How racing saved the world

A few administrations ago, I volunteered as a big brother. I am, as a rule, misanthropic and self-centered but I was trying to make my resume look better and, to steal from Churchill, that is up with what I came.

The pissant with whom they saddled me had a good looking mom but even I figured hitting on her would be slightly less than cool. Her sister on the other hand inhabited a gray area which I felt at my leisure to exploit.

The kid was sharp and he saw through my bullshit right away. We got along great. Except he didn't like to read. His thing was hunting.

And when I say hunting, I mean Nintendo style.

Born and raised on the 6000 block of Cicero Avenue, this kid's big game adventures consisted of juggling three packs of deli meat from the local butcher.

I tried everything I could think of. I brought him Joyce's Ulysses, Kant's Critique of Pure Reason. I even bought him Roosevelt's Hunting Trips of a Ranchman. Nothing.

What was wrong with this kid?

Things were looking gloomy and my chances with his aunt were slipping away, so I did what any self-respecting, hormonally driven male would do.

I punted.

I know about hunting what Bear Grylls passes off on the Discovery Channel, during commercials. So armed, I figured I would take the boy hunting; show him the untamed marches of Kane County. That is how I found myself squatting in a bush, smelling like something they remove from a deer's ass, with a 70 lb test bow in one hand and the next day's racing form in the other.

Waiting.

Because, as far as I can tell, that is what hunting is all about. You're not hunting anything so much as hiding out, waiting for something to walk into your kill zone. Which, in our case, would have involved the animal actually stroking out, right in front of us. When I employed similar tactics to get dates, people looked at me funny.

It was quiet and I had coffee so I was happy with my Form, when he made the mistake of asking me what I was reading.

The next day, we were at Arlington. The kid, his mom and most importantly, his aunt.

Rising to the simultaneous challenge of showing the mom how responsible I was, entertaining the kid and impressing his aunt with my vast knowledge, I bit it hard all day long. Didn't pick a single winner.

I lost my ass and we had a blast.

I got the job I was angling for and for reasons that escape me at the moment I stayed on as the kid's big brother for a couple more years. The aunt and I hit it off but that too faded, as things do.

The kid took to the game like I take to a Dickens novel. I started asking him to put together my exotic tickets.

We kept in touch over the years but he had his life and I had the semblance of mine and communications tailed off until a few weeks ago, when I ran into his aunt. I could tell by the way she didn't remember me, she has been pining for me all this time. She put on a brave face and pretended to take an interest in what her three kids were doing. I didn't want to make her feel uncomfortable so I didn't push it.

She told me the kid was finishing his master's in applied mathematics from MIT and was moving to Hong Kong.

I hear the racing out there is pretty good. Decent handles.

So this kid, lost in the soporific miasma of video games and t.v., cashed an exacta one day and turned himself into one of the finest minds of his generation. He found, in the game, a channel for his genius.

I don't know why tracks don't push that aspect of the game, more.

And to think, it was all because of me...