This past Friday morning I spent a couple of hours reviewing my Breeders' Cup handicapping in preparation for Saturday's day-long excursion to Turfway Park with The B Team Syndicate for the World Thoroughbred Championships; The Richest Day in Racing. From my seated position on the couch, I was able to look out upon the West 40 of the Ranch and was greeted by this vista (below):
From this same vantage point minutes later, but looking skyward, the clouds broke and the Autumal colors burst into a brilliant, spectacular display:
Outside it was about 55 degrees. Should it have been a little warmer I'd have thrown the windows wide open to breathe in the pure, fresh Fall air. Perhaps my Friday morning handicapping session had been somewhat distracted. Or, perhaps, this is foreshadowing. I picked up The Old Master of the Turf from his top secret bunker in an undisclosed location Saturday morning at 8:45 and we set a course for Lou's palatial estate. Half way to Big Brother's, The Old Master of the Turf discovered he had left our tickets to Turfway's Homestretch Room back in his top secret bunker. I helmed the Jeep 180 degrees in the opposite direction and rapidly we returned to Mr B's top secret bunker. Was this more foreshadowing? Am I preparing you for the fact that on Saturday I got my clock cleaned? Yes, no and maybe. "Period" [credit: B.H. Obama].
Arriving at Turfway, a rare photographic opportunity presented itself rather incongruously in the parking lot:
I must be off!
Initially I assumed my standard, statuesque pose but Lou suggested I rearrange myself to appear as if I was about to break from the gate. Mysteriously, this stance more resembles someone about to punch out an unreformed Occupy Wall Streeter.
Inside, The Old Master of the Turf and Lou immediately headed for the ground-floor Homestretch Room. I took a brief detour upstairs in order to photograph the desolate main concourse.
Among my earliest memories of going to the track as a young boy in the 1970s were of standing with Mr B in long lines at these very same betting windows (at left, above) among a multitude of track patrons crowding densely into the dark, smokey concourse. Nowadays this area is bright, well lit, smoke-free and devoid of human activity. Unfortunate. The future of Turfway Park is very much in doubt. By this time next year, the brand new, state-of-the-art Miami Valley racino (owned in part by Churchill Downs; located just off I-75 in Monroe, Ohio and just a turned double play away from Joe Morgan Honda) will replace the ancient, neglected Lebanon Raceway and the completely renovated, expanded River Downs race track and casino will (re-)open. Both will place venerable old Turfway Park under unrelenting - probably crippling - competitive pressure. I am filled with melancholy when I contemplate a near future in which Turfway is but a fading memory.
Next time I go to Turfway - if there is a next time - I'll try to get a few more photos, principally; the grandstand, the box seats, and the paddock.
At last year's Breeders' Cup simulcast, the Homestretch Room's buffet found universal dissatisfaction. As a manifest result, reservations there for a Derby and Belmont table was noticeably reduced. This year's Breeders' Cup buffet in the Homestretch Room was a veritable, mixed-sports-metaphor home run.
Prime rib, Sicilian chicken, two varieties of mashed potatoes, steamed bacon and green beans. The prime rib may have been the best I've ever had, and I have had more than most human beings. Additional offerings on the buffet were things called "salad" and a wide assortment of "fruits," whatever those things are. The cheese and mushroom stuffed ravioli (and tomato sauce) looked good, too, but a guy can only carb-load so much. The variety of desserts were nearly innumerable. The chocolate cake (above, right) was dynamite.
As for the day's wagering.... Oh Doctor!
The success rate for the individual members of The B team Syndicate was inversely proportional to how much time was spent studying the Daily Racing Form. Lou, having not, looked at the Form until 1 hour before post time walked away from the track that night down a few dollars. The Old Master of the Turf spent a handful of hours the week before looking over the DRF but still took a beating. Mr B's reverses didn't equal my own, and I had spent 10-12 hours examining every minute detail of the Form. The Wise Dan Free Money Express rolled again, but no amount wagered on Wise Dan at 8/5 could ultimately have righted the S.S. Hemorrhaging Cash. Well, perhaps that isn't entirely accurate. The smartest thing to have done on Saturday may have been to forgo every other race and simply go "all-in" on Wise Dan, but where is the fun in sitting at the track for 9 hours to wager on just one race? Remember, it's called gambling, not investing. Here are the four torpedoes which sent my venture to the murky depths:
At left, above, you see The B Team Syndicate's Pick Six. At the right, above, is my own "back-up" Pick Six. Between the two tickets were four of six winners. However, each ticket had but three winners.
Both Pick Sixes had the #12 Mizdirection in the Turf Sprint.
The Syndicate ticket waded six horses deep into the Juvenile but came up empty. My back-up ticket had the winner, the #4 New Year's Day (11-1 odds).
The 13-1 Magician winning the Turf Classic struck the magazine and sent the Syndicate ticket down to Davy Jones's locker. My back-up ticket was, at this point, on life-support for a consolation payout.
The 3-1 favorite - and winner - in the Sprint, Secret Circle, was left off all tickets. The plug was thus pulled on my back-up ticket.
Wise Dan's victory in the Mile was, by this stage, of no help to the Syndicate Pick Six, and the same goes for Mucho Macho Man's victory in the Classic, which I had included on my back-up ticket.
The winning Pick Six paid $47,500. The five of six consolation paid $400.
My "Late" Pick Four (above, left) missed on Magician in the Turf Classic but then successfully ran the table in correctly hitting the Sprint, Mile and Classic. Regrettably, for me, there is no consolation payoff for correctly picking three of four in the Pick Four.
The winning Pick Four paid just over $3,700.
Women and children having been assisted into life boats, for the Classic I forwent my usual armada of Win-Place, trifecta boxes, superfecta boxes and nobly fired off one last S.O.S., that being a rather large straight exacta on Game On Dude and Mucho Macho Man. Remind me to never again bet another Bob Baffert-trained horse in any of the country's biggest races.
While You Were Out... for the past fifty years!
Later this month the Doctor Who fiftieth anniversary episode will air to much fanfare. Today we continue looking back at selected highlights from the previous, re-booted serials. Linked below are clips from Series 4 (2008):
Series 4, Episode 2 "The Fires of Pompeii."
Series 4, Episode 5 (trailer) "The Doctor's Daughter."
Series 4, Episode 8 "Silence in the Library."
Series 4, Episode 8a "Silence in the Library."
Series 4, Episode 9 "Forest of the Dead."
Series 4, Episode 10 "Midnight."
Series 4, Episode 11 "Turn Left."
Series 4, Episode 11a "Turn Left."
Series 4, Episode 11b "Turn Left."
Series 4, Episode 11c "Turn Left."
Series 4, Episode 13 "Journey's End."
Series 4, Episode 13a "Journey's End."
