As a gullible teenager, I was once given a "sure thing" on a horse by a local goniff who billed himself as a honorable "sports wagerer," but who, as I later found out via a police blotter, was in reality a twice-convicted bookmaker.In any event, the chestnut mare, which was entered in the fifth race at sprawling Belmont Park, allegedly had a bloodline that was comprised of champion equine genetics.
As you may have guessed by this juncture, the horse not only didn't win, but finished so far out of the money, it needed a trailer to return to the paddock. And, as a testimonial to my gullibility, I had placed a week's worth of lawn-mowing wages on this future glue-factory resident.
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