RedsFest 2017 was fun, again, but devolved into the oddest-known variant in existence.
Parking on the 3rd level in a public garage immediately across the street from the Cincinnati Convention Center, host site of RedsFest, we discovered that the SkyWalk connecting garage to convention center was closed for renovation. The elevator in the parking garage is notoriously slow, rickety, freezing cold, claustrophobic and has an appearance of being 1950's Soviet-grade stock.
We opted for the stairs.
On our way to the stairwell I observed a handwritten note taped to a wall directing patrons, with an accompanying arrow, to use an elevator in the neighboring hotel. A handwritten note taped to a wall in a parking garage? Yes, that looks legit! Of course we followed the arrow. Through a door, around a corner and in fewer than 20 paces we were riding in a warm and spacious elevator with a parquet floor, clean surfaces, a modern interface and rocking 1980's tunes. Score!
Disgorged from the hotel's lobby and onto the mean streets of downtown Cincinnati, we hurried along the sidewalk towards the convention center. Alongside the crosswalk on 5th Street, painted on the roadway directly next to a manhole cover, was a mysterious bright yellow symbol:
A robot with lightning bolt arms, with one arm pointing at the sewer cover, could only mean one thing; I had discovered the secret lair where the robot army was staging for their coming take-over of Earth! Consider yourself fore-warned. Now, go about your business as usual. For now.....
Stop me if you've heard this one before, but I went to RedsFest and a Cincinnati Ballet performance of the Nutcracker broke out!
It was very well received by the Reds faithful.
Unquestionably, the star of RedsFest this year was the 18-year old prospect Hunter Greene. Hunter Greene was selected by the Cincinnati Reds with the 2nd overall pick in last year's June amateur draft. Young Mr Greene surged to national prominence while in high school in California as a sort of Ruthian player; a very good pitcher and slugger. While the Reds let him get several at-bats as a DH in his limited Rookie League action last summer, the Reds are having Hunter focus on pitching. For now.....
Not pictured here was the Cincinnati Coliseum Who Stampede that suddenly materialized when Hunter Greene was announced for an autograph signing Saturday afternoon. There I was with my youngest niece, one moment standing in a courteous line, and in the next instant an avalanche of sweaty, pushy, frothing-at-the-mouth humanity collapsed upon us from all directions including, I think, from the ceiling. Barricades were knocked over. Volunteer staff were trampled. A chair was hastily thrown moved. I was as physically crushed as I've ever been, and this from a guy who has survived three Who concerts and the Keg Fest dance floor at Club Romano in 1988. Easily, the most ridiculous thing I've experienced at any RedsFest going back to the 1990's.
I suspect that the reaction was in part a result of the Reds having given season ticket members a big ol' FU by not making available to us Joey Votto for autographs.
Pro tip for next year's RedsFest event planners; For autographs, make available to season ticket members the team's [only] star.
Prior to the doors opening, on Friday afternoon, we three had arranged the most ingenious, devious plot to scatter the big crowds, melt away any long lines which might have conspired to monkey wrench our objectives (read; obtain autographs). And by we three, I mean to say it was fully my idea but that it was heartily agreed to by Lou and my niece. To understand and appreciate my evil plan, you first must know that RedsFest occupies all three levels of the Convention Center. On the second level is a room occupied each year by the Cincinnati Zoo wherein they have critter wranglers (or whatever they're called) wrangling live critters from the zoo. My evil plan was to say to Lou and my niece, whenever we needed the crowd to disperse, "I heard Fiona is upstairs." The fanaticism with Fiona is such that it was sure to vaporize the public in an instant. Alas, my delivery of this secret phrase must have required more work as it failed to take the intended effect.
I'm happy to report that me and my niece both survived the RedsFest Saturday Afternoon Hunter Greene Stampede. Here's my niece getting her Hunter Greene autograph:
Hunter was friendly and he personalized each and every autograph all weekend long. That bogged down the assembly line nature of autograph lines. It was a nice gesture on his part, and appreciated by all most, but Hunter routinely ran long to the point of impacting the following player's allotted time.
