A non-solitary pursuit

I played Saratoga's signature race, The Travers, from the simulcasting facility at Churchill Downs, and here's what I learned:

Let me back up for a second.  I just moved to Louisville last week to study equine business at the University of Louisville.  I'm doing a mid-career transition from radio broadcasting into the thoroughbred racing business.  I'm following my passion, wherever that might lead me.

Anyway, in my most recent home of Los Angeles, where it takes at least an hour to get anywhere, I would've probably stayed home today and played the Travers through Internet wagering.  I would've sat in my little room, studied my Past Performances (PPs) and put my money through Microsoft Windows instead of betting windows.

But since I'm in Louisville, and I'm studying the horse racing biz, I thought - hell, I'll just drive 3 miles to Churchill and play the races there.  Was that a good decision or no?

Well, I parked my car for free and some guy coming out of the gate handed me his Daily Racing Form for free.  That's a good start.  I paid my 3 bucks to get in and walked into Churchill's amazing simulcast facility.

It's sweet.

I sat down at one of the betting "cubicles" and realized I needed a "card" to play.  I got a card, swiped it into the machine, inserted a few bucks and voila!  I'm ready to gamble.  It dawned on me that it's not this way at every track.  I just came from California, where I don't recall seeing anything this elaborate.  At Churchill, I can watch any race anywhere on my little TV and place a bet at any of those tracks on the same touch-screen TV.  It's like I'm at home!

Now we're getting somewhere.

But at home, I wouldn't hear this conversation as the horses approached the far turn:

"The number 8, he dead."

"He ain't dead!"

"Aw, come on, chalk eater, he dead."

"Just you wait, he ain't dead."

"He dead."

"He ain't dead!"

THEY'RE INTO THE STRETCH...

"He dead."

"He ain't dead!"

"He dead."

"He AIN'T DEAD!!!"

"He dead."

THEY CROSS THE FINISH LINE.

"See, he dead."

YES, HE WAS DEAD.  BEATEN BY A NECK.

"I told you he dead."

As much as I enjoyed the scintillating race commentary, I had played for a couple of hours and wasn't doing well at all.  I couldn't pick my nose.  Finally, I hit an 11-1 at Arlington for a few bucks.  The "he dead" guy congratulated me.

Turning to his friend he said:  "See chalk-eater, that's how you handicap.  Playing those 3-5's ain't gettin' you nowhere!"

Yeah, I thought, but I've still been pretty dismal all day.  The Travers was approaching and with 8 minutes to post, I was cracking open the PPs for the first time.  Not a good recipe for winning.

I glanced over the Form.  I had picked A Little Warm to win his last race, and he did, so I felt some allegiance to him.  I picked Trappe Shot in his last, and he finished 2nd.  I picked Fly Down to win the Belmont, and he finished 2nd.  The Travers was clearly a wide-open race, and I had no idea who to bet on.

The "He dead" guy poked me in the shoulder and asked, "Who you like in the Travers?"

I looked at my Form and the betting tote board.  "Well," I said, "I think Afleet Express at 8-1 is a serious overlay.  His odds should be lower."

"Number 7?  Hmmm.  Let me take a look."

The guy studied his form and spit out:

"He got a 6 furlong, 1:13 work up his ass!  Breezin'!  He got a 7 furlong work at 1:25 up his ass!  Breezin'!  And he's trained by Jack the Giant Killer (meaning trainer Jimmy Jerkens, renowned for upsets at Saratoga).

He gathered his buddies around.

"Hey, hey!  This boy might be on to something.  He on the 7!  Jack the Giant Killer trains this mofo.  And this horse got works up his ass!!  Breezin!"

I felt a combination of flattery and confusion, trying to discern what exactly might be up the horse's ass.  After a few seconds, I got the idea.

Lest you think this guy was just spewing nonsense, he proceeded to paraphrase from famed trainer Woody Stephens on a strategy I'd read about years ago but had forgotten:  If you can breeze 'em at 6-7 furlongs at race speed in workouts, they're ready to go a mile and a quarter.  Something like that.

I realized the "He dead" guy knew a thing or two.  Suddenly, my pick seemed logical outside of my own mind.  I grew brave.

"Cold exacta," I said.  "Afleet Express over Fly Down."

"Aw man.  Maybe," the guy said.  "But the number 8, Fly Down, gonna win."

