After the previous, epic-length post ("All Kentucky, All Of The Time" [below]), I thought it would be magnanimous of me to give you a break this week and simply share some few of the recent, random photos taken with my R2 Android unit.
For those of you wondering why Joey Votto was having such a miserable season, I have the answer! I discovered that the former National League MVP had been captured by two little green aliens- disguised as Reds personnel - and imprisoned in a Steak 'n Shake grab-a-toy/claw machine. Evidently Mr Peanut was captured in a failed attempt to free Votto.
Flowers!
More flowers!
Outside the flower emporium, storm clouds were threatening:
Inside the flower emporium, propaganda was threatening from the magazine rack:
Jokers.
For some real truth in advertising, I spied this vanity plate on a MINI Cooper S on Colerain Ave:
Roll the credits!
Last week, Heavy Artillery published the following statement in "All Kentucky, All Of The Time":
Furthermore, this certain somebody - who once lived across the street from Stewart Junior High School - is under the illusion that, should he be able to play an entire season in 2014, Joltin' Joe would not benefit from better nutrition, better training, better scouting, improved travel & housing accommodations, many fewer day games, more comfortable uniforms, better equipment and vastly greater financial incentives whereas this same somebody - who shares initials with a famous Soviet model of automatic rifle - believes with the same ardent, fervent belief as only those who are faith-believers in man-made global warming can, that Jay Bruuuuce would outperform even Babe Ruth were Bruuuuce to be transported back to 1927, and that Bruuuce would somehow not wilt under the hardships of all day games, heavy wool uniforms, greasy spoon nutrition, primitive training, medieval medical care, minimal scouting, non-air-conditioned travel by train, non-air-conditioned hotel & housing accommodations, spit balls, bean balls, no batter's eye backdop, having to work in the off-season as a lumberjack..... over the course of a Roaring Twenties baseball season. It's this kind of crazy thinking that might someday lead to a crypto-communist community organizer being elected to the Presidency of the United States!
The subject of this paragraph alerted the Heavy Artillery editorial board of our error. The bloke who shares his initials with a famous Soviet model of automatic rifle, in fact, stated it was his belief that Zack Cozart would outperform Babe Ruth should Cozy - and not Jay Bruuuuce - be transported back in time to 1927.
Heavy Artillery regrets the error and is happy to correct the record as it only casts AK's dubious assertion into an even more mirthfully doubtful realm.
As a way of making amends, Heavy Artillery offers Kuertz three chords and the truth.
Two weeks ago The B Team Syndicate reconvened for the 140th running of the Kentucky Derby, returning to Turfway Park much as the swallows return to San Capistrano each year. Mr B initially considered making reservations at the new Miami Valley Gaming (I-75 Exit 29 in Monroe, OH, just a baseball's throw from Joe Morgan Honda) but was frustrated by their inability to inform him as to any concrete plans for accepting reservations. Rank amateurs. Plus, the simulcast room at MVG is more akin to a Stalinist gulag than a racebook. Fortunately Mr B made the right call in skipping MVG as, on Derby morning, I received the following text bulletin via my Android unit from loyal subscriber JW: MVG is a [expletive deleted]. Not organized at all. Belterra Park, which hath arisen from the ashes of old River Downs in Cincinnati, opened on Derby Day and so Mr B wasn't confident in testing the simulcast wagering waters on such an important day. One of my sources deep within the Reds organization, codenamed BOSS, was going to provide me with his own scouting report of the facility but I fear that he was captured behind enemy lines as his highly-anticipated report has yet to materialize. Option three was Indiana Downs in scenic Shelbyville, Indiana, home to the best (regional) racino buffet but that's a longer haul and Mr B isn't so hep on traveling great distances these days. This left us with one viable option; Turfway Park.
Unlike so many past years/decades when we occupied a whole row in Turfway Park's "Players Row" (seen below):
Mr B reserved a large table for both The B Team Syndicate as well as various elements of The Old Master of the Turf's cosa nostra of old school horse players in "The Homestretch Room" (below), the chief attractions being a prime rib buffet and shorter lines at the betting windows.
