Mood swings
One day recently, I was headed out the door to a day of racing when the phone rang as the mail arrived.
My ex-wife was on the phone, asking for the two hundred I owed her.
Having as an ex-spouse a person who is a responsible and productive member of the community is very important. Nobody wants to have been married to a lunatic, or worse, somebody who took up with the dredges of humanity after you. I have two ex-wives, one in Dallas, the other six blocks from my house. The ex-wife in Dallas married a wealthy man who bought his dog a car and put it in the back yard of the estate, as the pooch loved to go places. It wasn't a new car, but it was a better car than I was driving at the time. But then, what wasn't. This dog, it must not have overly bright, because it really liked the car in the back yard, even though it was like sculpture, even though it didn't move. Hey dog, when you stick your head out of the car window, where's the air?
The other ex-wife is a successful business person.
But evidently not successful enough, as she wanted the $200 back right then and there.
Included in the mail on this day was a communication from the Internal Revenue Service.
I was, in fact, on the phone with the ex-wife wanting her money back when the mail carrier handed me the envelope with the Internal Revenue Service return address. You hope it's nothing, but it's usually something. You hope it's a check for $200. But it was a notice saying that I owed $1,800.
What doesn't fit in this train of thought: ex-wife wants money, Internal Revenue Service wants money, day at the horse races.
Here's the sharp point. You can't pick and choose your way through a dark mood. Bad vibes are worse than bad rides. It's why I like to go to the races alone and sit in a dark corner, as far away as possible from anybody who could make me want to stick his face in the cold nacho cheese. Bad moods translate into bad picks and worse bets. You should have seen my row at the simulcast joint the afternoon that the ex-wife and IRS spoke simultaneously to me of monies due. One seat over was a man going through an unpleasant divorce and had dropped in to get his mind off that. One row back was somebody who had been given notice that his services at his job were no longer required. Next to that one was somebody who thought he had a fever.
This was like the Bermuda Rectangle of handicapping, money disappeared without a trace. I recall thinking after a favorite on which I bet $70 ran sixth: Thanks a lot, IRS.
Horse race handicapping is more interpretive and creative than any other gambling endeavor. Memorize some percentages and you can play poker all night, with divorce attorneys hovering. But if you lose your focus with the horses, they could find you slumped over the ATM. Some horse players can be overly sensitive. I have, for example, been thrown off mood by the wrong song on the radio, even by a stupid movie title like "Quantum of Solace." A quantum is an indivisible entity of a quality that has the same units as the Planck constant and is related to both energy and momentum of elementary particles of matter and of protons and other bosons. To provide solace is too soothe. Six to five the movie is about as unentertaining as the title.
So far as I can tell, horse race handicapping and wagering is best used a supplement to reality, not as an escape.
Good moods are made, not given: Before going to the races, exercise, stay away from work, and avoid human contact. It's the greening of handicapping.
Write to Jay at jaycronley@yahoo.com.
