Son played on… and on

FREDERIC JOHN

Artist/Vendor

I knew Son Seals, His band played rough. Blues, Unedited, raw, True.

Know I now, how his pain must feel, Diabetes, wearing away your body

But not your soul.

BB suffered too, by that time

His wealth buffered ‘Gainst numbness, and with his right foot ‘B’ tapped out rhyme.

Son stayed struggling — His sandpaper life — the scratchy side For him, no suicide

A bullet to the face, Lower extremity amputation as it did in the frigid opening week at Bowie in January 1983, when WEGONE DAGGONE nipped GYPSY O’SHAY at the nose, as the two longshots skidded across the icy finish line. Back up at Aqueduct in New York, “The Dream Track,” a few meets down the road, I celebrated my 33rd birthday, hitting the 8-9 feature exacta. “VOLT,” over “LIGHT MY POCKET.” 20-1 odds over 50-1! Sparks flew for what some (perhaps even Andy Beyer the noted handicapper) enthused over this combo price: $889 fresh claims. They called it the Electric Exacta, and NoteL the IRS caught up to me the following spring, for a hefty chunk of “gamblings winnings tax.”

Yet he maintained syncopation Right to the last of his playin’ on–Beautiful blue songs!

In a future missive, I might ruminate over “EIRE CANAL” with “PROPELTER,” “PETES’ PRESENT” over “LITTLE RED ROMEO,” (Más extolled my skill in netting the trifecta as well that Sunday at Bowie - don’t recall the third finisher in that one, but Alberto Delgado was up). Can’t recall who came in behind FORTUNATE FABLE up at Belmont, but the Irish turfer drew off at 68-1 and held on. That was around 1982, and from then on I oft hummed the Statler Bros. “Don’t Wait On ME,” when my ‘ringer’ stayed out front!