the implorations ceased instantly. The difference between $2 lost and a $338 trifecta payoff, unperceivable to the naked eye, waited for an official ruling before flashing on the scoreboard, inevitably to a collective groan.
So it went for 3 1/2 hours, which fly by if you’re trying to make bets while also trying to make sense of Jeweler Jack’s last three finishes from the second post position for the first time.
To spice things up, Wembley Park features Ladies’ Night, which is “back by popular demand.” Every Friday night, women enjoy free admission, a free program, a free soft drink and — the pièce de résistance — a free handicapping seminar to help scout winners.
My track losses have me leaning toward pulling a “Tootsie” this evening.
 |
| Post / Bryan Boyle |
A pair of greyhounds races to the finish line Wednesday afternoon at Wembley Park in Commerce City. |
An online exclusive that runs each Friday, Wide State of Sports examines the memorable, less visible and lighthearted aspects from the High Plains to the Western Slope. DenverPost.com sports producer Bryan Boyle can be reached at bboyle@denverpost.com.
From the columns
“(Kiki) Vandeweghe not only has an opportunity to move Carmelo Anthony to the backcourt, he can significantly upgrade the Nuggets’ defense in the same instant. All he has to do is risk every bit of team chemistry he has spent years trying to nurture.”
From the mailbags
“The Rockies will arrive at spring training a much better team on paper because of their relief upgrades alone. They began last season naked in the bullpen, which ultimately sabotaged the year.”
From the message boards
“Bailey certainly cost a lot, but I think this year he’s proven his worth. Portis is a good back, but not as good as the money he asked for. Besides, his antics were a distraction (and not even really entertaining).” — bennice
From the online exclusives
Find the 2005 Denver Broncos season puzzling by visiting our online arcade. A new jigsaw puzzle runs after each game this season. Just click and drag the puzzle pieces. When you place a puzzle piece next to its neighbor, the two pieces will lock together.
A look back
 |
| Post / John Leyba |
In this photo shot Jan. 28, 2003, co-owner and CEO John Elway poses at his office at Wembley Park in Commerce City, where the team continues to practice. Winner of the 2005 ArenaBowl, the Crush opens its 2006 season Jan. 29 at Pepsi Center. |
