Nearly Blind Selections

Last week I received urgent voicemail recordings and text messages from The Incomparable Joe Wilhelm that went a little something like this:

Luckily for Joe-Joe, I was home that afternoon fighting off pneumonia/bronchitis and so had the free time to peruse the next day's entries at Keeneland.  Of course, Joey knows how to butter my bread and generously volunteered my usual finders fee for services rendered which, as may be inscrutable in the text exchange above, could permit me to acquire more autographs of Reds outfielder Adam Duvall (I've been wearing Joe out with my nearly continual references this season to the Adam Duvall autographed baseball I obtained at RedsFest last December).

I explained to The Incomparable, as I do to all horse racing neophytes seeking my learned assistance, the ultimate goal for padawan Jedi is to enjoy the afternoon at the track.  The principal pathway to achieve this satisfaction is by cashing winning tickets.  Yet one should not be aggressive with their wagering as more focused wagers (for example; WIN only) or big ticket wager amounts is the shortcut to tearing up losing tickets and burning deep holes into short pockets.  That kind of reckless wagering should be left to the veterans.  My solution for Joe, particularly in light of my not having access to past performances, was for him to utilize my recommendations and make a single $2 SHOW wager on each race.  That would permit Joe with optimum ticket-cashing opportunities with no risk of bankruptcy.  Remember, Mr Incomparable has 8 jobs and lives in a palatial estate so he could afford to lose the $18 in wagers I suggested for him.

I asked Joe to send me some selfies from Keeneland so that I could feel as if I was there with him and in this he did not disappoint!

Here Joe poses near one of Keeneland's iconic Rolex clocks, this one adjacent to the paddock.  Good choice in subject matter, Joey!

As for me, I was home at The Ranch on my couch watching all the action live via the Keeneland website:

Without delay, I was flooded with questions, the funniest of which was "WTF is a furlong?"

In Race 1 that afternoon, my SHOW selection for Joe ran third and paid $2.40 for his $2 wager.  From there, things briefly went off the rails; a 6th place finish, a 5th place finish and 2 scratches immediately followed.  Things like late scratches (or jockey changes or equipment changes or a developing track bias) are what makes picking horses more than a few hours in advance of post time so problematic.  Remember this next time you ask you friendly neighborhood horse player for his Derby picks three days before the race.  Despite these wagering struggles, Joe kept up a brave face:

Joe, his baseball sense attuned, observed "That's some good infield dirt!  Could get some nice hops if it was compacted."

The Incomparable staked out a nice spot along the rail.  This was our "winner" from the first race (photographed here during the post parade).

Joe went silent on me after the third race. I later found out he was having lunch (a hot dog and a beer, he also was brave enough to try the track specialty burgoo).  When Joe next textified me, it was to inform me that he and his group of co-workers and associates were leaving, heading back home!  Even The Old Master of the Turf waits until the feature race before "trying to beat the crowd."

It's a shame the Joe didn't have more time that afternoon to explore the scenic grounds at Keeneland but also that his wagering day ended so soon.  Over that day's final four races, my SHOW picks finished with a flourish - a first, a third, and two seconds!  All "winners."  Over the last four races, Joe's prospective $8 in SHOW wagers would have earned him $13.40 in payouts!

But of course, these are the digital pages of Heavy Artillery and as such this post is really all about me and my astounding, perceptive race card selections which were made without access to past performances - nearly blind, as it were!

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We're now less than two weeks away from The First Saturday in May.  Here are some quick links to whet your appetite:

The Florida Derby.  Remember the words of The Old Master of the Turf, "Never bet against a horse that's never been beaten."

The Arkansas Derby.  The most unfortunate race call of the year, "Creator will not get the job done!  On the outside here's Whitmore coming on.... and Creator is flying!  Creator now strikes to the lead!..... It's Creator to win the Arkansas Derby!"  Oops.

The Santa Anita Derby.  Love the track announcer's start; "Racing!"  If you like deep closers, this year's Kentucky Derby field is jam-packed with 'em!

The Wood Memorial.  Worst stretch call of the year.  Hint; Adventist was not the horse on the rail.  Oops.

The Blue Grass Stakes.

The Daily Racing Form's Mike Watchmaker columns Saturday Does Nothing To Raise Quality of Kentucky Derby Preps and Kentucky Derby May Not Set Up for Closers.

Steve Haskin's weekly column in The Blood-horse The Derby Dozen.  If you only read one thing about the Derby, read his column.

Some of you are only reading this far in the hope of seeing pictures of horses (you know who you are).  Spring time in horse country means foals.  Lots and lots of cute, prancing, adorable foals (did I just morph into a 14-year old girl?).  If this is your thing, follow DRF Barbara Livingston.

For all things Kentucky Derby, check out the official Derby website.  For many things Derby (but all things horse racing), check out The Jockey Club's website America's Best Racing.

Roll the credits!

