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Within moments of stepping in the Turf Club, even a non-smoker/drinker will be taking drags of unfiltered tobacco and clutching a whisky on the rocks.

Something charges the air, luring you to the bar and to the flickering televisions on the walls and tables. Maybe it has to do with the condensation of testosterone in a predominantly male environment or the blood pressure-raising betting, which often culminates into outbursts of growls and yelps -- not necessarily from the televised horses.

Every night of the week the Turf Club, which is owned by Philadelphia Park Racing, features off-track betting. With anywhere from eight to 15 races on four tracks, there is a race to bet on almost every five minutes. The races are broadcast via satellite on TVs along the walls in several lounges or beamed from tiny screens at dining room tables. You can even place your bets on small tabletop touch pads without having to break away from that Caesar salad.

For the wagering neophyte, the Turf Club's handy brochures explain terms and types of bets. (Trifecta, for example, means choosing the first, second and third winners of a race in exact order.) It only took us two races to get the hang of it. The minimum bet is $2 and odds change up until the start of the race. Depending on the type of bet, the amount of money wagered and the odds, tens can be turned into thousands. As one denizen swore he made $7,000 on one race, the bartenders scoffed. The manager confided having had to pay a gentleman $50,000 one night; one of my cohorts took this as a prediction of his own fate.

He did win, but his $1.98 was anorexically short of several plump zeroes. I'm in no position to tease, at least he won. Lacking insider information or know-how beyond mere betting spunk, we placed our bets haphazardly, usually on the basis of names. I was compelled to place trust and milk money on Gilligan's Island (no explanation necessary), Mortal Kombat (with 99 to 1 odds, it meant no one had bet on it, so I placed a sympathy bet) and Jed Rules (I once knew a Jed, and he did rule). Only Jed Rules came in second, but I still lost since I had bet on him to win, not place. Such is the nature of this beast.

With moderately priced drinks and menu, it's not the booze you're losing your money on. Like a certain Tupac rap song, we figured we could make a dollar out of 15 cents easily enough. We spent $22 and made barely $2 and we only stopped betting because the races were over. With the specter of 90210's Brandon Walsh's betting addiction looming in our heads, we stepped into brisk night air, dusting nicotine from our clothes like snowflakes and coming down from a high that was not entirely due to the few drinks we imbibed. Though we lost, that loss is only a small investment toward the millions we are destined to win on May 3, in the race of all races -- the Kentucky Derby.

The Turf Club, 7 Penn Center, 17th and Market Sts., 246-1556.

- Elva Ramirez