As it turned out, our two horses broke from the pack in the stretch and battled to the wire, neck and neck.  Our little area was screaming and whacking each other on the arm as they hit the finish line.  They'd all bet on Fly Down, including the "He dead" guy.

"I think the 8 got 'em," the guy screamed.  "The 8 got 'em!!"

"I don't know, man," I said.  "It's a photo.  Looked pretty close to me!"

When the results posted, I was elated.  Afleet Express had won -- by a nostril -- and I had the exacta with Fly Down in 2nd as well.

"Man, you had it right," the guy said, punching me in the ribs.

"Yeah, but I wasn't sure until you chimed in."

It's the truth.  We often think of handicapping as a solitary pursuit.  But if I was at home playing by myself, I might not have landed on Afleet Express.  I might've stuck with my inner thoughts of being loyal to A Little Warm or Fly Down.  I might not have found that extra jolt of confidence.  And I wouldn't have had as much fun enjoying the stretch run or the elation of finally getting one right this day, when I had called the winning exact in front of other people.

As much as I love playing the races on the Internet, there's still something to be said for being in the presence of other people, and not just on chat.

This was my 2nd favorite Travers experience.  The first being the time I was in the Saratoga stands near the rail for the race.  Of course, that day, I didn't get a damn thing right.

That day, my horse, the guy would've said:  He dead.

Getting schooled (not in the paddock)

I've completed my first week of classes at the University of Louisville's equine business program.  As a race fan, I thought you might be interested in the issues we're discussing in my courses:

Economics:  We had a somewhat heated debate on the issue of Artificial Insemination.  AI is banned all over the world for thoroughbred racing, but there's been at least one court case in Australia challenging the ban.  The purists argue that AI will ruin the sport by watering down the gene pool.  Theoretically, everyone might have a Storm Cat foal.  Others say it's time to use the technology available to welcome more people (and countries) into the breeding business.  And there could be measures that would limit the number of foals per stallion. 

AI would likely result in the loss of certain jobs, like laborers who attend to the mating sessions and drivers who transport horses to breeding farms, but in the long run, AI would probably benefit the economy because the breeding business would grow.  It's a contentious issue that won't be resolved anytime soon.

Finance:  Once we get through the complex equations, we should have some fun in this class.  We'll be discussing the dynamics of horse auctions and heading down to the Keeneland sale this fall.  My professor is a breeder and admitted card-counter at the blackjack table who is given to trying almost any new method for making money on thoroughbreds.  He looks for percentage discrepancies in the win/place/show pools and rather than actually handicapping races, he takes a more statistical approach to the amounts being bet in each pool for a particular race.  I don't think I could do it that way, but if he can count cards, maybe that's the best method for him.  It's interesting to hear his theories, in any case.  We'll be devoting at least one class specifically to anomalies like long-shot bias, big-day inefficiencies and pick-6 carryovers.  I don't remember school being this fun!

Equine management: This course is specifically about the nature of the horse, and I'm thrilled to be taking it.  Like many handicappers and race fans, I'm lost when it comes to conformation - what to look for in young horses, tell-tale behavioral and physical signs, etc.   I'm looking forward to understanding that much better.  My instructor has been around horses her whole life, and I'm already learning things about their personalities and physiology that I didn't understand before.  For example, can you tell by a horse's reaction if he is a) scared  b) injured or c) trying to exert dominance?  Pretty interesting stuff.  By next week, I have to memorize all 45 parts of the horse!

Organization and Administration:  In this course, we'll learn about how various horse enterprises operate -- racetracks, breeding farms, trade associations, auction companies, bloodstock agencies -- you name it.  By the end of the semester, we have to create our own business plan, which should be a very useful exercise.

Industry Speaker Series:  This could turn out to be the most valuable course of all, since it will give me the opportunity to network with leaders in the business.  This week, we heard from the VP of brand development at Churchill Downs.  Churchill has brought in people from various non-racing backgrounds to inject new blood into the marketing effort, and so far, it seems to be paying off.  Night racing, "Ladies First," KentuckyDerbyParty.com, food and music festivals, television shows, and Derby Nation are among the many initiatives Churchill has launched.  The message I got was that the social and entertainment aspect of the racing experience will be paramount to the future of the sport.  Attracting new fans might require that the racing, quite honestly, takes a bit of a back seat to the entertainment end of things.  But Churchill is also working on initiatives that will make handicapping races more accessible to the new fan.  Think phone apps.

