Middle-aged men and a rough racing culture sounds familiar

The following excerpt is from a blog post about a day at the races at the Hippodrome in Moscow. My Twitter pal Ani Wandaryan (@goldentent) brought it to my attention, and when I read the paragraph below I was fascinated by its similarity to a day of winter racing in New York.  The post can be read in its entirety here.

The crowd, it’s true, is not huge: temperatures hovering around freezing, a scattering of snow and a punitive midday start on a Sunday keep many away. And, for all the promise of free admission to the fashionable readers of ‘Time Out’ magazine, the ambience is not hugely family-friendly – and especially not hipster happy. Amid a sea of middle-aged men, those somewhat grey-hued comrades more often encountered making a last-gasp dash to the corner shop before the curfew on alcohol sales kicks in, the few hip young gunslingers who made the trip are distinctive with their designer facial hair, stylish man bags and brightly-colored jackets. On arrival, one elegant blonde was already frantically seeking the exit, having stumbled into the crowded bookies-cum-buffet and caught a glimpse of a rough-and-ready world she’d not expected to find.

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