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I did not think the sight of 17-1 shot Naughty Nine hitting the wire first as the back end of my live Daily Double ticket could be topped this weekend. Then Deuce flicked that 90th-minute off-balance header into Cech's net for a brace and a draw against Chelski. Then that Eagle defensive lineman put a big paw in Tashard Choice's face for one of the more awesome stiff arms ever and caused a spontaneous riot in the sports bar.

It's close, but upon further review, since I singled Naughty Nine, I'll take the beautiful little man in the maroon silks as this weekend's Top Play.

I'm good at horses.

How good? After my fourth straight big money ticket cash, the curmudgeonly guy in the betting window (when you're hot, you ALWAYS go to the same betting window) raised an eyebrow at the nearly $300 payout and then hurriedly scribbled down my upcoming wager. Which I won, winner and exacta. And, presumably, so did he.

By the time I got back to the bar (we stopped at the bar for a drink and then Emet liked that she had a place to put the form and then I hit my first race and you NEVER move from your handicapping spot when you're winning), our group of four had swelled to twice that with assorted hangers-on who had heard me rooting the 5 home and wanting to know a) who I had in the 6th and b) when I was buying them a round of drinks.

The 7. And now.

One of the new guys was a train wreck of Dick Bro-ian proportions, though less inappropriate. He sidled up to Emet (because, seriously, seeing a hot chick at the track with a beer and a form in front of her is something that sends every male libido into the stratosphere) claiming to be a horse owner, a story which had more holes than the Lions defensive line. I bought him a beer, but not before demanding he drink the one he had in front of him, 12 solid oz. of malty goodness that he managed to mostly get in his mouth.

We all hit the 6th, thanks in part to a contending horse jumping over the rail a furlong out, and, after that, things got all fuzzy, because of the succeeding rounds and the fact I hadn't eaten all day. Fortunately, I'm at my best as a fuzzy handicapper. I'm not good, really. Mostly, I just try to stay out of my own way and try not to over-think it. I mean, nobody in their right mind singles a 17-1 shot in an exotics bet. Especially one that is making its first start. Oh, I didn't mention that? Regardless, betting that horse is precisely how I roll. He had a solid work tab, good connections and a sexy pedigree. He was 8-1 on the morning line, which I thought was a bargain. At 17-1? He's a fucking steal.

Obviously.

Earlier, in the 2nd race, I talked myself out of the 2 horse, another first-timer that I liked and went off at 6-1. I kept her in my exacta, but the others didn't come in and she won going away. Were I a little buzzed, I'd have probably not made that mistake. However, the fact I'd started out so poorly made me change things up and I started wagering on Golden Gate Fields simulcast races. I hit three winners in a row at the northern track (one I bet solely on the name, as it was very close to Donny's mother's name), which set up the rest of the day nicely.

Suffice to say, I was loaded, in more ways than two, and I paid for dinner, which was necessary to a) give me some actual food and b) sober up for the drive back to the IE, where I frighteningly realized I had not yet set my roster for the Blogger TOC on Fantasy Sports Live.

When I woke up on Sunday, I was further horrified to realize I didn't even remember who I'd picked and immediately logged on to see. Uh...not pretty. So, I pretty much changed my whole roster minutes before the games got underway, which, as Emet and everyone else will tell you, is a sure way to screw everything up.

Or rack up a huge 142-point day to become KING OF THE BLOGGERS.

Most of the damage was done by Drew Brees and his aerial stat-padding circus and the Artist Formerly Known as LDT (I refuse to call him LT). Steve Breaston (super pick, just super) and Ryan Longwell also had a say and I needed most of 'em since I had to beat Andre Johnson and Michael Tuner, both of whom had huge days. Congrats to Al and thg for making the Finals, though thg also needs to be called out for beating Emet in her first try on FSL. That was mean. She may have called you a "fucker" at one point, but she really didn't mean it.

Alas, trying to parlay my hot streak into poker immortality failed last night on Full Tilt. Nothing can ever change the fact I can't win a crucial race at a crucial time. On the felt, anyway.