Take it from me, the cheeseburger and fries sold at concession stands throughout Turfway Park are fantastic; don't bother with the buffet. The cosa nostra, however, cannot resist the remorseless siren song of all-you-can-eat.
I do not wager on horses based upon their names, but the night before The Run for the Roses I alerted Lou to a horse on the Derby Day undercard:
Lou put $2 on Jimmy Rockford, to no profit.
Seated around the big kids' table on Derby Day, I noticed that two races later a horse bore the name of Ulanbator:
Casting all good manners aside, I reached across the table and pointed to it in Lou's Daily Racing Form and said aloud to the assembled B Team Syndicate/cosa nostra;
I don't bet horse's names but how often do you get to wager on a horse named for a city in Mongolia? Wasn't that the mythical location of the summer palace of Kubla Khan?
Eyebrows raised all around the table at my keen eye and astute knowledge of world geography and of sixteenth century poetry. As cosa nostra attention turned back to other matters, I next said to Lou (with an ulterior motive in mind, for I am always in possession of ulterior motives), sotto voce, "To walk the caves of ice." At this utterance, Lou's eyes lit up for he knew instantly what my true reference was in calling attention to a colt named Ulanbator; the classic RUSH song "Xanadu." Lou turned his head away from the table so that no one beside me might see his face begin to crack, and replied quietly enough so that the old timers couldn't discern what he was about to say, "To break my fast on honeydew and drink the milk of paradise."
We kill each other.
I placed a couple of dollars on the nose of the #7 Thundergram (above) who, as my notes record, stumbled when the gates opened and finished fourth. Ulanbator ran third.
Whilst I scrutinized the Daily Racing Form sporting a Turfway Park wristband that coincidentally matched my shirt:
The Old Master of the Turf was brought coffee in a cup that I thought was comically dainty for Mr B:
I was hitting the acqua hard and when the waitress brought my second glass I discovered similarly that inflation hit my ice water hard, too:
One thing not subjected to the laws of economics - or physics - was the slab of prime rib foisted upon The Old Master:
Lou conservatively estimated its gravity-warping mass at 3 pounds. What made this so funny to unapologetic carnivores such as Lou and me is that Mr B is the guy who, when he arranges for a family dinner at "the steakhouse," orders a salad. When Mr B hosts a cookout at his top secret bunker, he skips the burgers and goes straight to the hot dogs. And salad. Having a cow took on a whole new, quasi-literal meaning for The Old Master.
The wagering day got off to a slow, slightly haphazard start for The B Team Syndicate. I'd intended to put a couple of greenbacks on the nose of Rockford but was so engrossed in the DRF that the field broke from the gate before I'd realized it was post time. As mentioned above, Thundergram stumbled at the break. In the 6th Race, I loaded up on a straight WIN wager on the 7/5 favorite - a horse named Centre Court who'd posted 3 wins in 3 previous starts at Churchill Downs for his career - who finished out of the money. In the 7th Race, I made a WIN/PLACE bet on a 6/5 sprinter sired by Ghostzapper (one of my all-time favorites; the sire of his dam [or dam sire; breeding term] is another of my all-time favorites - Holy Bull) which broke from the gate sideways and finished 4th. For Race 8, I placed a straight WIN bet on a 4/1 colt named Storming Inti which yielded his narrow lead just about three strides from the finish line.
By this point, The B Team Syndicate Pick Six was dead and none of us had cashed a ticket. The cosa nostra wasn't having much luck at Churchill, either, but were hitting big-payout exotics elsewhere (Pimlico, Belmont) just playing numbers.
Down just about $80 on the day, my own luck was about to turn.
