We'll take the ponies over pai gow poker any day. The fresh air. The past-her-prime longshot that winks en route to the post, sending you scurrying for the nearest betting window. The wise guys poring over reams of stats sitting next to cute girls in tube tops who giggle at the rube that bets it all on a past-her-prime mare that happened to wink. The bad nachos dripping with cheese sauce, the smell of hamburgers on an open grill. The $1 bottles of Bud and live music every Friday. The impossibly tiny jockeys just an arm's length away. The silks, the blinders, the carefully wrapped legs, the immaculately coiffed owners who always smile so widely in the winner's circle. Thousands of broken dreams in the form of old betting slips that cover the ground like so many snowflakes. And, best of all, the bugle that sings 10 times a day, announcing the start of yet another race. With the action spread over so many hours, it takes more time and effort to lose your stash than in any casino. And you'll never have so much fun doing it.