Maple Street Loop/Oaklawn Park

I walked the Maple Street Loop this morning 34:10. Z Man and I will leave for Oaklawn Park to watch the Southwest Stakes about four hours from now. It's a wide-open race. At this moment, I believe my money will be on Mr. Z, but that could change. Mostly I hope for access to everyone I need to speak to, and that I write a good story.
At 2:47 p.m., about an hour and a half before the Southwest, it's just shitty here at Oaklawn. It's 38°F, with rainfall mixed with a smattering of snow, and the wind is blowing from the north at about 20 miles an hour. Now I'm leaning toward Bayerd. He was second in the Smarty Jones and shows a propensity for off-track conditions. The track here is officially listed as sloppy.
Far Right won again, this time to take $18 out of my pants, leaving me with a profit of $78.70 after six trips. The great benefit of this particular trip was a bit of slap-stick comedy that had the group I was with in the grandstand laughing out loud.
BJ noticed it first. Before the sixth race, with cold rain falling nearly horizontally through a hard, wet wind from the north, there was a man at the rail watching the post parade. He was the only person outdoors and all he had to protect himself was a tattered umbrella. No more than half of it was functional, which he held near his head. The rest blew in polyester shards across his hat, neck, and chest.
"Man, this has gotta be the most important post parade of that guy's life," Pete said. "What could he possibly be looking for?"
BJ laughed. " 'All right, fellas, the four looks good. You couldn't have seen what I saw. I'm telling you, he looks great!' "
As soon as the horses walked past and began to jog away, the man turned to go back inside. God it's cold. As dark as dark gray gets. Fucking driving rain. It's 35°F. This guy has to be miserable. And then his hat blows off. And suddenly here's this poor sap with a five-hundred-year-old umbrella chasing a one-size-fits-all truck-stop hat down the apron in front of hundreds of witnesses, all laughing hysterically.
"If anyone deserves to cash a ticket, it's that motherfucker," BJ said.
Last Sunday, eight days ago, this weird late winter weather started. That morning was the last time I've seen Ruth. Abby (with whom I played golf the morning you fried chicken for me eight years ago) asked about her last night in the Oaklawn pressbox. I hope to have good news when I see Abby a week or so from now.