Lurking in the background of the above photo was the father of Hunter Greene, umm..... uhh.... Mr. Greene. Wherever Hunter went that weekend, his father was sure to follow. Mr Greene seemed nice and not at all intimidating. For now.....
On Friday, Hunter Greene's extended mix of personalized autographs rolled over into the allotted time for last year's top draft pick, Nick Senzel:
It was thrilling to see the Reds two top prospects together at such an early stage in their respective professional careers. I fired off a blizzard of photographs but, evidently, was too giddy to get a good photo with sharp focus. This was about the best I could manage.
My niece most liked the photo below of Hunter Greene:
We call this "The Are You Kidding Me?!" photo. Gramps must've asked for Hunter to personalize the autograph To Sinterklaas or something.
I didn't have any thanks-for-nothing-you-ingrateful-jerk experiences with any players at this RedsFest as I have had at past Reds-hosted events (I'm looking at you, Yorman Rodriguez [RedsFest 2015]). Being just half-way decent goes a long way with the faithful. The "Best Human of RedsFest 2017 Award" goes to Reds minor league outfielder Taylor Trammell. Here he was taking the time to talk with and shake the hand of a fan afflicted with disabilities:
When Taylor takes Billy Hamilton's center field job for 2019, make young Mr Trammell one of your favorite players.
Taylor looked each fan in the eye, gave everyone a warm smile, and engaged in friendly conversation.
Here was Mr Heavy Artillery (above), in line for Taylor Trammell's autograph. I was sitting on a bucket of baseballs, if you were wondering. People who stand throughout RedsFest need to have their head's examined. After suffering in recent years with the RedsFest grind, Lou got me this awesome Rawlings/MLB-branded bucket with a sweet protective outer cover complete with pockets and pouches. We packed the bucket with donuts. After lugging it around all day Friday and Saturday, my niece volunteered to carry it late in the afternoon on Saturday. My family is very good to me!
Speaking of which, here is Lou and my youngest niece also in line for Taylor Trammell.
Roll the credits!
November was a very Norman Rockwell-like period of holidays and quality family time for Mr Heavy Artillery.
For example, Oxville saw the grand opening of Tim Horton's in October and Mr B made his first-ever visit to a Timmy Ho's in mid-November:
Portrait completed, we got down to some serious donut dunkin'! [Or is this the wrong establishment in which to do so?]:
Action photo!
Tim Horton's is proving to be very popular among the leading citizen's of Ox City!
Or maybe it's only me that's keeping the Canadian purveyor of donuts and coffee afloat in this small Midwestern college town. Whatever the reality, it provides another flimsy justification to post another ubiquitous Canadian power trio video link!
The Fiat was released from its stable and began a series of (on-going) rehabilitations at the direction of Lou:
Plans are in the works for the Fiat to spend some time away from home on an extended stay in the care of a Fiat specialist. Yes! Fiat specialists really do exist! Yes! In these United States of America! The Pininfarina-designed, Ferrari-equipped (instrument panel, gauges, switch gear, etc) is still a great looking vehicle. Many of you reading this will have fond memories of sunny days and riotous evenings riding in the Fiat during those halcyon days of the George Herbert Walker Bush Administration yesteryear. Just don't share those fond memories with Lou.
Speaking of Lou, here's a photo of him standing in front of one of our favorite donut shops (I sense a developing theme) taking a photo of me:
Don't ask why I was so much elevated above the parking lot. A governmental department from an unnamed city might not take too kindly to my actions at that perilous moment. 'Nuff said. The Donut Spot was originally opened by Reily T-Ball coaching legend Bob Pennington, head coach for my League Champion Cherokee Motors team back in 1977.
And speaking of Lou and his cars, Scuderia TDS received some sad news in November when our flagship 2002 MINI Cooper was diagnosed with a loss of compression in one its cylinders. After 378,000 miles of faithful service (that averages out to just over 25,000 miles per year for 15 years), the MINI will now ease into a kind of semi-retirement serving only in a largely ceremonial - and promotional - capacity. There is no car that I've driven for more years, and certainly not for more mileage, than the MINI. Change can be difficult.
