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A number of columns ago I wrote about our family’s love affair with horse racing, a passion that still abides today, even though we no longer have horses going to post.

So I thought I would revisit that unique world today and look at the gambling aspect, because in horse racing that is one of the major factors of our enjoyment.

Now don’t get me wrong, the biggest part of it was always the horses themselves; the opportunity to go out and be among the animals and environment, whether that be the barns or the grandstands.

Being around the animals, it never fails to impress me just how majestic the horses are. To this day, when we pass a pasture, I will note the horses standing out in the pens, grazing on the long grass with the slick coats shining in the sun.

But the wagering was also a draw and I was doing it at the ripe old age of 15, at least. Yep, I bucked the law, laying down bets on the sly and not at all looking obvious by lurking around the betting windows.

I wasn’t particularly good at  it, but from time to time if I had a spare couple bucks, I would make my picks and dad would carry my wishes to the window to place my bet and collect my winnings if it was applicable. Pulled in a $98 exacta win once. Pretty sweet.

I would like to think that even though I wasn’t exactly knocking them dead, I was actually okay, winning more than a few times throughout my time at the track.

Regardless of how good or bad I was, I loved the process of trying to pick the top horse. Working the numbers to discover if a horse was better in the mud or on a dry track; short or long distance. We even got our hands on a device about the size of a TV remote control that was supposed to help us figure out who a winner might be in a race.

However, the amount of stuff you had to input and returns didn’t exactly match up, nevermind the fact that nobody in our family ever really figured out how the thing even worked.

So instead, we simply unfolded the racing form each weekend and went to work, paging through the stats that contained an extensive amount of information regarding horses running on a Saturday or Sunday.

Inside you could see how a horse fared in its last outings and when, track conditions (fast, muddy, sloppy, etc), the jockeys who rode and distances. But it wasn’t the only place for information.

A good amount can be made by observing the horse itself. Not that I was a horse whisperer, but simply watching the animal could tell a person quite a bit.

A horse that “danced” in the paddock could hint at a couple different things. Either it might expend a bunch of energy in an anxious display and not have a little bit extra for the end, or it told you that it was ready to run.

Likewise, a horse that walked easily in the post parade, head held high, displayed confidence and an easy-going demeanor could perhaps lead to a couple dollars.

Or the horse was Triple Twine, who ran at Atokad Park and was crazy. He once threw a rider, ran around the track, was reigned in, re-saddled, put in the gate and still won. Nobody figured him out.

Does an owner and trainer retain the same jockey for a particular horse or a stable of animals for instance? Because that could show a real connection that has been working. The trainer knows the jockey and the jockey knows the horse.

Me, I tended to use the tried and true methods of that one is a handsome animal or the jockey talked to me.

Being at a smaller track afforded you a close connection to everything around you. Leaning up against the backside fence, depending on the race, would draw you up close to the animals and the riders themselves, and some of these riders were talkers and many knew our family.

Some of these riders tended to be charismatic talkers and would gladly carry on a quick conversation with an impressionable lad just before the race began. Basketball fans had Michael Jordan. I had Jerry Jewel.

Many of these riders earned a lifelong fan just by saying “hi” and oftentimes, my own wagers came down to that rider. But it also came down to the horse.

Maybe it was because I was a smaller kid, but I loved the bigger horses. The horses with the long legs and broad chests. Their reach and stride on the run was something magical to watch. A black horse, with white socks and white stripe cutting down its forehead would almost always bring my money to the window.

All of this love for putting money down and trying to figure out the game of betting actually bled into my life away from the track as well.

I was in speech when in high school, a Minnesota State High School League sanctioned activity. Remember that.

The weird teenager I was, I brought such stimulating conversations pieces as the paranormal to my unimpressed audience. But also, wagering. A teenage boy, who couldn’t even legally gamble, was bringing the process of gambling, to other teenagers and of course the adult judge.

That seems like this should have been an issue in some way, and yet I revealed the tactics for other high schoolers and judges for picking their own winners, exactas, trifectas, pick-sixes or daily doubles. Probably a good thing I wasn’t very good.