Regulatory Law:  In this class, we're looking specifically at regulation of the horse industry.  It's taught by an attorney who specializes in Kentucky racing issues.  We discussed the only racing case to be heard by the US Supreme Court - 1979's Barry v Barchi.  Harness trainer John Barchi argued that his suspension for a drugged horse was unconstitutional because he wasn't given a hearing before he was suspended, wasn't given a speedy post-suspension hearing and because the rules for harness and thoroughbred racing suspensions were irrationally different.  The court ruled that Barchi wasn't given a prompt post-suspension hearing, but against him on the other two counts.  The case has affected suspensions of trainers ever since.  Off to the law library next week to start looking at more cases.  Should be extremely helpful to understand the legal aspects of the sport.

Let me know if this stuff interests you at all, and I'll post future updates.

Well, classes and studying haven't left me much time to handicap the Travers.  Better get to it!

Horse heaven humidity

I've finally reached my destination -- Louisville, KY.

Holy mother of god, it is humid here.  I have to change my shirt after walking from the apartment to my car.  Welcome to the Midwest, you weather-spoiled Angelino.

I'm not complaining.  I've died and gone to horse heaven.  I was shopping at Kroger yesterday, and above me in the spice aisle was a banner commemorating War Admiral's win in the 1937 Kentucky Derby.  Above the bread aisle was Secretariat.  By the deli, a picture of the 1972 Run for the Roses, as they rounded the clubhouse turn.

I've never enjoyed a trip to Kroger so much in my life.  As I put the groceries in the car, I could see the Twin Spires of Churchill Downs.  They're directly across from the University of Louisville campus, where I will spend much of the next year.  Pinch me.

I wandered through the beautiful campus buildings and picked up my student ID, feeling like a clueless freshman because I stopped at almost every map kiosk.  Sure, I was about the oldest person eating free pizza at the student government welcome event, but no one seemed to wonder why the gentlemen with gray hairs on his temples was so interested in the student body president's initiative for swapping textbooks.  Besides, I now have a student ID to prove that I am indeed a 40-year-old 5th-year freshman.

I stopped by the Equine Business building, where I will be doing my studies, and there on the wall was a mathematical analysis of the probability that a claiming horse will return a profit for its owner.  E=CRTV3x*+& or something like that.  I guess I will learn it soon.  I am one happy horse geek.

Louisville is a cool town with a well-recognized arts scene, fantastic restaurants and some of the friendliest people on earth.  In the Highlands area, there are five Irish pubs within two blocks of each other.  None of them are chains, and I am digging it.

At one local pub, I ran into an assistant for successful thoroughbred trainer Michael Maker and struck up a conversation.  That wouldn't happen in LA. And I've only been here two days.

I'm still searching for the blue grass, though.  I have looked everywhere, and I don't see any grass that is blue.  It's green, just like everywhere else.

But make no mistake, the ground here is special, a tie that binds horses and bourbon together.

Kentucky's grass sits on a bed of limestone, and when limestone seeps into the water, it makes the finest bourbon whiskey and the strongest horse legs imaginable.  Near Lexington, you'll find multi-million dollar horse farms and distilleries, sometimes on the same property.  They know all about the secret of Kentucky.  I took these photos on my last trip here:

 

 
The last photo is a tree at Buffalo Trace, a fantastic distillery that sits on an old buffalo roaming route and where bourbon has been made since 1787.  The tree is covered in bourbon mash from the distilling process, basically.  It doesn't harm the tree.  Just turns it black.

Blackgrass.  Bluegrass.  Greengrass.  It's all beautiful to me.

Big Skies and Bikers

My travel blog continues from northwest Nebraska.

I'm in the only town of substance for miles around here.  Every once in a while, the town's college basketball team makes the NCAA tournament, and people say -- Chadron State?  Where the hell is that?  Well, here it is, in Chadron, NE.

Yesterday, I drove east from Billings, Montana and stopped at the Little Bighorn memorial -- the site of Custer's Last Stand.  I wasn't planning to stop, but I'm glad I did.  Here lies the remains of 220 American soldiers who were defeated June 26, 1876 by Native Americans trying to defend their land.  It was one of the few victories against the US government.

Custer's gravestone is here, but he is buried at West Point.

The ranger told the story of the battle with so much passion, you'd think it happened last week.  He explained how the Lakotas never wanted a fight, even though they far outnumbered the soldiers.  The tribes couldn't afford to lose their warriors -- the men who provided and protected.  It would take a generation to replace them, while a new US soldier could be trained in five or six months.  The whole thing was very moving and made me ponder the senseless behavior of our government. 