Lost Voyages; 2016 Edition

In observation of My Dear Elderly Mother's birthday this year, we made a triumphant return to The Precinct in a birthday dinner redux of where we celebrated in 2015.  Just as with last year, Lou picked up the bill.  Make no mistake, there are so many digits on a bill at Jeff Ruby's restaurants that you need a forklift to pick up a check.

We were seated this year in a heavily-mirrored alcove which presented opportunities for image reflected selfies.  

After dinner, as the conversation turned to old/classic films my youngest niece succumbed to a wave of boredom and engaged in several interminable minutes of uninterrupted peace-sign and duckface selfies.  Obviously, the narcissism did not bother me - have you met me? - nor the duckfaces but rather the insufferable, filthy-hippie peace signs!  There was only so much I could take before corrective measures were employed:

As that great humorist and fellow Miami University alumnus PJ O'Rourke wrote, Give War A Chance.  Look for this picture to grace your 2016 Xmas cards.  I hope it will receive a prominent position of honor on your mantle.

The conversation which most interested my nieces was a discussion about the old Stewart School pencil vending machines at Stewart Junior High School.  I thought those were the greatest pencils (was it 3 pencils for a dime?) and - this will come as no surprise to Big Jeff - I still have one:

Did I mention dinner?  I ordered The Brennaman:

I post this photo of my steak for Josh who lately has been dining on, as one might imagine, a steady caloric-deprived diet of sub-tropical and tropical fruits, rice, beans and bottled water and cerveza of questionable sanitary production.  I ordered my filet to be prepared medium with a dollop (shovel?) of garlic butter, mashed potatoes and some unidentifiable green stuff which I disdainfully ignored.  Dessert was creme brulee.  Full disclosure; I didn't eat another bite of food for the following 22 hours.

Three times in the first three months of 2016 I had lunch a Montgomery Inn, once at the original location on Montgomery Road:

"That place is so busy nobody goes there any more."

The ribs king!  I had the chicken.

At the original Monty, my table was graced by the presence of excellent artwork:

Twice I had lunch at the Boathouse with a secretive society of successful, powerful, ruggedly handsome Talawanda grads known to the outside world only as the Boathouse 4 [or something.  We'll need to work on our mysterious-but-cool nomenclature].  I am permitted only to share with the public the view we had from our table:

I had the chicken,  Both times.

I thought I saw a ghost one afternoon while on patrol through our northern territories:

Many of you will recall with fondness, as I do, our old white 1989 Honda Civic DX hatchback that we had briefly in 1989 and 1990.  I loved that old car.  It was lightweight, had blistering acceleration and could be thrown into corners at frightening velocity.  Not that Claudio and I ever did that kind of thing in the car.  That would be crazy.  Alas, it did not have power steering (nor a/c, nor power windows, nor power locks... this was the 1980s) and Mr B thought that was too burdensome.  I disagree.  To this day I vehemently assert that old '89 Civic hatch didn't require power steering.  Lucky that I was able to photograph the '89 Civic hatchback from the command center of our current hot hatchback.

Last month Lou and I had cause to make an 8-hour round-trip road trip/business trip that I think may qualify for my first vacation in a decade or more.  One benefit of our excursion was that it afforded me the opportunity to have lunch at DQ, of which there are scant few anywhere within hailing distance of The Ranch.

At mile marker 175 southbound on I-71 during the return portion of our foray I took this photo of virga:

Last week I took in my first high school softball game in about 25 years when I went to watch my oldest niece take the field as the freshman starting third baseman for her school's JV squad.

That day she had a hit and a walk, scored a run and made some great throws to first.  This softball season follows her stellar performance as the low scorer on the JV golf team back in the fall.  Here she was hitting her drive 500 yards (plus or minus) and putting for a triple eagle (or something):

Roll the credits!

Lost Voyages; Cincinnati Reds Edition

In August of 2015, the Cincinnati Reds honored Hall of Famer Tony Perez with a statue (or is it a sculpture?) outside of the ballpark.  As a part of the weekend-long festivities, a dinner (called "An Evening with Tony Perez") and Big Red Machine roast (of sorts) was held for Doggie in The Handlebar.  The price of admission was steep and so the event was necessarily limited to celebrity VIPs and those good burghers of River City of some immodest means.  And me and Lou, Lou popping for my admission as a birthday gift.  

Lou is the greatest!

The food was pretty good, too!

Attendees all went home with a miniature version of the Perez sculpture (or is it a statue?) you see above and an autographed Perez jersey.  We were seated right next to the silent auction table featuring, at center in the photograph below, an ice sculpture commemorating the Mayor of Riverfront (the Mayor of Riverfront not pictured):

This (below) is my Joshua Tree album cover photo outtake:

How good were our seats?  I was just a couple of tables over from the Hit King (center, below)....

....and a few tables behind Joe Morgan (red jacket, back to me):

The non-BRM attendees formed a Who's Who photographic shooting gallery!  In no particular order:

Dave "the Cobra" Parker!

Chris Dickerson (with arm in a sling)!

The large mass of human being standing at center (above), PLARF HOFer Anthony Munoz!  [Big Red Machinist Ken Griffey seated in foreground]

Famous restaurateur Jeff Ruby (white hat) with his hand on the shoulder of Peter Edward Rose who is seen speaking with Tommy Helms (seated, dark jacket)!

