We lovingly prepare our homes, porches and lawns much like we do when we are expecting relatives at Christmas time.

For the first two weeks of the meet, we think of racetrack fans as our very own houseguests, we are genuinely happy to see you all again and we all have a great time. By the third week, us locals become mildly annoyed at the sometimes anti-social behavior of our beloved guests as they become less polite, start treating the locals as if we are a bunch of uneducated hicks.

By week four, our houseguests begin to overstay their welcome and many locals, including myself, become downright edgy. When tourists start leaving their trash and remnants from their coolers on my lawn just because they paid to park in my yard, that’s when I start to lose respect for them.

As I was writing this, some knucklehead was inexplicably revving up his engine just outside my dining room window where my computer is. The first couple of times he did it, I simply ignored it. The third time, I just snapped. I pulled open the blinds and gave the occupants of the car a tongue lashing that I’m sure will be the topic of conversation on their way back to Brooklyn. I don’t enjoy yelling at people, but I don’t understand why so many Americans seem to possess little if any manners when they are out in public. I know I don’t treat other people’s property as if it’s my own personal state park.

Week five is always the busiest week in the meet because everyone is anticipating the most important race of all, the Travers Stakes. It is then that every parking lot is full by 9 a.m. and everyone and their mother seems to be in Saratoga Springs. There are no hotel rooms to be had, every place you go is filled beyond capacity, with no elbow room anywhere downtown and everyone’s patience is at an all-time low.

As soon as the Travers is over, the mass exodus begins and everyone heads downtown for one last hurrah! This is everyone’s last chance to party and take in the sights and sounds of this years racing season.

Week six is the last and final week and is basically the wind down. It tends to be remarkably tame in stark contrast to Travers week. Most people have left town, parking and traffic are no longer an issue and most local residents breathe a sigh of relief knowing that the worst is over.

We let bygones be bygones and start anticipating next year’s racing season. The tell-tale signs of autumn are in the air, the cooler nights, the leaves begin to fall and our glorious home town becomes our own once more.

I head downtown with a couple of friends, most likely to Clancy’s to have my obligatory “thank God the tourists are gone” cocktail.

As a summer resort town, I am smart enough to realize we can’t live without you. See you all next year. Cheers.