Rush to patience
The underdog days of summer continue.
Huge win prices are running everywhere; more importantly, they're sensible and accessible.
If 30 percent of the favorites are winning this summer, they're the ones that figured just fine, because this is one of those periods in horse racing when the late-racing 6-5 shots are finishing fourth, and the lightly raced fit horses from the sticks are stalking and winning by eight to pay $54.
Bad bettors are still betting bad trainers and risky jockeys — praise the early speed and pass the IRS form.
Here's something we need to think more about: patience.
When a 30-1 hayride horse does something unexpected, like mess you up, usually there's a reason. Sometimes the reason is that the rest of the field was lousier than you might have thought, or feebler. But reasons for losing don't materialize in the rear-view mirror; most were there all along.
A 30-1 shot unmade my day last week, running second. And don't they always run second. They can't win. Yet they won't stop. And still they hang tough to place. It's why you have to do one of two things when you come to a race you like: earn more money and play the All, or spend more time on that race.
Here's a good question: What's the rush?
It's better to spend an hour on a race you like than half hours on bigger gambles.
Even though there are 20 or 30 minutes between races, the track announcer will come with "Ils sonts partis" in a second at Evangeline, the best "they're off and running" has ever sounded; they're stirring up dust at Lone Star; and the inside lint lane at Del Mar is stopping them like Velcro. The urge to hurry is in the wagering culture.
If you like a horse in a race, you should go over every what-if imaginable: What if the last effort indicated soreness on one of the short prices? What if the even-money favorite breaks toward the rear? What if average sprint speed is more than enough to get the lead in this route? What if that trainer couldn't teach your dog to go on a fire hydrant? What if the second favorite has too many races this year? What if the lightly raced 30-1 shot is improving and gets a better post and can get out near the lead? What if the favorites run to their lack of breeding and inconsistent training? What if the 30-1 shot just ticket down a little bit on the board? What if this field is mostly junk and what if most people play four tracks at once?
The 30-1 shot runs second, that's what happens.
The truth is, in almost all of the races where something impossible seems to transpire, it's handicapper error, not the Mob Fairy paying a visit. Selective training, or alleged chiseling, can happen when somebody fiddles with a cheap horse a couple or three races, then goes after some big win odds. It's why you should play tracks that offer fat purses spiked by casino money, where winning beats chiseling. The good things about a sandbagger is his or her attempt to steal a pot shows on the tote, and low-rent trainers couldn't successfully handicap a race if they stopped the tape at the top of the stretch and got to place bets then and there. All they can do is the impossible on rare occasions.
Sometimes a 30-1 horse just beats you because they're animals.
If you like a race, read on and on.
Here's something interesting that happened last week.
I hit a good exacta using many of the positive handicapping elements thought about here over the course of the summer: a lightly raced healthy horse with decent speed stalked the Drum and Fife Corps in a cheap maiden claiming race, passed them on the turn as if they were standing still, which they almost were, to win by ten.
When I hit a good one, I love to cheer.
Solving a complicated puzzle can be so exhilarating that I'm not beyond leaping from TV to TV screen, from simulcast cubicle to simulcast cubicle, like Depp the pirate, the winning exacta ticket clinched in my teeth. I'm not talking about screaming home a $4.20 winner. I'm referring to celebrating a greening. To the point, if it's not fun, why do it? Not enjoying a win could have psychological implications — you're too far down, why enjoy it, you know you'll eventually lose it all, anyway. I know this. If I hit a big one, I'm coming out of the cake, so to speak; then I'll buy a round and tip far too much.
And so as I stood there last Wednesday evening wondering why a person couldn't do something so lovely on a more consistent basis, a friend of mine turned around and said, meaning it, "Thanks for mentioning that horse."
Here's the way that works.
You don't bunt to break up a no-hitter, you don't hit a batter above the letters, you don't dunk one at basketball up by double figures with a few seconds left, you don't throw to the end zone if you're stuffing somebody late at football, and you don't give out long shots unless it's in print where nobody is apt to believe you in the first place.
Write to Jay at jaycronley@yahoo.com.