Reds owner Robert (he let's me call him "Bob") Castellini!  Here's a wide angle photo of Bob propping up the Handlebar bar:

And here's a photo of Bob walking right past me:

Bob didn't stop to say Hello.  I don't think he saw me, otherwise I know - I just know! - he would have.

Montreal Expo Andre "the Hawk" Dawson!  I got big-timed by Dawson when I went to axe him for a photograph.  Here was my approach, my arm gesturing towards the Hawk just as he turns away:

Dejection!  This could be the best photograph of 2015.  Props to Lou for continuing to shoot even after I got big-timmed.  I eventually got this photo of Lou with a cup of coffee photobombing Dawson (checking out the auction items): 

Prior to the dinner being served, I spent a few minutes speaking with my close personal friend Davey Concepcion (dark red shirt, just over my right shoulder), Lou snapping this photograph as I stepped away from Davey:

While I was engaged in a deep conversation with Davey (topic; our being smart for choosing to stand directly underneath the a/c vent [it was warm inside The Handlebar]), Lou was speaking with BRM pitcher Pat Darcy about the Great American Ball Park.  I failed to get a reciprocal photograph.  D'oh!

I didn't get to speak with Johnny Bench, but I sidled up along side him (wearing his All-Star Game Hometown Legends jacket):

JB did manage to inadvertently photobomb us:

After dinner, the BRM assembled on stage to roast Tony:

I took the photo above from the back of the room, at the bar.  Lou took the post-roast team photo, below:

As the dinner and roast wound down, the man of the hour walked right past my table!

Apropos of nothing, my drive home was made all the more pleasant by hearing one of the great, lost staples of 1980s FM radio and one of the classic late-night cruising tunes:

Lately, there always seems to be a Led Zeppelin connection to my days and nights down at the old ballyard.

Exactly one month later, in September, the Hit King made an appearance on the campus of Miami University speaking on a topic titled "Ethics in Sports."  The crowd outside Hall Auditorium was large, vocal and animated:

The Incomparable Joe Wilhelm mooched some free tickets off Jude and invited me along with another local VIP and baseball living legend:

That's right!  The Hit Doctor!

Pete was "interviewed" by a Cincinnati sports columnist of zero repute.  The dialog quickly spiraled into locker room humor.  There was a time when Pete was fascinating to listen to but with the loss of self-censoring filters which accompanies the onset of old age and too many years on the sports stag circuit, Pete's presentation has degenerated into too-oft told stories about bathroom accidents befalling Willie Mays, well-endowed female fans and things about Joe DiMaggio that only Marilyn Monroe should know.  About half the auditorium was filled with students who began taking notes at the start of the presentation and then, not surprisingly, gave up after about 30 minutes.  Who knows what their collective assignments were, but Pete didn't deliver for them.  In fact, a group of co-eds seated directly behind me were as indignant as millennials can get over Pete's brand of bawdy humor.  "Gawd, what a total [expletive deleted] this guy is!"

Pete was also featured in a season ticket holder-only interview, conducted by Reds Hall of Fame broadcaster Marty Brennaman, in December:

Despite Marty's best efforts, it was a rehash of Pete's September performance in Oxford.  I don't think the ten year-olds in front of me understood the Joe DiMaggio anecdote.

The unheralded star of the evening was this guy, seen standing at the front of the stage:

That's one of my top secret sources deep within the Reds organization, this one codenamed BOSS.  He wasn't alone for long as he was soon joined by some heavyweights of Redsdom, as befitting someone with the importance of BOSS:

Boss stands, at left, with Marty, VP of Biz Ops Karen Forgus and Phil Castellini.

December is, of course, also the month of RedsFest:

You're welcome!  Sal Romano (pitcher, left) and Kyle Waldrop (outfielder, right), sitting below the banner, signed so few autographs that I went through the line twice.  I tried to get Lou and my niece to join me but they were upstairs kicking back and snacking in the season ticket holder VIP lounge.

Did somebody say VIP Lounge?

They were having so much fun, I went up to join them after getting a half dozen or so Sal Romano and Kyle Waldrop autographs!

Chillin'!

My youngest niece waits in line for an autograph of her new favorite player, Ivan de Jesus, Junior.  Here she's wearing an IdJJ game-worn ball cap.  And here she is getting it signed:

Somebody else (not me) got an IdJJ signature also:

Look who also got Homer Bailey to sign a game-worn St Patrick's Day jersey.

The drive down for Day 2 of RedsFest was foggy!

Since I couldn't see where I was going, I decided it wasn't any more unsafe to take photographs of my journey.  In the photo above, there's a car just ahead of me.  Seriously!

There it is!

Nope.  I'm losing it again.

Heading out the door at the end of Day 2, I spotted another Reds heavyweight:

There!  Do you see him?  Look again....

That's my other source deep within the Reds organization, this one codenamed CAMPBELL.

A great time was had by all.

Roll the credits!