The Legend of Smoke Stack

Saturday was Heineken Cigar day at Monmouth Park Race Track. A group of my friends and I went for a day of great food, open bar, great cigars, open bar, neat door prizes, open bar and a chance to win some money betting on the ponies. Did I mention the open bar? The first year just two of us went, now about 10 years later, we consistently have a full table of people.

No matter how many times we go, we will not forget or fail to tell the story of Smoke Stack. Smoke Stack is a legend of strange consequence.  He was the essence of good turned bad in the blink of an eye.  Fittingly on the sixth year anniversary of the event I will convey the legend to you.

Seven of us had tickets to cigar day and we showed up ten minutes after it opened. All of the tables under the large tent were taken, so we had to take a table in the hot sun of the ninety degree day. The day was not going well for me. I could not pick a horse to save my life. After losing five straight races I scientifically concluded that the sixth horse in the sixth race (The Heineken Cigar Day Invitational race) named Smoke Stack (a REAL long shot), would definitely be a winner. I professed to my friends that my losing streak would be over and this horse was a 'can't lose'. I made this horse sound like he was Seattle Slew incarnate. My friends laughed at my reasoning for picking the horse and were surprised that I rushed to get my bet in shortly after the fifth race was over, instead of customarily waiting until we saw the horses as they were brought out.

I waved the ticket in triumph and glee as the first five horses came out onto the track. One of my friends jokingly said, “Red's winning horse is coming out next.”. Smoke Stack jetted, not walked, out onto the dirt and as my hopes swelled, they just as quickly were defalted. Not even ten struts later, smoke stack went down. I don't mean fell, I mean all four hooves, as if by magical intervention, left the track at once. The jockey luckily escaped the falling, fluttering horse. All of my friends eyes were on me as I gaped in horror at the scene.

A few minutes of kicking later, the trainer had the horse back on his hooves and he looked like he was ready to take on the challenge again. The jockey approached the horse and once again, by some mystical power, the horses legs flipped vertically in the wrong direction. The surprise from my group turned to laughter as I stood the punchline of some cosmic joke.

Smoke Stack began kicking and bucking like crazy.  He looked like he was trying to do some demonic equine break dance move. The trainer could not calm him down and as foam formed on the edge of the horse's mouth somebody came out on the track, with what looked like a bolt gun.  As the laughter in my group turned to stunned silence, a loud thud was heard and Smoke Stack would rise no more.

I don't think I won one race that day, but the story alone was worth the time and money spent at the track. Every year since, on cigar day, I've bet and lost on the 6th horse in the 6th race, this year was no different. To the people at the track, the 6th race on cigar day is dubbed, The Heineken Invitational Race, but to my friends and I, it will always be The Smoke Stack Memorial.