On Wednesday, July 25, 2001, I lifted my self-imposed suspension and visited an off-track betting facility just minutes after flying back home to Hartford. I had suspended myself for having eaten a poppy seed muffin. Bob Baffert got the joke anyway.

On the plane ride, I'd read that Macho Uno would be making his comeback start at seven furlongs on Saratoga's opening day. I figured there would be some doubters and this was confirmed in the Daily Racing Form commentary. So why not put something on Macho's face. What a nice way to make my return to racing, joining in with an animal in his return.

I hadn't been out of town all that long but I missed my wife. Thinking of her, thinking of her tender touch, there was only one thing on my mind as I set foot back home: Did she pick up my dry cleaning?

Macho Uno never seems to be able to get the subject off his mind. Sex not dry cleaning. Maybe that's what he was thinking about when he wandered all over the Churchill Downs stretch last November and nearly gave up the Juvenile win to Point Given. Not that Point Given sucks.

The day after Macho's comeback race at Saratoga, having not heard how he did, I grabbed my New York Times (my neighbors are so impressed when they see the blue wrapper at the base of my driveway). The Times covers horse racing as well or better than most all daily newspapers, but it doesn't provide charts on the races, just the condensed results. So to keep the suspense going I placed a note card over the results column in the paper and slowly moved it downward until I reached Macho's race, the eighth that day. Sonofabitch. Why didn't I wait to lift my suspension until Point Given's race this week?

Macho Uno was beaten a nose by Wicked Will, who won the race only because Macho was again daydreaming in the stretch. He had the race bagged but let his mind drift. His body followed, just as in the Juvenile. This time he lost out in the photo.

His trainer Joe Orseno explained, "He is such a studder. He wants to breed everything he sees. He's not green. He's not stupid. He just wants to breed everything he sees. He gets so wound up on race day that he starts squealing in the paddock."

Macho, get a room, will ya? Let's find a way to keep business and pleasure separate.

Or maybe Orseno can find some way to relieve his studder. President Clinton lost a cabinet appointee for her advocacy of similar. But damn it, nobody had a $100 riding on her.

Get down to business, Macho. The race track is no place to be screwing around. Not with my money. If you don't watch it, I'll suspend you, too. Or feed you poppy seed muffins. Bob Baffert would find that to be funny.