I put this up as a "sticky" for folks to post memories and memorable times at Saratoga. Posts about the track, the town, or anything about the area during the races would be most appreciated. Share your good times and bad times with the board.

Sometime in the 1980s I'm parked at the rail just inside the 1/8th pole (who could figure that out?) and the heat is getting to me. I have a tall cold one but I'm sweating in the high humidity. It's 92 degrees. If I remember correctly I'm holding some nice tix for the grass race that's coming in 18 minutes. There is a huge black cloud way up and way beyond the 3/8ths pole. In about ten minutes that cloud is over the track and lets loose some rain that makes it impossible to see 50 feet in front of your face. In no time the temperature drops from 92 to 70 and the track becomes a sea of soup and the grass becomes a bog. Evening time I went to the trots and the track there was fast. I've been across both the Atlantic and the Pacific Oceans in war and peace but at no place have I ever seen quick rain like I have seen at Saratoga.

We got 2.5 inches last 2 days, all gone now

One time in the 80's I get a long weekend from my real job and go to Saratoga to work a window with my racing license as a part-time NYRA employee. I'm laid up in cheap digs down in Albany. I'm in the grandstand and open my window early on with the usual $110 in green and change as the windows open 90 minutes before first post.

A huge man comes to my window and presents a $100 win ticket. The ticket is from Woodbine.

I explain that it's no good at Saratoga and the man goes beserk.

He can't get to me but he begins to belt, toss, bump, and be nasty with everybody behind him on line. He's screaming "Racetracks take all your money but the fuggers won't pay off!!! I'm going to kill every fugg I can get near!!! Fugg you, rat bastard racetracks!!!"

He goes away in a hurry, the armed officers nailed him and took him away in cuffs. The guys in grey uniform on NYRA grounds have peace officer status and power of arrest. The kids in the grey uniform are ushers who couldn't do much more than ask you to be nice. Most of the armed people are retired police officers or people that work for NYRA with pistol permits with a military background. Years ago when I was a kid they were from Pinkerton but then they were fom Wackenhut.

I've know a Wacky for many years that I served with as a Marine more than 40 years ago. He's a black lieutenant and always looks like he's ready for inspection. Never do I pass by without shaking his hand and giving him a hug at the track.

Me: "You finally learned how to shine your shoes and carry a pistol that doesn't have rust on it."

He: "I love you, Mac. Snag a winner and a God love you."

I'm at Saratoga and I'm troubled by the first race. Across from the paddock, Harvey Pack has an office. I walk in as the son of one of his old friends to say hello and Andy Beyer is sitting there. I was in my early 30s then. Harve tells me he's clueless but Mr. Beyer gives me a horse that should be a key bet. I bet the "key" up and down and it runs out.

On the rail as I watch my cash go up in smoke, two guys go nuts next to me: "BIG BUCKS FOR MY SISTER's AGE IN THE EXACTA!!!"

Only at Saratoga.

Most of my memories of Saratoga, are ... how shall I put this .... a little bit inappropriate for a mixed company board! (And that's why they're such fond memories, natch!)

One thing that I will share. I was, perhaps, the number-one fan of Lil's Lad. I adored that horse. So much that I ended up buying on Ebay the saddle towel he wore in the Champagne Stakes at Belmont (and yes, I still have it). And it wasn't cheap.

Anyway, I became friendly with a trainer on the backstretch (whose name I won't mention here), and after we went to visit his horses in the early evening, we drove by the barn of Neil Howard who ended up getting Lil's Lad at the end of his 2yo season. With the chutzpah of someone a little drunk on the Saratoga air, atmosphere and frontside drinking all afternoon, I decided that it would be entirely appropriate to march into the barn and ask if I could meet the horse up-close.

Two old-time black grooms were there, doing whatever there is to do in a shedrow at 6pm. They eyed me up and down and said, "Sure, you can meet him, young lady. But that's if you can find him." I can't say for sure how many horses/stalls were in that barn, but I would recognize that gorgeous son-of-a-gun a mile away. They were happy to make my wish come true, and it was a magical evening.

