New Blood at the Track

Harry Cohn was once a Hollywood producer and head of the powerful Columbia movie studios. He was generally despised by nearly everyone who ever had anything to do with him. He was considered a Class A son of a bitch.

When Harry died and the Hollywood multitudes turned out for the funeral to "pay their respects," Red Skelton is said to have tuned to someone and remarked, "See, give the people something they want, and they will turn out for it."

And that's how it was Saturday at NYRA's Belmont track. Whatever it was that NYRA was doing right, be it the insulated steel tumbler giveaway, the 11 races with multiple graded stakes races on dirt and turf, the nearly sunny, but hot summer weather, the free parking, or the $3 preferred parking, and the seemingly endless supply of free admission passes that found their way into people's hands--saving them the $5 admission price--the place was fairly jumping. The people were getting something they wanted. The attendance was announced at 12,557, up from the 7,753 a year ago for the same Stars and Stripes Festival.

My friend and I, and those that met us, separately were handed free passes by different people as we came through the parking lot. These were not NYRA people, but otherwise regular patrons who from some source had a supply of Stars and Stripes Festival free admission passes. The free pass line was the longest at the admission booths. We were already ahead, and we hadn't even made a bet. Just the way you like to start the day at the races.

The Assembled was expected to be at quorum level, three out of five members. The two Johns, and Jose, who usually through some twist of handicapping logic aided by bright neon markers, has been known to turn 10 cent Superfecta boxes into tickets that are redeemed for Grants and Benjamins. This doesn't happen all the time, but when it does, it is a pleasure to behold. (It didn't happen Saturday.)

As is the custom, Jose can arrive after the first race. This time he was there for the first, but had not yet joined the two Johns. So when his voice was heard behind the seated Johns, it was a bit of  a surprise, because no one had seen him coming.

Accompanying Jose was his oldest son Peter, a good-looking kid who graduated St. Joseph's in Philadelphia about five years ago. Conversational we had all been following Peter's progress, as well as the slightly younger brother Michael, through the early stages of their lives. We had never met either, but knew they both came through St. Joseph's with diplomas, and were working in finance jobs.

It turns out Peter works for a ratings firm on Water Street and seems to have caught the same disease that has been afflicting John and I for nearly half a century, and his father for decades: playing the horses.

Peter of course does it the way you'd expect a Millennial to do it: on his smartphone, through a TVG account, an account we pointed out was going to drain him with fees. We put him onto Xpressbets.

The early going was unsuccessful for all. The numbers that one of the John's works hard to assign to all the horses as he handicaps the day before, had given an outstanding 166 to Master Merion in the first race. The closest anyone else rated was a 150. Master Merion was a play to be used, almost no matter what the odds became.

On paper, Master Merion looked good, but not well suited to win the seven furlong distance he was being asked to go. The race was a Maiden Special Weight race, and Master Merion in his five previous starts had finished second four times at three different distances, even ranging as far as a mile and a sixteenth.  He had a third at even a different distance than his four seconds. He had all the looks of "secodnitis." Use in your exactas, etc.

On top of all that, Master Merion looked like a front runner who was going to get cooked on the lead, and probably finish second or worse again, remaining a maiden or a horse who has yet to win a race.

John the numbers guy, usually makes win and exacta wagers, Because there was waning confidence in Master Merion's chances to win, despite the overwhelming "number," John concocted a boxed triple and an exacta set of wagers using Master. Triples are rarely resorted to, but the time seemed right.

Jose L. Ortiz is not a premier jockey for nothing. (He did after all win 5 of the 11 races on the card.) As the race unfolded, Jose sat behind two front runners who were ruining their chances of being around at the end. When they tired, as surely they would going the first quarter in 22 and 1, Jose just moved out from behind them in the stretch and won easily.

The 3-1 morning line for Master Merion had moved down to 9/5 on the board. This makes at least a $5.60 return for a $2 win bet, (he paid $5.80) and is hardly a bad win bet considering the super number and its lead over the second place number in John's ranking.

Alas and alack, a win bet was not made on what after careful analysis looked to be the superior horse in the race, who was going to return a decent payoff for what really was little risk. The 'kick me' sign went up on the assembled.

And so it went for the first third of the card. Peter with his smartphone was leading all of us with a $1 show bet on a 43-1 shot. The kid knew how to make some money.

The track was buzzing. Aside from actual behinds in the seats, there were photographers everywhere setting up their cameras for stretch photos. There were some significant stake races coming up, and photos were going to be important.

The sixth race was the first of five quality stake races, the 100th running of the Dwyer, named for two Brooklyn brothers who were butchers back in the latter part of the 19th century who got involved in owning horses and racing them at any of Brooklyn's three racetracks at the time.

At this point, it became obvious how many photographers there were at the track, down at the finish line and following the winners and their handlers back to the winner's circle. It was a fair size scrum that outnumbered the patrons that used to be seated in any given section on regular Saturdays. You would have thought the way they tracked the horses back to the winner's circle that a Victoria's Secret fashion show had suddenly appeared on the track. Come to think of it, the horses had about as much on as some of those models.

After paying the dues of backing losers at the start of the card, the earth shifted, the numbers clicked, and ultimately a small profit was earned by the time the voucher was cashed out. The two featured turf races were hit, along with one of the exactas.

The profit was small, and probably not as much as might have been earned if the shirt were untucked, the hair messed up, the shaving had been skipped, and a hat were held out for panhandling.

But that wouldn't have been any fun.

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