As one of the few on this planet who haven't met Stephen Hawking, I am definitely one of these deprived people.
But the Friday before last, I got lucky.
I was in Mosgiel at their excellent and very big Salvation Army store buying presents for next Christmas.
I know, 11 months away, but, call me old-fashioned, I like to be first, fast and five minutes sooner.
Besides, January is the month for clearing out houses.
The op shops and dump stores are chocker.
It was while tossing up on a card version of Scrabble and a Casio CT 360 keyboard that I suddenly remembered my champion racehorse Aotearower, in which I have a 0.05% share, had raced two hours before and I had forgotten to set the MySky.
I thundered to the Mosgiel Tavern, where I found a convivial TAB nook in the corner of the public bar.
But there were no results.
Aren't they usually scribbled on a piece of paper and stuck on the wall at these places?
I went up to the bar and confronted the barman.
''Do you have any TAB results anywhere?'' I asked brightly.
''What meeting?'' he asked back.
''Matamata,'' I said.
''What race?'' he asked.
''Race 2,'' I replied, brightly again.
''What horse?'' he asked, with a hint of irritation in his voice.
''Aotearower,'' I said.
''Second,'' said the barman.
''Shoulda won.''
I was stunned like a fish that had been stunned on a rock.
This man clearly knew the result of every horse in every race at every meeting that day, ergo, every horse in every race at every meeting every day.
And to the best of my knowledge, this man has not been knighted, he does not have his own television show, called perhaps The Real Mastermind, and is not being toured around primary schools teaching children how to use their brain to remember.
To find such a man in the Mosgiel Tavern shows just how unpredictable and wonderful life can be.
And how much better one can feel and be after spending time with an incredibly intelligent mind.
But when that joy had finally evaporated, five days later, it was time to return to the racetrack.
It was the second of my three horses this time, Sisterhood, running at Rotorua over distance, vastly preferable for this essential plodder.
Sisterhood hadn't done much, but last start, she had run on for fifth at Ellerslie over a mile.
Rotorua was even further.
The trainer said in the newsletter that she had a very good chance.
Especially with the country's premier jockey aboard, Danielle Johnson.
The race started and Sisterhood loped along leisurely, halfway back through the field, clearly waiting until later on to crack on some speed.
By the powers of Jimmy Cassidy, I muttered to myself quietly, this Danielle Johnson knows how to ride a horse.
But, tragedy, two gates had not opened, and in trying to bash its way through, one horse had thrown its jockey.
Those deep into racing language will know this constitutes a false start, so back came the field, some of them clearly distressed, yelloping sideways like donkeys on datura.
A reduced field lined up again, though it was clear to me, even at the other end of the country, that Sisterhood was mentally incapable of running a good race.
Again Sisterhood was cleverly positioned back in the field, then Danielle Johnson began easing her back even further.
In fact, Sisterhood appeared to be travelling backwards.
She finished last.
Pulled up, they said in the paper the next day.
Danielle Johnson said Sisterhood choked on her tongue and she had to pull her out of the race.
I blame Danielle Johnson.
Surely the job of the jockey is to make the tongue poke forward.
Anyway, she has just been suspended until February 7 after an incident at a previous meeting.
Sisterhood will need an exceptional and intelligent replacement.
I will suggest the barman at the Mosgiel Tavern.
• Roy Colbert is a Dunedin writer.
