Before Twitter, YouTube and Facebook

Off track betting was a guy named Max.

You had a suspicion this person or that was an idiot, but it wasn’t as obvious.

If you were handicapping a race and wanted to see fractions, you had to go back to the chart.

A selfie was you, some vaseline and Miss March.

Stars like Cary Grant were at the track all the time.

During an inquiry, you were totally left in the dark.

Comedy albums.

If you wanted to see racing on Sunday, you had to go to Agua Caliente.

Common sense was a lot more common.

You weren’t embarrassed to tell someone you work at the racetrack.

The daily double was as exotic as a bet got.

A day at the track was much more like the movie “Let It Ride”.

Newsstands and Century Blvd. featured tout sheets.

Mud marks.

For some reason, having cigarette smoke blown in your face seemed a lot less irritating.

You turned on the radio at 7:30 in the morning to get the scratches from Bill Garr.

Trump was only screwing up the United States Football League, not the United States.

*** @TashmanMortyS