Thanksgiving was held at Lou's palatial estate (with the Fiat parked out front; see above photos). My eldest niece posed for her portrait by the fireplace:
Later in the evening, after dinner, I captured her (below) in a definitively Norman Rockwell moment:
Take that, Saturday Evening Post!
Mr B has a late-November birthday. You know what that means.....
That's right! A day at the races for The B Team Syndicate!
Mr B visited the day before to pick up a few copies the Daily Racing Form for us.
Mr B denoted my copy of the DRF with an "M" on the jockey's cap. Subtle, yet imaginative.
This late in the race year, there is not a broad depth of quality horses still racing or big races to be found. Most of the best race horses are taking some time off to rest up for the 2018 race season. Mr B and Lou focused their attack on that day's race card at Aqueduct (Queens, New York) whereas I directed my assault on Churchill Downs which, that afternoon, featured a race card made up solely of 2-year old (or "Juvenile") horses. I had my work cut out for me but was up for the challenge. Plus, I didn't plan to dive too deep into my bankroll.
Following our shared disaster at the Breeders' Cup, we needed to bounce back. And bounce back we did!
Lou cashed a handful of winning tickets, over the course of the first few Aqueduct races, right out of the gate [horse racing terminology]. Mr B was slower to break from the gate [ibid] [sic], but soon found his winning stride [you get the point]. Mr B's winning day was partially achieved following a brief visit he paid to the casino floor where, in very short order, he disabused a slot machine of some portion of its contents.
Meanwhile, at Churchill Downs.....
I cashed my first wining ticket on the day in the 3rd race when my "Bet of the Day" went off at odds of 19-1 (Morning Line odds of 10-1) and came home a winner!
Remind me the next time my Bet o' the Day goes off at long odds to put more than $2 on it.
My love for Ghostzapper - the dam sire for my 19-1 longshot - is well documented on these digital pages of Heavy Artillery. The sire, a lesser-known horse named Violence, is another of my favorites. The star-crossed Violence was a nearly unstoppable force on the Kentucky Derby Trail back in 2013 winning three prep races, on both the East and West Coast, over dirt and synthetic surfaces. His only career defeat came in the Fountain of Youth Stakes at Gulfstream Park (Florida), where he ran second to Orb (you'll recall that Orb went on to win the Kentucky Derby that year; I had Orb to Win that First Saturday in May). Had Violence not sustained a career-ending injury in that race (running second, mind you!), he'd have been my pick for the 2013 Derby. In the world of handicapping, you don't forget a horse like Violence. Specifically because the horse may reappear in the coming years in the bloodlines of good or great race horses.
A Horse Named Violence has a kind of evocative ring to it, not unlike A Boy Named Sue, that appeals to my Heavy Artillery nature. Maybe I'll name my horse racing memoir A Horse Named Violence. Or perhaps commission a Country & Western song (both kinds!) with that title?
In the very next race I hit the back half of a Win & Place wager (not pictured, here) that, combined with my 19-1 score, put me comfortably ahead.
Mid-way through the race day, each member of The B Team Syndicate was ahead.
Then we got a little silly. Or, at least, I did. House money will do that to you. I spied in the feature race at Woodbine (Canada) a horse named Pink Lloyd. You know I had to play that. Pink Lloyd was the 4-5 Morning Line favorite so we used him in conjunction with Mr B's birthday "numbers" for a Superfecta. Pink Lloyd came storming home the easy winner. Mr B's "numbers" fared less well.
Back at Churchill, a down-on-its-luck horse name Royal Edition caught my eye.
Possessing a highly-valued pedigree -- sired by 5-time graded stakes winner and winner of the Preakness Stakes Bernardini (out of A.P. Indy, winner of the Santa Anita Derby, Belmont Stakes, Breeders' Cup Classic and three other graded stakes) for $100,000, with Empire Maker (winner of the Florida Derby, Wood Memorial and Belmont Stakes) as the dam sire -- bred by Godolphin, a deep-pocketed Saudi stable, owned and trained by Hall of Fame trainer D. Wayne Lukas..... looks like a sure thing!