I made a modest WIN/PLACE bet on an 10/1 grandson of '94 Derby winner Go For Gin in Race 9, the 80th running of the Churchill Downs Stakes (a 7 furlong sprint). As has been stated here oft before, if I have any specific area of handicapping expertise, it would appear to be in the realm of sprint races (races less than 1 mile). Central Banker paid $23.60 to win and $10.20 to place, I wagered sufficient combinations of each to erase my deficit and plunge into black.
The (Grade I) Woodford Reserve Turf Classic was the 10th race on the race card and featured the free money express, Wise Dan. Wise Dan hasn't gone off at Even Money or better since 2012, perhaps longer ago than that [I don't have his lifetime past performances handy], and went to the starting gate on Derby Day at odds of 1/2. There are only two ways to play two-time Horse of the Year Wise Dan - or any horse - at such low odds; in combination with another horse or horses (exacta, trifecta, etc) or a large WIN bet.
I went big, betting with both hands. "He just doesn't know how to get beat!" The free money express cannot go on forever and, at the relatively advanced age (for a competitive thoroughbred) of 7, one has to wonder when the end will come. But until then, we should all take a moment to bask in the brilliant light of historic equine excellence.
Wise Dan's gutsy victory put me well-ahead for the day and with just one race to go - the Kentucky Derby - I was home free in terms of having a profitable day. Going into Race 9, I also waded into the exotics pool for a Pick 3 (a type of wager which demands correctly selecting the winner in three successive races):
Central Banker (#9) in the 9th race, Wise Dan (#1) in the 10th race and I hit the "ALL" button for the Derby. No matter which horse won the Derby, I already had a winning Pick 3. With this in mind, I was hoping for a longshot to win; the longer the odds on the Derby winner, the higher the payout for my Pick 3. With 90 interminable minutes until the call to the post for the Derby, Lou and I sat back and monitored the Pick 3 will-pays for all 19 horses. I sold Lou a half share in my ticket for an undisclosed sum and so we both were hoping for an odds board upset. At post time, the will-pays ranged from $45 for the betting favorite California Chrome to just over $1100 for the longest shot on the Tote Board, the #9 Vinceremos (at odds of 48/1). I've cashed Pick 3's before, but never have I had one with "ALL" on the end and, wouldn't you just know it, the 5/2 favorite California Chrome won, returning to me and Lou the smallest possible payout; $45.15
I walked out of Turfway Park with a pocketful of other bettors' money.
As for the Derby itself, and my own wager thereon:
At 6:16 am, the morning of the Derby, my Android beeped to life with a textification from The Incomparable Joe Wilhelm rudely awakening me from my peaceful slumber; Who do you like today? My reply: Wise Dan in the Turf. Nobody in the Derby. A cavalry brigade's worth of the best three year-olds in training failed to make the starting gate for the 140th running of the Kentucky Derby for a variety of reasons, mostly due to minor injuries; Cairo Prince, Commissioner, Constitution, Havana, Honor Code, Hoppertunity, Mexikoma, New Years Day.... almost any of which I'd have enthusiastically backed. I really didn't like any of the field in this year's Run for the Roses.
Having the luxury of wagering via simulcast at Turfway Park as opposed to standing in a line 8000 deep at Churchill Downs, I took my time handicapping for the Derby. Having 90 minutes between races also helps. The three horses I could make the best arguments for were, in order of preference:
Danza
Medal Count
Candy Boy
Yet as I sat there in the Homestretch Room, with a winning Pick 3 ticket burning a hole in one pocket, and another pocket jammed up with Wise Dan green salad of salvation, and no firm convictions for the Derby I began to think outside the box (it's easy to do that when you're winning). Never before have I ever wagered WIN/PLACE on the longest shot on the Derby board and, somewhat shockingly, I could make a plausible case for that longshot - the #9 Vinceremos - based upon multiple factors; his workout tab at Churchill, his past performance trend, his Beyer Speed Figure pattern. Cashing a WIN ticket on Vinceremos at 48/1 would add gravy to the (prospective) $1100 Pick 3 so, in what is likely to be the only time I ever bet on the longest shot in the Derby, I put a modest sum on Vinceremos to WIN/PLACE. He was 10th turning for home but finished 17th in the Kentucky Demolition Derby (ESPN's Gary West rather aptly described the race this way; When [the horses] who were expected to contribute to a lively pace, had trouble early, the pace didn't even reach a tepid temperature....[B]ecause the fractions were so lazy, the field bunched up like freeway traffic behind a cement mixer. Trouble ensued. Virtually every contender in the Derby got blocked or bumped, or was checked, or raced wide -- except, of course, California Chrome, who cruised home untrammeled, unimpeded and untested.). I think the jockey aboard Vinceremos, seeing no hope for a money finish, just put his mount into cruise control and simply coasted home.
