By: Derrick Bell
Growing up in northern Indiana, I always looked forward to Spring Break. My parents, my brother and I would cram in our four door and drive the 22-hours or so south to visit relatives in south Florida.
The trip would inevitably take the same long, lonely pattern: We would leave when we got out of school, head south on past the flat cornfields until we hit the Midwestern metropolis known as Louisville. My dad would curse the traffic heading over the bridge and vow to take us out of school early next year to avoid the traffic. We went to Florida 18 times in my 18 years in that house, and we never once were pulled out of school early to make this trip.
Derrick Bell and Dad
We would speed South, planning to hit Atlanta at night to avoid a second traffic catastrophe. My father would drive the entire way and stop for approximately 20-minutes to take a nap. This was before cell phones and iPods, so all I had in the back was a CD player (anti skip of course, only the best) and a couple of CDs which should remain nameless.
OK, I am sure they consisted of the latest Pearl Jam album, “Sparkle and Fade” by Everclear (quite possibly the most underrated album of the era) and “Cracked Rear View” by Hootie (yes, I will own all my choices, and actually some of the songs still hold up).
As I got older, I learned this destination and trip served two purposes: one obviously to see my extended family, who all escaped the snowy confines of Buffalo to find a new home in sunny south Florida. The other, and harder to understand at that time, was that driving in a Chevy Corsica for 22-hours and sleeping in a cramped room with 4 other relatives really does save money, and money wasn’t something we had a lot of growing up, but we had enough.
The Florida itinerary was pretty basic. A couple days at the beach, a few trips to the park for my brother and I to show off our most recent athletic prowess to the family (more so my brother than me, but we will get to that.)
But for me, the vacation centered around our trips to the track. A close second was obviously Dania Jai- Alai, but that’s a much longer story. At least once, my dad would throw us in the car and make the drive to Calder or Hialeah (it still saddens me to see how both are now shuttered). From an early age, my dad refused to let me simply pick horses by their names, and insisted I learn to read a program. The only time we made a bet without merit was after my grandmother had passed away. Her favorite number was three, so the three horse took some of our action in the first race every time we went to the track.
Derrick Bell and dad at Pegasus
Thanks Mimi, sometimes that was our only winner of the day. I would normally receive a budget of $4 per race, and I had to explain to my dad why I liked a horse or else he wouldn’t put the bet in. My dad’s betting style was pretty simple: he only bet closers that had middle to long odds.
Unfortunately, I didn’t get the best education in deciphering the nuances of the program, apart from finding the horse that doesn’t consistently fade. Normally my brother and I were spent and bored by the fifth race and would end up getting into a fight by the Start- Finish line. This behavior would welcome some side action from the degenerates, as they would take bets on us. Sharper money always hit my brother, who was four years younger and at the time smaller, but much tougher. He would go on to play Division 1 basketball at West Point, become an Army Ranger, and work in Finance. I am in Education and currently play fourth tier Paddle Tennis for my Tennis/Pool club in New Jersey. Shoutout to Minisink Pool Club. I am currently undefeated at 3-0 in doubles, but I am not here to brag. Sharp money always wins out.
After I graduated High School, I forgot about Horse Racing. I attended a Kentucky Derby after I graduated college with some buddies, but that was just for the scene, not necessarily the betting. We got infield passes and were told by a friend who resided in Louisville that if we hid our alcohol under some sodas in a cooler, we would be able to sneak booze in. That information turned out to be dreadfully inaccurate, as we watched in horror as the security guards pitched bottle after bottle of alcohol into a huge dumpster. Luckily (or unluckily, depending on your stomach), I had strategically placed some rum in a plastic bag and taped it to my inner leg. The temperature hit about 95 that day, so I don’t need to tell you the state of that rum after it made it through security.
Bell Family at the Pegasus
Fast forward 25-years and COVID hits. I, like many part- time sports bettors, gravitated to Horse Racing since it was the only show in town. My dad hadn’t had the best run of things, as his second marriage had fizzled, and he had left his Sports Broadcasting job, which was his true passion.
In fact, last year he was inducted into the Indiana Broadcaster’s Hall of Fame (that one was a humble brag). It was tough watching my dad struggle and feeling helpless to support him. But he ended up moving to The Villages in Florida, meeting a great woman (Barb, you rule) and teaching her Horse Racing. In fact, there is a strong case to be made that she has become more successful at betting horses than my father.
While this feat isn’t so difficult to attain, the fact that it only took her about two-months to reach it was surprising. With extra time on his hands, close proximity to Tampa Bay Downs, and a partner in crime, got him back into the sport. As I was also getting back into the sport, our paths connected once again.
We now had one more thing to talk about, to connect with, and to argue over. This past month my dad and Barb flew me down to Florida from New Jersey to attend the Pegasus with them. My dad had come up to New Jersey a couple of times and we would hit the Meadowlands for some off-track betting, but this was different. We got a program the night before, spent all night outside with some friends and Uncle Jeff handicapping, arguing, making cases for horses that seemed hopeless.
We arrived at Gulfstream early that Saturday as so many happy memories from my childhood came rushing back. The anticipation, the buzz, the crazy outfits, it was all there. And I got to share it with my dad. Our seats were in the Walking Ring, so we grabbed a standup table by the track too.
At the Pegasus
Being that close to such beautiful animals and taking in the sights and sounds of a race day, no matter how big or small, still gets my heart racing. Being able to walk up to the Start/Finish line and take in each race, then walk back and argue with my dad about why we didn’t have that horse was a routine that I cherished. Pegasus was a chalky day, so unfortunately, I don’t have any great stories about hitting it big. But what I got to take away, I would argue, was more special, at least to me. I got to reconnect with my dad and share in something we both love.
The common question you get after a day of racing is “Did you win?” I always found that question confusing. Win what? Sure, hitting a big price or a Pick 5 is a feeling that is difficult to reproduce in any other sport. But, as a small- time bettor, I value the experience just as much. The time with friends and family. The excuse to get close to amazing animals and watch something that is such a part of our collective history.
I am not naïve to the issues that exist in Horse Racing. I read about them every day on Twitter. High takeouts, drugged horses, cheating scandals, you name it. Some of the stuff is hard to read, and I do not take those issues lightly, nor do I believe this sport is without its warts.
Much does need to be done and can be done to make this sport better, both for humans and horses. But sometimes I like to take a break from all of that, step back, and am just grateful that this sport has given me the chance to reconnect with my dad. Even for one day. It has given me another reason to call him on a Friday, to send him a clip of a close race, or a crazy ride by a jockey.
I guess you could argue that I shouldn’t need an excuse to do those things, but I guess in my case I did. So, when people ask, “Did you win?”, my response is “Yea, I did.” Thanks dad, I hope you hit a big one this weekend. And I can’t wait to do it again.
