Disclaimer: I’m writing this on my iPhone on the way to the Belmont, after going to a Phish show last night in the beautiful city of Camden, New Jersey.
I have my hat on, ready for the festivities despite the rain and 3 hours of sleep. I thrive on no sleep. If the world had a competition on who got the least amount of sleep, my neurosurgeon brother and I would be winning like Charlie Sheen (that’s the first and last time I’ll ever say that phrase.. It was funny for what like 2 weeks?).
My dad is nervous about getting to the seats by 10:35 (1 hour before the first post time) and you don’t want to upset my dad on race day. Just ask my brother in law who lost him thousands of dollars because he dutifully did some last minute chores around the house, while my dad waited impatiently in the car. (sorry Tommy you had to find out somehow)
Anyway, now to the task at hand.
The beauty about Phish shows is that there are various moments of clarity you receive. The hard thing is remembering them. Well it hit me like a ton of bricks during the set break. Master of Hounds. I walk around whistling like a bird at dogs on the street and their ears always perk up. It all makes sense..
This guy can close, third time off a layoff and these Euros love the slop.
I like Nehro to come in second like he always does. Mucho Macho Man for third and because the fourth place finisher always speaks the loudest, Animal kingdom. Would love to back Santiva like I did in the derby but he’d do me like ice box last year.
Now we are in our seats. Its 10:50, and my dad is already complaining.
I can’t wait for the lights to go down. What will the opener be? I gotta handicap..
—–Jonathan Crowley
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