The first time I set eyes on the barber shop at Belmont Park I was drawn to it. This, I imagined, was a place for a real gambler. Anyone who took the time to get their hair cut while at the racetrack was more than just a weekend warrior, more than just a paddock-dwelling punter, more than just a ticket-tearing tinhorn. A person who got their hair cut at the track was a true citizen of the race course, a bona-fide horseplayer.
