In less than a week, Freehold Raceway, the oldest horse racing track in America, is closing.

Horses have been racing there since the 1830s, which is bonkers.

Honestly, I can’t believe it’s closing.

The history, man, the history.

“This was an extremely difficult decision, especially given the historical importance of Freehold Raceway to the local community and the New Jersey horse racing industry,” track general manager Howard Bruno said in a statement. “Unfortunately, the operations of the racetrack cannot continue under existing conditions, and we do not see a plausible way forward. We are incredibly thankful for our dedicated employees, horsemen and fan base for their support and patronage for so many years.”

Back in my misspent youth, I was a regular at Freehold. Would make the trip from Rider University, play the ponies, smoke some cigarettes, have a grand ol’ time.

And when I was home in Parsippany, I’d hit the Meadowlands with alarming regularity.

Fact is, horse racing is an awesome sport for your gambling dollar. It really is. For two bucks you can bet on any horse you like, you can get right up close to the action, and the thrill of the race is really second-to-none when it comes to gambling.

So much fun, and something I haven’t done in a really long time.

A buddy of mine — he’ll remain nameless — has never stopped. He’s at the Meadowlands every weekend, has his crew that he hangs with, even bought a horse for a minute.

And sometimes he can pick ‘em.

Wanna hear a top-20 memory of my life? Good. Here it comes.

Race time at the Meadowlands back then was 7:30 p.m., and around 6:45 p.m. I got a call from my buddy.

“Raphie Boy in the first,” he told me. “He’s like 30-to-1.”

Here’s the deal: My friend did not often do this. Sure, he liked this horse or that horse when you were together at the track, but this phone call? Rare.

And here’s the deal, part II: He was at Rutgers. He wasn’t going to make it. I was in Parsippany. I was going to make it. Kind of.

My friend Matt was with me, we hopped in my 1987 Pontiac 6000 STE — all digital readout — and freaking motored to the Meadowlands. From my house, it was more or less a 45-minute ride.

I made it in 20. (Don’t tell my parents.)

We parked the car and ran — ran!! — into the track, got to the window, and got the bet down — $50 on Ralphie Boy to win. (To be split three ways.)

One guess how this ended.

You’re wrong! He won!!!

Just writing this story down … man, I miss it. What a thrill, watching Ralphie Boy shoot out to the lead on the last turn, and hold on to win at the wire.

Love ya, Ralphie Boy, love ya, you horse racing denizens, and gonna miss ya, Freehold.