Except that in Royal Edition's two efforts (to date) it ran 11th from start to finish. Eagle-eyed handicappers will note that 11th was not "last" in either race, each race having a 12-horse field. Eagle-eyed handicappers will also observe that despite Royal Edition going off at odds of 117-1 in his previous race, the Morning Line here was only.....I say only..... 30-1.
It won't surprise you to learn that Royal Edition did not win. Again. I hope he keeps trying! Someday, maybe..... just maybe.... he'll win at something like 300-1 odds. If he does, I'll probably have $2 to Win on him [see; my 19-1 longshot, above]. Again.
I'd managed to bleed off my early winnings throughout the course of the later races at Churchill Downs and found myself, going into the feature race, in negative territory. That day's feature race was a stakes race and included in the starting gate a number of horses that you'll be reading about next year on the Derby Trail. After some consultation with Lou, I'd decided to wager the entirety of my remaining - and dwindling - bankroll:
Hence, the odd sum of $36 to Win. The horse, named Enticed, went off the favorite at 3-1 and won..... in a photo finish. That put me back into the black for the second time that afternoon and I, along with The B Team Syndicate, went home a winner. After our dismal performance at the Breeders' Cup, it was nice to reverse our performance and wrap up the 2017 wagering year on a positive note.
Roll the credits!
For the first time in its history, the Breeders' Cup World Thoroughbred Championships was hosted by Del Mar, the racetrack built by Bing Crosby and Gary Cooper among other notables from Hollywood and which proudly carries the motto "Where the Turf Meets the Surf."
In the weeks leading up to this years running of the Breeders' Cup, The Old Master of the Turf supplied me with ample research material:
The photo above depicts most - but not all - of the race day programs and past editions of the Daily Racing Form that Mr B provided to me.
The week immediately preceding the Breeders' Cup is among my favorite each calendar year; Just a boy and his Daily Racing Form "Breeders' Cup Advance" issue with its lifetime past performances for all pre-entries from all around the globe.
I quickly got down to serious handicapping. My serious handicapping was, just as quickly, derailed by the silliness revealed within the DRF's pages:
Van Dyke, D is a jockey, not the famous actor Dick Van Dyke.
Kiki Dee is a horse, not a duet partner for Elton John.
Interesting trends were revealed among the European invaders:
In one European race from earlier this year, Hydrangea ran a close second to the victorious Rhododendron. Potted plants must have gone delirious.
A strong martial theme was easily discernible among this years Euros:
Close inspection revealed old friends and old friends cracked wise:
Never try to match dinosaur humor with a paleontologist. They're too good!
Deep investigations into DRF lifetime past performances reliably turns up oddities:
The European horse in question here - Karar - went so wide turning for home that he drifted out all the way to the grandstand side railing. Talk about understeer?! Karar still managed to finish that race in second by a neck! Even a minimally better effort and Karar may have won that race by 10 lengths. I blame the jockey! I always blame the jockey.
The following trouble line comment by a DRF editor fairly well defined the term "empty:"
This horse started strong; 1st by a length at the start, then extended the lead to 1st by a length and a half. However, the wheels rapidly came off; 2nd by two and a half lengths, 6th by 20 lengths to finish 7th (and last) by 39+ lengths.
Empty indeed.
Perhaps most shockingly, the *1.05 notation indicates this horse went off as the 1-1 even money favorite! "Empty," and for the horse players brutal.
