Climb High The Mountain

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July 10th, 2017
Back Climb High The Mountain

In the blue distance from my hotel room on the famous Las Vegas Strip, I can see the mountains. They look near but I know they are much farther away than they look. The thin desert air and lack of humidity makes things seem much closer than they are.

Today, I am not in a very good mood. My rent is due, $98 for the week's lodging. I have $36 in my pocket, and the writing job that had been promised to me, never materialized.

I almost reached for my phone to call Salvation Army. However, I refrained, and instead, wandered down to Binion's Horseshoe and arrived there just before the races started at Santa Anita. I had 15 minutes to race one and made a hurried selection of horses for the place pick 8 of the day. My horses had to finish first or second in all the races for me to win. My total wager cost me $16, leaving me with a bankroll of $20.

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Oh, well, nothing ventured, nothing gained. I sat down at a seven-card stud poker game and bought in for $20.

When a gambler is all-in, he feels like an eagle sitting perched on a rock high above the Grand Canyon. There he is, on the edge of paradise. If he floats off the rock, he will either sink or go higher.

My money is on the horses and I want to climb that mountain.

While playing my poker hands, I keep my eye on the television monitor that is carrying the results of the Santa Anita races to me. I have two horses in the first race and one finishes second, paying $5.80 to place.

In the second race, I have one horse that goes off 7-1. It comes in second.

In the third race, my selection goes off at 9/2 and wins the race by a head.

Race four, I have two horses. They finish first and second. Now I have two live cards for the place pick eight.

In the fifth race, I have a horse that goes off at 5-1. The other poker players have noticed my increased interest in the races at Santa Anita and they asked me about my situation. I tell them. They turn their interest to the television and begin to cheer me on.

My pick wins the fifth and sixth races. I have two horses in the seventh and one in the eighth. I am mesmerized by the TV set. A female player who is sitting next to her husband grabs my arm.

'I'm with you, baby,' she whispers. I promise the table if I hit all the races, I will treat us to Dom Perignon Champagne.

I win the seventh race. Now just one more race and I am a winner. I re-check my selection. The horse is named Olliman. It is going off at 8-1 odds and it is a seven-year-old. OH MY LORD, I think, why did I not see that? A seven-year-old horse -- he'll die of a heart attack before he reaches the finish line!

Olliman broke dead last and was running last at the turn. I almost tore up my ticket. Then, the horse started moving. He swung wide as they went into the stretch. The jockey was beating Olliman furiously with his whip as they pounded to the finish line. Four or five horses hit the line at the same time. I wasn't sure but I thought Olliman finished fourth. A wizened, toothless player in a straw hat shook his head.

'You got a winner, Buddy. Your horse came in second.'

When they posted the results a couple of minutes later, the old-timer proved to be right. Olliman finished second, behind a 35-1 shot that won the race. I had two winning tickets that each paid $6,000.

The redhead screamed, her husband shouted, I ordered champagne and life continued as I looked down on the world from the top of the mountain.

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