As promised, I am going to post, that very short story I wrote many years ago. If you don't know what a Minus Show Pool is let me give a very brief description.
When all the wagers go down, the track extracts about twenty percent from the total pool of each placing ie Win, Place and Show. Once that extraction is done, the amount left is divided up to return to the winning bets. There is by law a minimum payout amount. In other words you can't bet $2.00 and lose money if your wager comes in.
On occasion and usually only in the show pool, there will be more wagers than money to return. This is then called a Minus Pool, and the track loses money. Needless to say, they don't like that and will cancel the wagering on a particular horse, if it looks like that is going to be the result. However if the money goes down really late, like just before the windows close, even as the horses are standing in the gate. Too late, Minus Show Pool pay out willl result.
Since I wrote this, rules and payout amounts may have changed. But I am sure basically this is still how it goes. Enjoy and be sure to email if you have any questions. Also if you sign up to follow, the system will notify you when there is a new posting.
Thank-you all for your interest,
Shelley Riley
The
Bag Man Cometh
by: Shelley L. Riley
What evil
lurks in the heart of a man, a man that would lay down one hundred grand on a
one to two shot, to show? On the
California Fair circuit he's wicked indeed.
However, if he lays it off on the “Wicked North” in the Hollywood Gold
Cup, the deed is done, thy will is done and one hundred grand is simply gone.
This does not however, deter our intrepid one; he slinks
back north from south, to make back in the North what the “North” in the south,
took from him. Thus something wicked
this way comes, striking terror in the hearts of all pari-mutuel managers in its
path. He ferrets out, the very next day,
“Wing It”, the Appaloosa equivalent to Secretariat, at the Alameda County Fair.
“Wing It” has won no less than 24 races.
On a wing and a prayer, he lets fly one hundred grand, just to
show.
Everyone knows, whichever way you face “Wing It” in the
gate, backwards, forwards, any which way, he most assuredly will leave, to say
the least, all the others in his wake.
Result, minus show pool to the excess of twenty-six grand, our man has
gleaned five cents per dollar. Let’s
see, that's five grand up on Sunday, from the one hundred grand down on
Saturday, after all North is up and South is down.
Not one to rest on success, our man sharpens his pencil and
bends his neck to the task. Sure enough, at least to him, a sure thing if there
ever was one scheduled for the very next day.
“Swans Crossing”, a four year old maiden, running for an eight thousand
dollar claim. Cross my fingers, hope to
die, who would have the presence of mind to find a sure thing in the bottom of
the barrel, on the fairs.
OK, I suppose it did look good, I mean if anything could
look good at that claiming level, but HELLO, this filly had never won a
race. Wait, I see the answer, its right
there before my very eyes, how could I have missed it? “Swans Crossing” is out
of a mare by “MAKE MONEY”! Result, minus
show pool in excess of another twenty-two grand.
Oh goody, another five grand up, only ninety grand to even
for our hearty nemesis. So let's see, our
man need only risk one hundred grand, eighteen more times. Maybe it becomes clearer to you if not to me,
when you realize one-million-eight-hundred-thousand must pass through the
windows, without a miss, to get back the ninety grand he's still down from the “Wicked
North” wager.
Amazing isn't it, who is this masked man anyway? Why nobody knows for sure, but they call him;
The Bag Man. The what man? You say.
The Bag Man! Well, I suppose that
makes sense, after all he has to carry it to the track in something. Does that mean if he used a money belt, he
would be the belt man? Or if he arrived
at the track, with it in his pockets, would this make him the bulging pocket
man? Could there be more than one? Could we have discovered a fraternity or
maybe they are born this way?
Could this bag man be the descendent of the man I met at a
Bay Meadows quarter horse meet in the sixties?
My father used to take me to the races, once or twice a season. I loved it; I picked the horses by their
color, as good a way as any, right? Curious
and bored between races, I spotted a man lurking in the shadows. He was really old to my twelve year old eyes
and he blended in nicely with the background, dressed all in black. I watched him for some time, noting his
shapeless long black overcoat. His
voluminous pockets stretched to bursting with what appeared to be scraps of old
papers, all wadded up and shoved where ever they would fit. He watched the tote board like a hawk,
occasionally snatching out a piece of paper and scribbling madly.
At the two minute call, he would stuff away his scraps and
pull from a limitless number of inside pockets, equally stuffed to overflowing,
a wad of crumpled newspaper. He unfolded
from its center what appeared to be a huge amount of money and away he would go
to the windows. After each race I watched
him go back to the window to cash his tickets, the cash went back into the newspaper
and back into the inside pocket.
Even at twelve I
wasn't dumb, this man looked as if he knew what he was doing, and I thought he
must surely be some eccentric millionaire.
I'm sure my father would have had a heart attack if he had seen me
talking to this disreputable looking character.
The early sixties were a kinder, gentler time, we weren't taught to be
afraid of everybody. He was gruff, but I
must have appeared harmless, for he explained his methods to me, when asked, well
sort of.
He watched the tote board in the last five minutes before
post for the smart money, as he called it, to go down. Then he would use his own form of calculating,
on those bits of paper, to decide if it was an opportune time to make his show
bet. That was all he ever bet, to show
and only when his strict criteria were met.
I had never forgotten that unusual character, as witnessed by my instant
recall, when I was told of The Bag Man.
We must admit there are some parallels here, but maybe only the shadow
knows for sure.
If you're standing at the window waiting to cash a bet, and
you should hear the distinct crinkling of a paper bag. Look to the tote board,
check for a blank where the show should be, tote boards don't go that high, at
least they didn’t. You can't be sure and you may never know, but the illusive,
mysterious, scourge of the minus show pool, THE BAG MAN may have just this way
come!