For the record, Danza finished 3rd, Medal Count ran 8th and Candy Boy crossed the finish line in 13th, so I wasn't going to cash any tickets, regardless.
I didn't like the winner, California Chrome, but I probably tried a little too hard at making a case against him (The Old Master of the Turf liked California Chrome). I feel justified in my sense of the field in general and of California Chrome in particular. CC's victory was the fifth slowest since Secretariat set the all-time record in 1973.
I fully expect CC to win this Saturday in the Preakness (I won't be wagering) and then get clobbered in the Belmont three weeks from now.
*********
Last Thursday my oldest niece and her school's archery team were competing in the Nationals in Louisville, KY. She did well, thanks for asking, and her team did well but, alas, they aren't moving onto the Worlds. Wait 'till next year!
On Friday morning I drove Miss Daisy aka My Dear Elderly Mother down to Louisville for lunch with the Disney XD/Archery Girl and Big Brother Lou. I-71 from just south of the Ohio to the 'burbs of Louisville is a sublime 70 mph. I was within hailing distance of that speed. Lou asked me where I wanted to meet for lunch, and I suggested the historic Seelbach Hotel. Actually, It's the only place I ever eat in Louisville. Since my last visit, circa 2010, they've upgraded the appointments. It was always a nice place to eat, possessing an elegant level of Blue Grass, landed gentry refinement. I was surprised to see it now exudes a cool, modern, very sophisticated atmosphere:
The menu is still, largely, the same. And the cheeseburger and fries are still great. Something else that has changed is the name. This restaurant used to be named "Otto's Cafe." Now it's called "Gatsby's on 4th," a blatant - but wholly justified - effort to capitalize on the recent major motion picture adaptation of F Scott Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby. Back in the day when it was known as "Otto's Cafe," the walls were adorned with numerous vintage, black-and-white photos of - what else? - thoroughbred race horses. Most of those old photos have been replaced with vintage, black-and-white portrait-sized photos of Churchill Downs from Derby Day's past. The Disney XD Girl and Mr Heavy Artillery posed for a photo next to the picture nearest our table:
This could be the worst family photo of all-time. I have it on good authority (My Dear Elderly Mother) that the Disney XD Girl smiled after the flash went off. The picture next to us is of the 1921 Kentucky Derby, by no means a particularly notable Derby. Behave Yourself upset the favorite, Black Servant (try getting a name like that past the Jockey Club these days. On second thought, don't try). Behave Yourself didn't distinguish himself otherwise and ended up being donated to the U.S. Army to sire cavalry horses.
We followed up lunch at the Seelbach with a visit to the Louisville Slugger Museum & Factory.
The LSM&F continually updates its exhibits and displays as evidenced by this item from 2013 of the Big Red Machine:
The photo above was taken on Joe Morgan Night held last year at Great American Ball Park and the Louisville Slugger bat was autographed by the Great 8. Some of the relics on display are more or less permanent fixtures, such as:
This Babe Ruth-signed contract from 1918. The page you see above was signed by the Sultan of Swat 6 times as a measure of obtaining the best example of his autograph.
