And you think Big Brown had a rough go of it at the Belmont Stakes...

While gaining a spot in line for horse racing immortality with the likes of Secretariat, Seattle Slew and Affirmed wasn't on the line for me, it turns out I would be almost as disappointed by day's end... and not because Big Brown would be denied the Triple Crown by finishing dead last.

A little background first.

It's Friday night here at The Sun Chronicle, less than 24 hours before potentially the biggest horse race in 30 years. Personally, I really couldn't care less about horse racing. My grandfather loved horses and my daughter likes ponies, but to watch them get whipped and taxed to the brink of death (and sometimes beyond) for the sake of finishing in first place makes little sense to me. They are majestic creatures and all, but I'd just assume watch them run free in a field with no blinders and no jockey. Despite my stance on horse racing, I still have to pay attention to it this time of year because of the Kentucky Derby, the Preakness and the Belmont Stakes, the three premier horse races in the country.

And this year particularly we had to pay more attention to it than usual because Big Brown had already won the Kentucky Derby and the Preakness and is an overwhelming favorite to win the Belmont Stakes. If everything holds true to form then Big Brown is going to be the first Triple Crown winner in 30 years, since Affirmed in 1978. So this is kind of a big deal even to the casual sports fan. Anyway, I'm editing a page that has a story about Big Brown on it and a graphic catches my eye. It's the entrants and odds for Saturday's race. One horse stands out in particular. The number 6 horse, Da'Tara.

Now I'm not the type of guy to invest my rooting interest in a sports team because it has a fearsome mascot or undeniably cool uniforms, but I am one to pull for a horse because of its name and number. In this case, my wife's name is Tara and her favorite number is 6. Obviously, this horse is Saturday's winner. Ah, then I see that it is a 30-1 longshot, the second longest shot in what ended up being a nine-horse field.

Oh well.

Still, when I get home from work in the wee hours of the morning I let my wife half-asleep wife know about 'our' horse and pitch the idea of throwing a few dollars on it. This way here if our unflappable formula for winning - which is rooted in names and favorite numbers - comes through, we'll have a few extra bucks and it'll make watching the race all that more enjoyable.

Saturday, the day of the race, is ridiculously hot around here - at least 95 with high humidity. Still, I decide to roll out of bed and do yardwork. After mowing and raking the lawn and suffering what had to be heat stroke, I almost forget about the horse race. But about an hour before the race I remember and ask my wife if she still wants to wager. We agree we should and I make my way to Plainridge Racecourse in Foxboro, which is taking off-track bets for the Belmont.

This is where things get a little dicey.

First off, I make a pitstop at a local ATM before going to the track. What to bet? I could just play it safe and take out 20 bucks and bet $5 to win, place and show on this horse, seeing how, realistically, it has very little chance of actually winning. So it's settled... and I take out $200.

Huh?

Hear me out.

I'm not some over-the-top gambler who spends his last red cent at the track or on scratch tickets or Keno and not have anything left over to buy milk or bread. I hardly ever gamble. I don't like Foxwoods, never really got caught up in that poker fad and the March Madness pool that I put seven entries for is always only for entertainment purposes. But for this one day I'm going to throw caution to the wind and put the two bills on this horse. If it wins, we are going to clean up bigtime. If he doesn't win, well. If he doesn't win, then maybe I only bet the $20 when anyone asks. Besides, George Bush just cut me a nice check and he wants me to stimulate the economy, so I'm just doing my part as a good American.

Anyway, fast forward to Plainridge. I get to park near the front entrance because they have a few spots cordoned off for people just coming to bet the Belmont. I don't bother getting a program. I know the horse's name and number and I've been here a couple of times before to bet the Kentucky Derby, so I pretty much know what I'm doing. Find a teller and say to the lady, "Belmont Stakes, I want 50 to win, 50 to place and 100 to show on the six, Da'Tara."

Check my tickets before I go... yep, Race 10, Belmont, $50 win, $50 place, and then on another ticket $100 show. I wagered more for show, thinking the horse had a better chance of finishing third than actually winning, and being 38-1, we still figure to make some decent coin if he should finish third.