The B Team Syndicate returned to scenic Shelbyville, Indiana for this year's Breeders' Cup. Of all the regional places that we might patronize for this event, Shelbyville is the preferred choice for The Old Master of the Turf. Unquestionably, Shelbyville offers the best buffet, the shortest lines at the betting windows and provides the most comfortable setting. Plus, I know the location of a secret, executive-quality restroom at the racino. Due to conflicting travel arrangements, we made the drive in two different vehicles. Lou and Mr B departed from the Fairfield office early on Saturday morning, with Lou doing the driving westbound on I-74. Getting a head start on them, I left from The Ranch in the Jeep Main Battle Tank and headed - first - northwest for Liberty, Indiana on US 27 before reorienting to a more westerly and southwesterly direction on Indiana state highway 44. A dense fog greeted me just west of College Corner, IN:
The dense fog made for an eerie backdrop as I navigated the dark, undiscovered country of south central Indiana farmlands where wild and fearsome beasts - like Big Randy - are reported to roam. Light traffic and a fairly straight highway led me through a rapid succession of Johnny Cougar Indiana small towns; West College Corner, Cottage Grove, Lotus, Liberty, Connersville, Glenwood, Homer and Manilla [?!]. One small town stood out as the highlight for me:
Rushville, Indiana! [Insert here ubiquitious Rush video clip]
Arriving at the racino shortly before 11am, I wasn't certain whether my B Team Syndicate partners had already arrived or whether I'd gotten there first. By way of finding out, I sent them a selfie - what else? - from the 3rd level of the parking garage.
Their reply; Still about 15 minutes outside Shelbyville.
This, I gleefully recognized, would simultaneously sit well and not sit well with Mr B who likes to be early. VERY early. First, in fact. He would have been happy that I was there "on time" and ready to get down to bizniz. He would also have been disappointed that he didn't beat me there.
I headed inside. And rubbed it in.
I know. If you've seen the inside of one Midwestern casino, you've seen them all.
Meanwhile, Lou and Mr B arrived.
Lou captured this action photo (above) of Mr B charging full steam ahead!
I couldn't help myself. This photo was taken just outside the race track's grandstand. Which we soon discovered, to our shared disappointment, wouldn't open for another hour. The B Team Syndicate had beaten all the patrons... and staff... by a mile.
A familiar name was found in the race program for the Breeders' Cup undercard:
Claudio's namesake ran third.
Long, gruesome story short; The B Team Syndicate was shutout. Not one of us cashed a single winning ticket.
Here were my close calls:
Here were the tickets I wasn't even close on:
Here are the sum total of my spent shell casings:
I came tantalizingly, agonizingly close on two races late in the day:
Each of these two wagers (above) are superfecta boxes that require each of the selected four horses to finish in any order 1st through 4th (the horses are listed on the tickets merely in order of their program numbers). Down big, and having been shut out all day it was doubly painful to see my selections finish 1st-2nd-3rd-5th in the 9th Race and 1st-2nd-3rd-?th in the 11th Race. In the 9th Race, there was a photo finish for 4th place.... and my horse was edged out of 4th into 5th place by a nose. Respectively, these two tickets - had they been winners - would have paid me about $400 and $700.
That 9th Race was the Breeders' Cup Mile. I'd told anyone who would listen, all that week, that the Mile was the most challenging race to handicap. It was difficult to fathom. I'd given that BC race more consideration than any other on the race card, +/- 3 hours total, and to come that close to nailing it was bittersweet.
The 2017 Breeders' Cup lived up to its reputation of being the most challenging day of handicapping, the proof being found in that day's payouts.
The first four Breeders' Cup races this year saw winning horses with odds of;
17-1
30-1
67-1
11-1.
Resultingly, the Early Pick 4 (which included all four longshots, above) paid an astronomical $289,005.40. That, for a $1 wager. Somebody had it, but not anyone who handicaps horse racing. That is the payout for somebody who just plays "their numbers," akin to playing the lottery. [By way of comparison, the Late Pick 4 with winning horses off at odds of 3-1, 12-1, 14-1 and 2-1 paid a more pedestrian $1,257.15.]
In those same four (Early Pick 4) races, the favorite finished;
7th
10th
7th
7th.
In the very next race, the favorite ran 6th.
A favorite did win - at long last - the next race (that devilish 9th Race) but longshots (odds of 12-1 & 14-1) won the following two races.
The winning Pick 6 payout, of which there were a handful of winning tickets sold, was $388,423.15. If you were holding a ticket with 5 of 6 winners, your consolation payout was a respectable $1,381.80.
This is the point in the recap where I take pride in pointing out how I correctly picked more winners than did the assembled collection of DRF writers. But having been shut out at the betting windows, I cannot make that claim for the 2017 Breeders' Cup.
