On Saturday I went out of town.
I packed my bags, kept the same clothes on from the night before, loaded up the car and kissed my dog goodbye. “See you soon if I don’t die, old sport,” I whispered tearfully into his ear before heading out the door. I cranked up my country spotify playlist, zipped over to pick up my best friend Rachel and we were off.
Fifteen minutes later, we’d reached our destination: the beautiful Mecca of West Memphis, home of Southland Park- a greyhound dog track and casino.
I wasn’t feeling particularly lucky this Saturday afternoon, but it’s almost impossible not to win anything at the dog track and the beers are cheap so I figured “WHY THE HECK DURN NOT?”
We grabbed some drinks, I grabbed a hot dog (it was pretty good), we purchased our race programs and settled in. A couple of races and a couple of bets in we were both in the hole but we pressed on, swigging our drinks and talking in the most redneck voices we could because we are cool and we are single and I have no idea why.
Anyway, blahity blah blah- stuff happens, time passes, ”HERE COMMMEESSS RUSTY!” is said a lot, etc.
Here’s the part where I let you know that BUD LIGHT PLATINUM WILL FUCK YOU THE FUCK UP. I’ve had like 4 of them and I’m totally hammered and out about $40 already.
Things are going great. I decide we need to move to the front row so I can really BE IN THIS MOMENT. I open up my program and decide to start determining who will win the races based on how cool their names are because at this point I’m pretty much in full on “fuck it” mode.
I flip to the next race and what do I see but OH EM GEE, LOOK RACHEL! The names of the #1 dogs in the next two races are Luc(k)as and Megan. THIS IS CLEARLY A SIGN. I knew we were meant to be together and now the gods of Southland Park know it too.
Journey with me into the mind of a crazy person.
I decide that if both Luc(k)as and Megan win their races, I am packing up my bags and moving to Ohio. Luc(k)as’s race is first. Rusty rounds the bend and the dogs are off. Luc(k)as runs a beautiful race and comes in 2nd place which I decide is totally fine because “first is the worst, second is the best, after all.” (I seriously fucking said that).
All right, now Megan just needs to come in 2nd in her race too and I’m off to Ohio to stalk Lukas for the rest of his life. They walk the dogs for the next race out and Megan is a goddamn shit show. She’s smaller than all the other dogs and looks tense. I now see that according the program she’s never been in a single race before and I’m pretty sure she’s going to live up to her name is ruin this whole thing for me. But I love Megan so much already so I’m rooting for her to prove me wrong. PROVE US WRONG, MEGAN. Basically my entire future is riding on this poor little greyhound.
The dogs take off and Megan is LENGTHS behind all the other dogs. She tries really hard and eventually catches up but still comes in dead last shattering all of my hopes and dreams and we both leave the track defeated and heartbroken. After that I continued a bad streak of luck down in the casino and will be launching a kickstarter today to fund my beer/hot dog diet for the remainder of the Western Conference Finals.
All this being said, dog racing is awful and I do not support it.