Notes from a Two Bit Gambler
The following reflection on yesterday resulted from reading a post from the deservedly well respected host of this site.
The royal we you used Mr. Host to describe those who agree what a magical day it was is indicative of the blur of your perspective. As the racing game is your source of income, you rightfully fear its tarnished image and eroding popularity more than those who are not so closely attached to the sport.
I attended the same racebook for all three triple crown races. When they load the gates for the derby that place is a madhouse every year; when they loaded the gates for this year's preakness, that place was a madhouse; when they loaded the place for the Belmont yesterday, it was like a typical early summer saturday at the racebook: as soon as the race ended, people turned their focus immediately to the next at Betfair and Golden Gate.
You and your girl having some great time at some racing industry dinner is fantastic and all for you I guess, but how that makes for a magical day of racing is really difficult to comprehend unless it was meant for your Facebook page and you accidentally posted it here. The reality was that it was an average card and an average day of racing. Unless we get a great crop of three years olds, for example the Curlin crop, the Breeders cup has more or less supplanted the Belmont as the third biggest day in racing in the States.
As far as the fight goes Calzone, Teddy Atlas described it correctly when he said that Bradley's style made him a sitting duck for Pac Man's straight left hand. Anyone who watches that fight closely will see that Bradley was so limited in his skill set that anyone who forked over $55 to view this mismatch had been taken. To make matters worse, Pac Man knew very early that this guy wasn't in his class, so he coasted for extended periods, especially the last two rounds. Bradley gave what his limited skill set allowed him to give, which was very little, but when a guy never hits another guy with one meaningful shot over 12 rounds, I am not sure how such a fight is worth the price, especially when the money guy subconciuosly says screw it I ain't taking this guy out tonight and he can't hit me - f****** coast home.
I bet on Bradley at plus 350, a terrible terrible bet fueled by that 24/7 HBO bullshite. So outclassed was Bradley that the wife and I didnt even bother to stick around for the decision, left right after the 12th round. I had it scored 9-3 Pac Man. I laughed when I came home - a gift from organized crime syndicates. Made up for the Celtics collapse and the Kings lackluster effort.
There was no magic yesterday if you want the perspective of a two bit gambler; rather, a f****** grinder saturday. Made lots of mistakes. Chalked it up to the early morning racing, which I partake in about four times a year, and playing scared. Keyed four horses in the double in front of the Flower Alley lone speed. Buried my nose in the form again a few minutes before the race and told this retired old man handicapped handicapper buddy of mine that the only three horses you need in this race are the 2,4 and 6. I asked him who he used in the pick 3. He said 6 & 10. I played another double using the 2,4, & 6 to his 6 & 10. As I was walking back to the table I buried the nose in the form again and asked how did you not use this 3? This horse is sharp as f***. Some humpbacked f*** mumbled "damn speed" 100 yards from the wire, right about the time the first time turfer, the 4 horse, kicked into another gear to nail the Flower alley on the wire. I sat dumbfounded as I realized I had no exacta box, no tri, nothign but a double going with the 4. /when the 3 broke on top by 2 lengths I knew I was f****** and the gods were enjoying themselves at the expense of my stupidity. Rallied and hit the Pick 4 that closed with the Belmont, Should have singled Trinniberg at hit it for a couple of dollars. Another mistake. The biggest mistake was sticking around for a track I abhor, Betfair. They took a benjamin from my pocket in about an hour. Left there and took in the evening sporting events described above.
If any magic occured during the day Mr. Host, it occurred when the humpack - a disabled construction worker with both a literal and figurative broken back - muttered "damn speed." Many on this board felt the pang of Cosmic Irony triggered by his words, words meant to accept defeat for him but foreshadowing a gut wrenching defeat for those on this board who were set for a real nice score.
No sir, you and the other suits mentally masturbating each other while you sit around imbibing at the open bar and smoking a gar after a tremendous meal is not a magcial day. The event was lost when the horse wenrt wrong. You cant recover the magic by elevating some dinner with suits or suggesting the electricity of the crowd. Come on, sir. Child please.
Good luck to all over the summer. See you in the fall as the Breeders Cup nears.
PR
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