Later in the day, I stopped at Mount Rushmore, seemingly a monument to American brilliance.  But  the faces of our leaders are carved into land that was once sacred to the Sioux.  The US government just took it from them.  The carvings are pretty extraordinary, but I found Little Bighorn more compelling.  Here's Rushmore from the parking lot:

Some photos without my car in them:

Not far from Mt. Rushmore is Custer, South Dakota.  Custer is a good 60 miles from Sturgis, site of this week's gigantic biker rally.  It doesn't matter.  Bikers are EVERYWHERE around here.  It's good people-watching.

Hey, I thought you were buried at West Point?

Here are some high-speed photos, and by that I mean they were taken while I was driving 80 mph (or less):

Why they call it Big Sky country.  Wyoming:

If you look behind the biker's head, you can see the carving of chief Crazy Horse:

A storm brews over the grasslands of Nebraska:

Greetings from Wyoming

My latest thoughts and photos from the road:

Yellowstone National Park is stunning beyond words, so I'll try to use as few words as possible and stick with my large photos and a few comments and stories.

Yellowstone sits on a volcano.  It could erupt at any time, and when it does erupt, it will spew ash over half of the United States.  Scientists believe it has erupted three times so far and is due for another explosion any century now.  Until then, we get to enjoy its immense beauty.

The ground beneath Yellowstone is literally boiling.  It creates strange geological wonders you won't find anywhere else.  Like this:

This is not snow:

Double, Double, Toil and Trouble.  A boiling sulfur cauldron:

Now that you've been warned that Yellowstone sits on a volcano, do you see anything wrong in this picture?

Apparently, some people don't understand the words DO NOT ENTER.  Ranger Betty told me that every year, Yellowstone transports people to the Salt Lake Burn Center because they do stupid things like this -- walk on ground that could collapse at any minute and burn their legs to cinders.

I encountered other absolutely asinine behavior at Yellowstone.  Early on in my drive through the park, I spotted a bison a few hundred yards away on a plain.  I pulled over to grab a shot with the zoom.  While I was doing this, two other cars pulled over, and the families inside sprinted toward the bison, leaving the doors to their mini-vans wide open.  

When one of the families returned to their car, I said to the guy:

"That wasn't the brightest thing in the world."

"What?"

"You running after that bison with your kids.  Last summer I saw a bison charge a family just like yours (lying).  A couple weeks ago, somebody was eaten by a grizzly bear out here (not lying)."

"Oh, yeah, I heard about that."

The stupidity of tourists is unavoidable here, but thankfully so is nature's grandeur.  Exhibits A, B & C:

At some points in the park, the wildlife comes to you.  In Hayden Valley, the bison seem extremely comfortable with humans:

This bison and elk couldn't have been more than 20 feet away:

I did stop at Old Faithful, but I couldn't wait around for it to spew.  Apparently, Faithful didn't get my itinerary ahead of time, so I was only able to watch it cough:

I haven't forgotten about horses during my journey across America.  I've seen some amazing-looking equines along the way, including a completely white palamino.  And others, in what I would say is definitely horse country:

I left Yellowstone on 212 East, which is considered by many to be the most scenic highway in America.  I won't argue with them.  It is breathtaking:

The road itself is amazing.  It's not for the faint of heart.  It reminded me of a Formula One course on the edge of a cliff.  Check out the road:

When I reached the top of the canyons on 212 East, it was 52 degrees and magnificent (although the photos can't nearly do it justice):

The only words I have left -- it was worth every mile I drove to get here.

Blame-Zenyatta: Wedded Bliss

They really ought to get married, these two.  Blame and Zenyatta are just those rare horses who know where the wire is and know how to get there first. 

It is rare, don't kid yourself.  There have been plenty of great horses over time who've shown amazing talent but haven't fired every time they've hit the track.  Zenyatta has already reached that status, and Blame is on his way.

I realize Zenyatta wasn't facing monsters in the Clement Hirsch, and I'm sure she'll get more criticism for that, but seriously, there have been plenty of great horses over time who've won and won and won and then suddenly against lesser, they've fallen short.  She never, ever does.  She always finds a way to win.  Blame seems to be cut from the same cloth.  I've been on his bandwagon for a long time now.  While it took me a while to accept Zenyatta's unparalleled winstinct, Blame's desire to win was immediately obvious to me.  I can't explain it. I just spotted it early on, and I'm no expert.  I'm in love with both of them.