Of the 15 DRF experts that published their picks for the BC race card, four were similarly shut out. This includes such illustrious DRF experts as Mike Watchmaker (the DRF's in-house odds maker) and Andrew Beyer (innovator of the eponymous Beyer Speed Figures).
Pretty good company with which to be shut out!
Six more DRFers correctly identified just one winner. Of the 15 experts, nine had one or no winners. It was that kind of day. That's horse racing, as Lou was heard to say. DRF dude Jay Privman was the champ having correctly identified four winners. Privman knows his sport. Good job, Jay!
Roll the credits!
The interminable length of 2017 MLB playoff games was a hot topic on my text feed last month.
The initial and obvious target were the American League games with their infernal, damnable Designated Hitter:
The sweet spot for 9-inning MLB games is +/- 3 hours. Longer if it's a warm, sunny "Business Day Special" in June, more brief when it's a cold, rainy night game early in the month of April. Likewise, the National Anthem should not last longer than 1 minute 20 seconds just as God and John Phillip Sousa intended. It's the National Anthem, not an operetta or a Broadway tryout.
Intelligent baseball cognoscenti shared my sentiment:
Regrettably, the epic-length playoff game malaise was not restricted to the Junior Circuit:
Watching Cubs' playoff games approaches war crimes-level of torture under the best of circumstances.
MLB does itself and its next-generation of baseball fans no favors by scheduling the start time for playoff games at 8:20pm in the Cincinnati Time Zone, Cincinnati being the ancestral home of professional baseball. MLB should re-institute day games for the World Series. My proposal is that each participating team host one day game, Games 2 and 4. This allows each city to host at least one primetime World Series game with all the pomp and circumstance of player introductions, fly-overs, etc and provides MLB with their requisite TV viewership and lucrative commercial revenue from advertisers while still ensuring the youthful fans in those same host cities the opportunity to watch their home team play (daytime) World Series games in their entirety.
The glacial rate of playoff games inspired me to write poetry:
Haiku fits perfectly within the visual limitation of smartphone screen size.
I was unstoppable. As were, seemingly, the playoff games.
All was not playoff doom and gloom and the poetry inspired thereof:
One-upmanship at its barroom finest.
Along with MLB payoff games, October ushers in the fall racing meet at Keeneland:
The World Series presented America with the too-cool for cheering fans of the N.L. Champion L.A. Dodgers:
Being a Senior Circuit fan, I was forced to root for the Dodgers..... painful as that always is. At least my boy Joc Pederson was crushing the ball.
A World Series Game 7 is a world-stopping event, or at least it once was long ago in Pax Americana. I headed down to Lou's palatial estate with a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos to watch the spectacle unfold in his baseball museum. Rocking out in the Jeep Main Battle Tank to satellite radio, the foreboding musical selections foreshadowed the looming Dodger demise soon to befall L.A.:
I hope somebody alerted the Z-list celebs stuck in traffic on the 405! A fire of a different sort was bearing down on Chavez Ravine!
Another wrong turn on MLB's own I-405 traffic jam to irrelevancy is November baseball. The World Series is and should always be an October event and preferably it should conclude no later than the middle of the month. The red line was crossed before out of necessity. Anything short of a national catastrophe should preclude November baseball. Yet there we were, again, this year and the satellite radio immediately followed Chuck D's Game 7 warning with another prescient alert:
Indeed, it was a cold November rain in the lead-up to Game 7:
You will note in the somewhat blurry photo above, from the helm of the Jeep Main Battle Tank, the rain-drenched street, GNR "November Rain" [talk about interminable!] on the radio and the 46-degree temperature indicated in the instrument panel.
A more-blurry version of the photo above makes for better art:
In the aftermath of the Dodgers Game 7 defeat, interminable playoff games and interminable songs on the radio, for my early-morning drive back to The Ranch I was treated to an epic-length performance done right!
I caught all 20 minutes!
Turning onto Curve Road, shortly after 1am (thanks, MLB!), I was gently serenaded by satellite radio's most-played song:
Roll the credits!
