Everything at the horse races can be a learning experience, even cheering.

It's not like you're sitting in the alumni donor section at the football stadium where everybody is of a single mind concerning who should win.

Cheering for your horse could mean that you were pulling against somebody sitting in the next seat.

Screaming too wildly for something that is out front 15 lengths and can't lose is considered bad form, like dunking backwards, up 20 points with a minute left, or throwing into the end zone with an outcome settled.

Cheering can serve as a focal point for a memorable racing experience.

Two weeks back, it's late at night at the simulcast hall, which can mean only one thing. I'm the only sober person in the place.

It's cold and drizzly outside and about 30 are still on hand, counting the servers, tellers, cops and panhandlers.

I'm hooked up with a 10-1 shot in the first half of a late Double, having played it with a very successful outfit in the second half, the All Racing Stable.

Four and All, the favorite in the second half of the late Double figuring to be squeaky chalk at best in a cheap maiden claimer.

Four and All, looking like a fat return.

And so here they came on the last left turn, somebody nasty on the rail, my Four, ears pinned back and on the leader's hip.

"Come on Four," I said in a reasonably measured tone.

And the horse came on, making up a foot, straining to gain another, and another.

"Get him Four," somebody across the large simulcast room said.

Hearing that somebody is with you at a moment like this is inspiring. Hearing your horse's number called out by another, it's like being frantically lost in the dark and having somebody from the search team call out, "Is anybody in there?"

I yelled for the Four.

The man across the room screamed even louder and banged a beer bottle on his table.

The two horses traded bobs down the lane and put their heads together at the wire, with the Four getting up by what appeared to be a runny nose; and I ran to the far side of the room to meet and celebrate with the fellow who had been in the race with me.

I thanked him for sharing the glorious moment and helping to root the Four across, explaining that the least I could take home after the second half of the Double figured to be in the considerable hundreds of dollars, maybe more.

He then showed me his ticket, $4 to place.

Even thought I bought him a bucket of beers, we no longer seemed to be teammates.

There's a man at my place who clears loudly and in great detail.

Here's an example.

"Come on Eddie, get his lead changed and take him inside the two and go to the left-handed whip and bring him home to me on the outside. Get him clear of the five, Eddie. Get him to the rail. Whip him, Eddie. Ride him, Eddie. Damn, what happened?"

One thing that can make cheering at an off-track wagering site difficult is the haphazard manner in which the numbers of the leading horses are put on the television screen.

When the reception is bad, colors fade.

Sometimes you can't tell a yellow silk from brown.

There's nothing more devastating than betting good money on the 8 and energetically rooting it home only to have somebody say, "That wasn't the eight, that was the three."

People love to tell you that you were cheering for the wrong horse, yours finished sixth.

I once cheered the wrong horse across the wire after betting $100 to win and nearly passed out after learning the truth.

Watching the races on a screen, you almost have to run through a check list before cheering.

Some people don't cheer at the horse races.

They think it's below them.

They think that by not cheering, they're more like Cool Hand Luke, like riverboat gamblers.

Most of the people who don't cheer are betting power rating figures from computer systems.

Betting according to a robot can drain the emotion from a particular event.

I am pro-cheering.

I have been known to cheer successful business deals, so what's the big deal about making a little noise at the horse races.

Email Jay at jaycronley@go.com