Littering can cost you a lot of money. In most places, drop a piece of paper to the ground and you’re liable for a fine of $250 or more. Here at Saratoga Race Course, dropping losing tickets to the floor is traditional and tolerated.

It can still cost you big money, if you drop a certain piece of paper.

A late scratch in the paddock, a disqualification which moves a horse from fourth to first, or a non-starter at the gate may mean that a pari-mutuel ticket may still be live, even when its holder believes it’s dead. Add the increasing number of exotic and multiple wagers into the mix, and suddenly, it’s not so easy to determine what constitutes a losing ticket.

So many tickets that could be cashed wind up on the floor of the grandstand or clubhouse or the paths of the backyard. At the end of the day, what looks like litter to most people, spells opportunity to the small army of “stoopers.”

Stoopers realize that winning tickets -- as well as tickets due a refund -- are lying all around the racetrack because their owners were unaware of their value. Despite warnings from New York Racing Association track announcers Tom Durkin and John Imbriale for fans to wait until a race is official and payoffs announced before discarding tickets, many fans throw away their tickets prematurely.

That’s why, a few minutes after the last race, stoopers kick into high gear. Men and women armed with clear plastic bags sweep through the stands and reach to grab every pari-mutuel ticket they can get their hands on. Long before the clean-up crew has begun to wipe up the lemonade, beer and melted ice cream, stoopers have completely scoured the stands and boxes. Some tickets are easy pickings. Others have to be peeled off the sticky floor. But nearly all require the very recognizable physical position called the “Saratoga stoop.”

The Saratoga stoopers are not an easily classifiable group. Down by the Carousel sits a preppy-looking man, dressed in Ralph Lauren with the notable exception of his white latex gloves. New to Saratoga, but eager to experience its nightlife, his “wins” consist of bets made by others. When he spots up a consolation Pick Four ticket, he shouts that he’s off to Siro’s, the neighboring bar/restaurant that has become its own Saratoga institution.

“I didn’t have the money to go before that horse in the fifth was declared a non-starter,” he says with a smile.

Down in the picnic area is a proud grandfather and veteran stooper clad in cargo shorts and last week’s Saratoga giveaway T-shirt who explains, “At Saratoga, there are lots of tourists and people new to the game. They never even know that they won…so I guess they never know how much they really lost, let alone how much I win. On average, I make about $200 a week. With Travers coming up, and more people coming in from out of town, it could be up to $500.”

One well-known handicapper scored a few years ago at a SAM machine, as he was placing his bets. He idly picked up a few stray tickets and decided to check them. He uncovered an uncashed $3,400 triple. He would have preferred to “have the triple” based on his handicapping, and only a few people know that his largest racetrack score did not come from a wager he had made.

Stooping can be a family affair. Two friendly cousins walk through the box section, giggling and squealing with delight when they find a $30 exacta which they unearthed under several glasses of champagne. They agree to split their largesse.

“We do it more for fun, less for a profit,” said one.

“It’s like a game,” the other girl chimed in.

There is a code all stoopers live by – finders, keepers. It’s a Saratoga tradition: anything left behind is fair game.

A man watching the cousins from afar dismissed any moral dilemma, saying, “They’re not hurting anyone.”

The German word schandenfreude means “taking pleasure in someone else’s misfortune.” The word nearly covers what happens every race day at Saratoga, when stoopers comb the stands and take pleasure in discovering someone else’s unrealized good fortune.