The horse will always be one of my favorites, and I'm just sad that his career wasn't as illustrious as it seemed it could be early on. I got to be around him again a few times at Belmont, too, and an assistant trainer there saved me two of the shoes he trained in (bar shoes, might I add). So I have a little memory box of Lil's Lad, and while I don't really know quite what to do with these items, I still treasure them so much.

This might be a little different from most, but before I had thoroughbreds my wife and I started out with Warmbloods. She enjoyed the skill and competition of Dressage. We used to travel and show every month or so. One year NEDA(New England Dressage Association) managed to show at Saratoga. All the horses were stalled right there at the track. The track itself was partitioned off by ropes into different Class's for skill levels. The show was in the Spring and about 3 days of showing. We stayed at a local hotel and enjoyed all the local attractions and took in all the local sights, but much less crowded.

Since switching over to thoroughbreds I travel up there mostly in the winter and became familier with many thoroughbred breeding farms. Saratoga/Saratoga Springs is also a beautiful place to visit during the winter months. The hugh lake with all the fishing sheds and the horse farms, in and around the area, covered in snow. You should see it in Winter/early Spring.

I urge nobody to try to duplicate this feat. Getting old and laughing is still better than being young and stupid.

I'm up at Saratoga all by myself with a bankroll and have a motel room in Albany.

I am railratting and then go to Siros. This day is almost 40 years ago and I'm still young while being in my 20s.

I have a royal load on with the beer and whiskey and make it to my motel down the Northway into Albany (first ever time there around dusk).

I get out of my car to check in and figure I'm OK for tomorrow but that I have to take a leak before I go into the motel. It's getting dark.

I see some small bushes in the fading light at the end of the parking lot. I go to pee.

They are not small bushes - they are the tops of tall trees and I go off a cliff with my manhood in my hand while drunk, peeing all the way down while wondering why I don't hear any bones snapping.

Off the bottom I walk about a half-mile around a bluff to get back to the motel. I am not injured but I'm wet and muddy and covered by dirt and some green plants that stuck to me on my way down. I get into the motel but I am watched by the staff closely until I check out a few days later.

Lessons Learned:

(1) Drinking and driving is not a good deal.

(2) The tops of trees can fool you at dusk if they're at eye-level and you're stumbling towards a cliff that has small "bushes".

(3) Falling off a cliff for about 100 feet on a 70-degree angle is a whole lot better while you're in your than 20s than waiting 40 years until you're in in your 60s like I am now.

(4) Most former U.S. Marines will scream out the "F" word while going off a cliff drunk while clutching their manhood.

(5) See #1.

Jeez, you should have seen me decades ago.

If you have not figured it out yet I have had more fun at the $pa than anything I have ever done standing up. I always loved it, but the last few years have been a real party. Meeting up with some really nice people, and some good cappers too has put the icing on the cake. It is truely the summer place to be.

Harvey Pack was a joy to know. He owed everybody at the track. One time I walked into his office at Saratoga (across from the paddock and maybe 30 yards from the jocks' room). Andy Beyer is sitting there scoping the form. It's the late 80s or early 90s I do believe. I tell Harve that I first met him as 10-year-old at Jamaica Park with my father. I shoot my last name. He says, "I knew John! Great bookmaker and a tough man. A Wonderful man!"

Harve: "I have some passes for you and we have no idea in the first but I remember John going back to the 1930s."

Earlier that day I was in the paddock. Woody was sitting out there all by himself scoping a newspaper in a lawn chair. I go over the fence and approach him. He tells me to sit down on the grass next to him and tells me to not put in print any 4-letter words he might say.

I explain that I am not a reporter, just a fan. I tell him that my Dad took book at Jamaca Park and Belmont and Aqueduct.

Woody Stephens got off his chair and kissed my left ear.