Above you see a Louisville Slugger used by the Bambino during 1927 when he clubbed a record-setting 60 home runs, breaking his own record of 59 (set in 1921). George Herman "Babe" Ruth would carve a notch into the bat, around the Slugger label, for each home run he blasted. A fascinating book regarding Babe Ruth's historic 1921 season is titled The Year Babe Ruth Hit 104 Home Runs. I strongly recommend this book for loyal subscriber Kuertz, who thinks were the Maharajah of Mash to be around today that he wouldn't cut the mustard at Triple-A.
Above you see the third of three Louisville Slugger bats used by Joe DiMaggio in the summer of 1941 when he set the all-time record for hitting in consecutive games (56). A certain somebody we all know objects to my assertion that if the Yankee Clipper were to be transported through time and relative dimension in space to GABP in 2014 that he could easily go 1-for-3 (that's a .333 batting average) with a walk (making for a .500 on-base percentage) when facing Homer Bailey twice, JJ Hoover once and Sean Marshall once. Furthermore, this certain somebody - who once lived across the street from Stewart Junior High School - is under the illusion that, should he be able to play an entire season in 2014, Joltin' Joe would not benefit from better nutrition, better training, better scouting, improved travel & housing accommodations, many fewer day games, more comfortable uniforms, better equipment and vastly greater financial incentives whereas this same somebody - who shares initials with a famous Soviet model of automatic rifle - believes with the same ardent, fervent belief as only those who are faith-believers in man-made global warming can, that Jay Bruuuuce would outperform even Babe Ruth were Bruuuuce to be transported back to 1927, and that Bruuuce would somehow not wilt under the hardships of all day games, heavy wool uniforms, greasy spoon nutrition, primitive training, medieval medical care, minimal scouting, non-air-conditioned travel by train, non-air-conditioned hotel & housing accommodations, spit balls, bean balls, no batter's eye backdop, having to work in the off-season as a lumberjack..... over the course of a Roaring Twenties baseball season. It's this kind of crazy thinking that might someday lead to a crypto-communist community organizer being elected to the Presidency of the United States!
And talking about a different era:
Get a load of this game-used Ty Cobb (lifetime .366 hitter) Louisville Slugger which has nails hammered into the barrel. Setting aside the conceptualization of trying to use this in a ballgame today, the accompanying plaque claims that the nails were used to adhere a shipping label from the Louisville Slugger factory to the Georgia Peach. Okaaaaay.
Another of the more permanent interactive displays at the LSM&F features some of the more exceptional bats used by players, such as former Cincinnati Red Heinie Groh's unique "bottle bat," shaped like a bottle. This display allows visitors to pick up and hold these distinctive (but not game-used) Louisville Slugger bats. Another is a Shoeless Joe Jackson (lifetime .356 hitter) model bat which had, as per the information plaque, one of the thickest bat handles ever produced by the Slugger company (Hillerich & Bradsby). Talk about your telephone poles! My favorite bat in this display is the Edd Roush model Louisville Slugger.
Edd was a lifetime .323 hitter but batted .331/.377/.462 in 12 seasons playing center field for Cincinnati. Edd Roush may have been the greatest Cincinnati Red of the first half of the twentieth century (Ernie Lombardi? Paul Derringer? Bucky Walters? Noodles Hahn?) and played for the 1919 World Champion Redlegs. Methinks a certain somebody would take Drew Stubbs over Edd Roush, today. What I most like about this Edd Roush model bat is that it torpedoes yet another of those fictional Yankee myths that are so dearly held onto by so many Yankee sycophants, such as The Incomparable Joe Wilhelm who is an inveterate Derek Jeter worshipper:
Babe Ruth didn't swing the heaviest bat. Edd Roush did! And Edd won two batting titles in the 1910's (.341 in 1917, .321 in 1919) and led the league in slugging a third different season (1918). Lemme see Jay Bruuuuce or Drew Stubbs swing a piece of lumber this heavy and see how well they fare!
Roll the credits!
