I was reminded of something from my childhood by this great post over at Momo Fali's:
Who Needs A Crystal Ball
If you haven't read it yet, go ahead and pop over. I'll wait.
Wow... that carpet REALLY needs a vacuuming...
I wonder what I'm going to do on my day off tomorrow...
NOT vacuuming, that's for sure...
Oh! You're back? Cool story eh?
Okay, so here's my similar tale from years ago:
Back in the 60's, our family would visit relatives in Alberta every summer during The Calgary Stampede. On those hot dusty July days, we would be dragged to the exhibits, parades and the huge Western-themed midway. The unmistakable odor of livestock permeated the air, mixed with the aroma of corndogs and cotton candy.
We would spend entire days there for a week on end. The only shade we were afforded came from the cowboy hats required to even gain entry to the Rodeo Grounds.
One year (I was about eight I believe) I remember sitting in the stifling grandstand waiting for the horse races to start. Being the youngest in the group, of course I was fidgety. I really wasn't interested in the actual races, but I did enjoy watching the majestic animals proudly trot around in front of us before lining up on the track. Noting the numbers on their flanks, I took a look at the program and announced to my family which horse was going to win the first race.
Of course this was cause for a few snickers and smiles from my older brother, sister and parents.
That was okay, I just wanted to make a game of it.
When the first race ended and I had in fact picked the winner, it was chocked up to "Luck".
Then all but the final race ended...with my predictions for each and every one spot on. Today, I honestly can't recall if there were six or eight races running that day; but I do remember that the basis for my choice of winner included my affinity to the horse's name and/or silks color ... all very scientific, naturally! But not being a gambling family, no one bet; we were just there to watch.
Needless to say, with each successive race, more and more spectators around us were listening in. Then an elderly gent came up to me and asked who I thought would win the last race. I sheepishly picked a name that jumped out at me and the man left to put his money down.
And of course...
...the horse lost.
I felt bad for the fellow, but I think I felt worse that I didn't get them all right.
I think the Gods of Luck just wanted to play too.
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