By Tim Lacy, Special to the AFRO
A potpourri of sports was available for the viewer’s pleasure last weekend. It was hard to make a choice with The Kentucky Derby, the NBA Playoffs and the NHL playoffs assaulting your TV at the same time. Throw in a little golf and you pick ’em. I enjoyed the trash talking between Draymond Green and Rajon Rondo, but most of all, I was given the opportunity to segue into another Sam Lacy story.
During this time of the year, I would always walk into Sam’s apartment and witness him lounging in his chair, focused on a large TV console with a baseball game in full bloom. On top of the big TV console was a portable TV with the golf tournament showing and on the floor, within reach, was a radio with the horses contest blaring from the speaker. His living room looked like the appliance department at Macy’s.
This was Sam at his happiest moment. This also brought a smile to my face because there were some memories tied up in this noise. As a tyke, I traveled quite a bit with my Pop, and every trip was an opportunity for a teaching moment. I not only fielded ground balls with my face until my nose got bloody, I learned to handicap horses and assess the talent of ball players.
This year’s Kentucky Derby brought back a memory I shall treasure forever: Sam, my wife and I had gone to Atlantic City to attend some kind of honors luncheon for my Pop. When the grinning and glad handing was over, we headed home. On the way, we passed the race track and Sam noticed there was 30 minutes until post time for the first race. (Accident? I think not). It was suggested we stop and watch a couple of races. No hurry, no problem!
Ms. L and I were about 10 months into buying a house, and a $2 bet was going to cut into my cigarette money. However, Sam provided each of us with a $20 bill to use as we pleased.
My wife has a system: She will bet the longest shot on the board; and after not breaking the bank in a couple of races, she will put the rest of the cash in her pocket. Did I mention that this woman can squeeze the buffalo off of a nickel?
While she and Sam were poring over the program, I had made my choice. Remember, I had been taught by a Master.
I put down my program and opened a book I had brought along for entertainment. The fact that I was sitting on my cash came under Sam’s scrutiny. He didn’t say anything but he was giving me the stank eye.
When the fifth race rolled around, I made my way to the parimutuel window. Sam relaxed for a moment and asked me,”What did you bet?”
I reported I had bet the number two across the board (first, second & third) and the number four to place (second place).
I glanced at Sam as he started on an age-old lecture.
“The number two horse is a philly (female) running against the boys. This is the spring of the year and all she is interested in is a boyfriend. The guy at the window gave you the number four horse hoping you would slip him a little cash if you won.”
Well, the number two won by half the track and the number four came in second. I cashed in for $168, paid Sam his $20 and bought a hot dog. I spent the rest of the day relishing the fact that the student had learned his lesson well.
Sam wanted to know the reason I chose the number two, and it gave me pleasure in pointing out that the number two was Misty Dancer, a product of the Native Dancer bloodline.
All champions.
It was a great day.