In my humble opinion, these two are the top horses in training, bar none.

Louisville, here I come!

This post has nothing to do with horses or racing, but since I'm moving across the country (to Kentucky) to start a career in horses and racing, I thought I'd share my travel-blogging as I make my way:

After six years of living in LA, I left SoCal behind yesterday and entered a new low point in my life -- the lowest point in North America, in fact.  My first stop was Death Valley, one of the few major sites in California I hadn't seen.  I'm fascinated by extremes, and Death Valley has two of them -- heat and (a lack of) elevation.  As I descended into the valley, my car thermometer kept rising.  I drove down, down, down until I felt like I was going under the earth.  But I kept driving down, down, down until I reached Badwater Basin, 283 feet below sea level, where the temperature was 117 degrees.

In the South, people say the heat feels like an oven.  Here it's more like a blast furnace.  In Hell.  You actually have to pass through Hell's Gate to get into the national park. The photo on the left is the Devil's Golf Course, where if you played even 9 holes, you'd probably be dead.  Down here, it really feels like you're at the bottom of the world with the weight of the planet (and the sun) pressing down on you.  What a super fun national park!

I walked out on the salt flat which covers the basin, but I only stayed long enough to get a French tourist to snap a photo.  This isn't a park for dilly-dallying, unless you've always wanted to be a raisin.  I saw one woman who looked like she had rubbed her face with Crisco and laid down on the salt flat for an hour.  Scary!  I quickly bolted for the comfort of an air-conditioned car and made my way to Rhyolite, Nevada -- population zero.

Once upon a time, Rhyolite was a booming mining town.  Today, there isn't much, except rattlesnakes and ghosts.  I imagined what it must've been like back in the day as I strolled through the ruins of the bank, the general store and other buildings.  This part of Nevada is extremely desolate.  What am I saying?  The entire state of Nevada is extremely desolate except for Reno and Vegas.  The driving gets pretty painful when the only sights on the roadside are prisons.

I eventually made it to Vegas, where I stayed at the Imperial Palace.  Back in the day, this place might've been dope, but now it's just for people who like to kick it truly old-school or unemployed people traveling across America who want to pay $28 a night.  It's kind of a dump, but it's also right across from Caesar's Palace.

Vegas is the only place I know where you need a GPS system to navigate indoors.  I mean, have you ever tried to get out of Caesar's Palace?  This is the 2nd time I've gotten lost in the bowels of that casino, despite my determination this time to avoid such a fate.  What else can I say about Vegas?  It's the best people-watching in the world.  The elevator doors opened to reveal three gentlemen speaking Danish, I believe.  The scrawniest one of them was wearing:  A straw cowboy hat, cowboy boots, shorts and a cut-off t-shirt that said MUSCLE BEACH.  Take a moment to imagine that.  When the doors closed, everyone giggled.  Poor guy.  He probably thought he was being a cool American.

I left Vegas this morning after playing a few spins of Russian Roulette. Hey, I like to live on the edge. I guess more accurately, I sat at a Roulette table where all the other players were people from Russia.  And come to think of it, there were guns involved.  The dealer kept bragging about his collection of Russian firearms and wanted to know the intricate details of weapons regulations in Russia.  The Russians just nodded and put their chips on black.

Today, I drove though Utah to Salt Lake City.  Utah is gorgeous.  The expansive sky and prairies and the ever-changing mountains create a state of melancholy exhilaration in which you can legally drive 80 mph.  When you come over the crest of highway 15 into Provo, the Rockies soar into view.  Awesome.  Three names I always enjoy -- Marvin, Thelma and Provo.

I'm sure somebody will get that movie reference.  I passed a lot of people with motorcycles.  I imagine they're heading up to Sturgis, South Dakota for the insane motorcycle rally they have every year.  It kind of put a crimp in my plans.  I was going to stay in Rapid City, SD, but thanks to Sturgis, the cheapest motels in Rapid City, SD are going for $300 a night!  I can stay four stars in Beverly Hill for less than that.  I'm sure thousands and thousands of Harleys would be a sight to behold, but I'm planning to skip that whole traffic nightmare.

Tomorrow, off to Bozeman, MT.  In case you're interested, the official soundtrack to my journey across American includes:  Hayes Carll, Son Volt, Wilco, Ryan Adams, Griffith House, Leonard Cohen and Bob Dylan.  Songs available on Itunes.