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.
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