I get home a few minutes before post time and a few minutes before dinner.

We're sitting down as a family to eat dinner, all four of us, when the race starts. The television's on in the other room so we can hear it. Because of the longshotness (yeah, not a word) of the horse and his chances of actually winning, we figure we'll just listen to it, and if things get interesting we can watch the end.

"And they're off... out to the front is Da'Tara, followed by..."

My wife and I look at each other with eyebrows raised. Then cooler heads prevail as we both realize that very few, if any, horses actually go wire to wire in such races. We've seen it before, horse breaks first, leads to about the halfway point then crosses the finish line a few minutes after they shut the lights off at the track.

"It's Da'Tara, then a gap back to..."

Hmmm. Shouldn't he start fading soon?

The next time we hear the announcer there's no mention of our horse, the only concern is that Big Brown is bringing up the rear and his chances at the Triple Crown are fading. Our horse is still in front at the backstretch and approaching the final turn.

"And down the stretch they come!...Da'Tara still in front!"

And my wife push our chairs out and gallop into the living room ourselves to actually see what's going on. This horse isn't going anywhere, and Big Brown has pulled up. Could it be? Even if he fades now we're still gonna get third place... he can't do worse than second now... this horse is gonna win!

My wife and I are yelling 'go!' and whooping it up pretty good. The windows are open and I'm pretty sure some of our neighbors contemplated calling the police. Our carrying on scared our four-and-a-half year old daughter so much so that she curled up like a porcupine under our kitchen table until we came back in. Our little boy, 18-months old and still eating in his high chair, just said 'doin?' when we finally settled back to finish dinner, his way of asking us what we were doing.

My wife's first question was how much did I bet. And seeing as how we won, that question wasn't immediately followed by a frying pan strike to the head. Instead, she scurried to call a few friends and her parents to let them know the good news while I did the math on our jackpot, both of our hearts still pounding.

$3,415

Thank goodness my wife's name is Tara and not Icabad Crane (No. 10 horse, still running probably).

That might not be a lot of money to a lot of people, but for us it's a nice chunk of change, especially with two kids and summer vacation on the horizon. The question wasn't what we were going to do with the money, it was when would I get it?

I decided to stop at Plainridge on my way to work and get it then, no sense fooling around.

Go to the same window I made my wager at, only this time a different teller was there. Lady takes my tickets, scans them both and materoffactly tells me, "nothing on these."

Silly teller. Must be some racetrack humor, scare the new guy. Or, maybe she's never handled one of these big winners before and is just a little nervous. She studies the tickets again, but doesn't scan them.

"Were you trying to bet the big race?" she asks.

Trying? No, lady, I drove here to bet a different race and drove back home for no reason to watch the Belmont Stakes... this is what I think to myself sarcastically, but what comes out is a simple, "Yeah, the Belmont Stakes."

"Well that was Race 11 at Belmont... these tickets are for Race 10."

Needless to say my heart pretty much stopped beating. I never did lose consciousness but I definitely was in a daze for the next few hours.

How could this happen? A track manager pulled me aside into a private room and studied the tickets. He knew what they could have been worth, had they been for the right race. He knew that the teller screwed up and gave me tickets to the wrong race. I explained my situation and he sympathized, but at the same time he absolved his teller of any fault, noting that it was my responsibility to check the tickets. Apparently the teller made my wagers for the race which was about to be run on the Belmont undercard, not the feature race.

Talk about a buzzkill. Instead of the three grand, I was told the best the track would do is refund the money I bet, and even that was a longshot.

Breaking the news over the phone to my wife wasn't that fun. All I got was a slow, drawn out "shut, up."

Nope, no kidding.

I still can't believe what happened, though I've gotten over it in the two weeks since.

Why the column? Maybe it's so I don't have to retell the story ever again, I can just hand the person a copy of the paper. Or maybe I'm hoping that some hotshot lawyer will read this and somehow help me get the money I thought I had won.

Either way, I'm done with horses... you can bet on it.

DANNY CRANDALL still feels like a horse's you-know-what but can be reached at 508-236-0395 or at dcrandall@thesunchronicle.com.