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Philadelphia Park's new casino
Vincent Rinella
'What am I doing here?'
Or: Learning to love a big-city casino
VINCENT RINELLA
My wife Leslie and I spent Saturday and Monday of the Labor Day weekend wagering and relaxing outdoors at Philadelphia Park, North Philadelphia racetrack. It was our first visit there since its casino was added earlier this year. Like many Philadelphians, we were apprehensive about the effects of this something-for-nothing industry on a community of sensitive and productive citizens, not to mention its effects on our beloved wholesome sport of horse racing. Contrary to all of our expectations, the casino addition has made the park not only more user-friendly but even aesthetically more pleasurable.
The picnic area is beautiful, easily rivaling that at the picturesque Saratoga Racetrack in upstate New York. It’s also easily accessible even to picnickers who have no interest in betting on horses or playing slot machines.
The self-parking is easier and closer to the entrance than it used to be, and the number of handicapped spaces has increased exponentially. (To be sure, all the spaces were filled by 9 a.m., leaving Leslie and me to wonder whether the entire City Council was at the races). And not only is no entrance fee charged, but you don’t even need to pay for a racing program, since (a recent development, I think) Craig Donnelly’s rating page in the Inquirer now contains post numbers as well as his favorite picks. Since the casino opened, it may well be easier to park and picnic at Philadelphia Park than in Fairmount Park.
The prices (for beer and wine, at least) are far more reasonable than what you pay at Philadelphia International Airport or even some of the remaining measure-out-the-shots bars that thankfully are quickly disappearing.
Politely competing for T-shirts
Of course, the low prices and the ease of access are designed to put you in a betting and gambling mood. Again, those who take the bait (even Ludddites like Leslie and me) should be pleasantly surprised. For anyone turned off by computer betting, the track provides an adequate number of human tellers, most of them very relaxed and approachable. One teller helpfully explained why they had to box a dollar trifecta for me.
The crowd at the track is bereft of anyone looking or acting rude. Everyone walks around with a beer (mostly lite beers), but no one seems the least intoxicated. Many betters gather respectfully around the winner’s circle and clap politely for the winning jockeys and horses. They also politely compete for Philadelphia Park T-shirts thrown by the winning jockey after each race to the crowd. Where are all the pathological degenerate gamblers of yesteryear?
The innocent waitresses
They are not inside playing the slot machines. The gamblers there also seemed relaxed and polite. The quantity of slot machines (from penny to dollar types) seems ample, and the mood is much less frantic and compulsive than what one feels in an Atlantic City casino. Even the waitresses (that is, the drink runners) project a lovely innocence and an almost heartbreaking look that seems to say, “I know I’m cute, but what am I doing here?”
To sum up: Why do Philadelphia aesthetes spend so much time and energy worrying about relocating the Barnes and repairing Verizon Hall’s acoustics? To feel good about Philadelphia and yourself, get thee to Philadelphia Park!
Or: Learning to love a big-city casino
VINCENT RINELLA
My wife Leslie and I spent Saturday and Monday of the Labor Day weekend wagering and relaxing outdoors at Philadelphia Park, North Philadelphia racetrack. It was our first visit there since its casino was added earlier this year. Like many Philadelphians, we were apprehensive about the effects of this something-for-nothing industry on a community of sensitive and productive citizens, not to mention its effects on our beloved wholesome sport of horse racing. Contrary to all of our expectations, the casino addition has made the park not only more user-friendly but even aesthetically more pleasurable.
The picnic area is beautiful, easily rivaling that at the picturesque Saratoga Racetrack in upstate New York. It’s also easily accessible even to picnickers who have no interest in betting on horses or playing slot machines.
The self-parking is easier and closer to the entrance than it used to be, and the number of handicapped spaces has increased exponentially. (To be sure, all the spaces were filled by 9 a.m., leaving Leslie and me to wonder whether the entire City Council was at the races). And not only is no entrance fee charged, but you don’t even need to pay for a racing program, since (a recent development, I think) Craig Donnelly’s rating page in the Inquirer now contains post numbers as well as his favorite picks. Since the casino opened, it may well be easier to park and picnic at Philadelphia Park than in Fairmount Park.
The prices (for beer and wine, at least) are far more reasonable than what you pay at Philadelphia International Airport or even some of the remaining measure-out-the-shots bars that thankfully are quickly disappearing.
Politely competing for T-shirts
Of course, the low prices and the ease of access are designed to put you in a betting and gambling mood. Again, those who take the bait (even Ludddites like Leslie and me) should be pleasantly surprised. For anyone turned off by computer betting, the track provides an adequate number of human tellers, most of them very relaxed and approachable. One teller helpfully explained why they had to box a dollar trifecta for me.
The crowd at the track is bereft of anyone looking or acting rude. Everyone walks around with a beer (mostly lite beers), but no one seems the least intoxicated. Many betters gather respectfully around the winner’s circle and clap politely for the winning jockeys and horses. They also politely compete for Philadelphia Park T-shirts thrown by the winning jockey after each race to the crowd. Where are all the pathological degenerate gamblers of yesteryear?
The innocent waitresses
They are not inside playing the slot machines. The gamblers there also seemed relaxed and polite. The quantity of slot machines (from penny to dollar types) seems ample, and the mood is much less frantic and compulsive than what one feels in an Atlantic City casino. Even the waitresses (that is, the drink runners) project a lovely innocence and an almost heartbreaking look that seems to say, “I know I’m cute, but what am I doing here?”
To sum up: Why do Philadelphia aesthetes spend so much time and energy worrying about relocating the Barnes and repairing Verizon Hall’s acoustics? To feel good about Philadelphia and yourself, get thee to Philadelphia Park!
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