Life Lessons 1

Greetings, again, from the plane of absurdity and undignified behavior. As a fellow traveler locked in a tomb of flesh, it’s once again my distinct pleasure to help along those hurting souls who are reachin’ out for some form of extra-physical assistance. It’s been my experience that my brother and sister sufferers are often in a state of bewilderment, waiting for somethin’ to fall from the heavens as a sign for them to follow. Well, it ain’t goin’ to happen. We’re put here to trudge along on our own, full diapers and all.

The lesson I learned in the following tale was a difficult one and it took a good part of my life to finally sink in.

It was an unusually hot summer day and I was busy sweating over any one of a number of life’s problems. The point of frustration was rapidly approaching and I let out a good froth of curses just to break the deathly silence. I lifted a soiled hanky from the dirty clothes hamper to wipe my brow when who should appear out of nowhere but His Righteousness himself. The drops o’ sweat were trickling to the tip of my nose and the t-shirt I’d worn for 3 days was clung fast from shoulders to belly.

I gave him a most unwelcoming stare. “What is it ya want now?” I demanded. In the instant the mind is capable of reflecting on a large collection of unpleasant events, I was reminded of the quantity of what the heavenly crowd refer to as “challenges” that had been thrust in my path while I was tryin’ to mind my own business down here. No matter that in reality I had selected each and every one of them myself, we humans are not supposed to remember that, or the point of the whole experience is lost.

He sat in his heavenly lounge chair with a massive stein of ice cold lager and a bowl of fried pork rinds in his lap. He was looking intently into a half-sized newspaper and paid me no attention whatsoever. I edged toward him a bit, tryin’ to see if this was another of those “books o’ life” he was assembling and exactly where it was my own name might appear. To my surprise it was the daily racing form for the entire country; Epsom, Ascot, Cheltenham and all the others. While I watched he carefully circled the name “War Admiral” who was running in the 4th race at Newbury, an 8 year old chestnut hurdler with odds of twelve to one. A drop o’ sweat fell from me onto his paper and he turned to look at me with one o’ those benevolent lookin’ smiles he’s mastered. Then he turned and daintily pursed his lips against the foam heading out over the rim of his frosted glass.

I backed away and made the excuse of a call o’ nature, but instead ran as fast as I could for the nearest betting shop. I placed the whole of next week’s wages on War Admiral to win that afternoon, extending my credit almost to the limit in doing so. Barney told me the odds wasn’t good but I insisted I had a sure thing and talked him into putting a few quid on the same horse. “You’ll be wishin’ you’d mortgaged your shop for this one”, I told him.

Well, I strolled back to the yard and His Holiness was still biding his time, circling more names. I wished I’da stuck around to catch a few for tomorrow, but I wasn’t sure if he’da thought it ethical of me. I strolled up to his fine chair and waited for him to notice me. “So you enjoy playing the horses, do ya?” I queried him. “Makes it a mite unfair for the average Joe, don’t ya think?” He gave me another friendly look but remained as tight lipped as ever.

“So….”, I began again, “that War Admiral looks to be a sure thing then does he? I couldn’t help but notice you’d circled his name there a while back.” He turned to me finally. I darn near jumped out o’ my skin when he actually spoke to me, all the while munchin’ on the piggy puffs.

“I’m not betting on the races”, he says in his oh-so-friendly fashion, “I’m determining their outcomes”.

Determining the outcomes? Well, all the better I thought. Determining the outcomes was he? War Admiral began looking like a gift from heaven itself. I excused myself again and ran upstairs to the bedroom where I knew the wife always had a few loose bills and some change kickin’ around. I scrounged up enough money to have paid for a fine night out and hoofed it back to the betting shop.

“Just in time,” Barney says to me, “the window closes in 5 minutes. First race is about ready to start.”

I dug the grimy money out o’ me pockets and threw it on the counter. “Put it all on War Admiral in the 4th. Hurry!” I pleaded. Then, for once feelin’ as though I had a leg up on the rest o’ the world, I meandered back again to the yard to have a cool drink with the Lord o’ all creation.

“A fine day for racin’”, I said, helping myself to the crunchy snacks. I came all over smug-like; I couldn’t help it. “Yessir, looks like things are finally goin’ to swing my way.” He took a large slug of his beer and offered me some. I took it gladly as the days heat was startin’ to feel dehydratin’.” I piped up again, feelin’ full o’ new life. “I couldn’t help but notice you’ve picked Cascade to win the first race”. I pointed to the circled name on the form. Not as good, the odds in that one. I was glad I’d stuck with War Admiral in the fourth.

Like the sweet sound of a nightingale his voice flowed from his holy tonsils. “Oh, I’m not selecting the winners.” My stomach started with a lurch.

“What’s that you said?”

“I said I’m not selecting the winners”.

I tried to keep the note o’ panic out of my voice as I ventured; “But you told me you were determining the outcomes. What’s that circle mean around War Admiral in the 4th race then?”

“Oh, he’s to be disqualified. The jockey’s going to be hauled before the stewards and warned off for abusing a fellow rider.”

“Ya don’t say.” I began to tremble and stifled the urge to grab him round his neck. My voice wasn’t comin’ out right but I managed to croak the words, all the while pointin’ a craggy finger at him. “I put all of next week’s money on War Admiral, plus the grocery change besides.”

“Yes, I know”

I drank off the last of his beer, to teach him a lesson, and dumped the pork rinds on the driveway. “Why didn’t you tell me?” The rage was barely contained.

“Well, you never asked me did you? By the way, I’ve got a new assignment for you.”

I was approaching apoplexy. “A new assignment? But you still haven’t told me what the last one was to be. I’ll never manage a new one!”

“You’ll just have to fit it in won’t you? I say, old chap, I really must get out of this beastly sun”.

And with that he was off, just vanished as quick as he’d arrived. I stooped down to rescue the pork rinds, that is, those I hadn’t crushed under foot. I haven’t heard hide nor hair from the bastard since, and these mysterious ‘assignments’ remain just that; mysteries.

I spent the next week sleepin’ in the garage and I can no longer stand the smell o’ horses.

-The Celtic Warlord