Jeopardy Champion Caleb Groen

When a Jeopardy contestant gets rolling toward a double digit streak, I like to take note. The current 9-day champion, Caleb Groen, is a 27-year-old policy and law student formerly from Thousand Oaks, California. Where he's from now is not disclosed. He is up there with enough real money for a decent down payment on a house, or buying a really nice vehicle with $240,500 in winnings so far. He'll qualify for the Tournament of champions, having won 5 games.

The 5 game cutoff for getting into the Tournament of Champions can be seen as getting promoted from the minor leagues, AAA ball, to the majors. It's the farm system for future shows and where really significant money can be had for advancing.

Caleb is a pleasant looking young man with a Pepsodent grin that lights up a room, or a camera. He doesn't always get his Daily Doubles right, or even know the answer to the Final clue. But, he is usually so far ahead that mathematically he'll win, unless he has brain freeze and bets too much in the Final and doesn't know the answer. I've yet to see a contestant go out on a limb in Final and shoot the works. Hasn't happened.

He was deeply disappointed with himself when he didn't know the answer to yesterday's Final clue. But, his can't-be-caught-lead saved him for another round.

Historic Books

Ann Eliza Webb, an ex-spouse of this man, penned an exposé about the experience titled "Wife No. 19."

The third contestant, Khalid Kiirji, from Toronto, Canada,  with the lowest amount of money, answered "Hugh Hefner." He was in the right vein, but the clue would have had to worded differently for Hef to be right.

Patience Bruce, in the middle from Medford, Wisconsin, answered correctly, "Brigham Young," who of course was polygamous and didn't have 19 wives consecutively, but rather somewhat concurrently. Birthdays and anniversaries must have been tough to remember without a spreadsheet.

Caleb looked sheepish when it was revealed that be wrote "Nabokov", likely thinking of his novel Lolita.

Still the champ and headed for double digits in trying for No. 10. Caleb is headed into Death Valley.

No statistics kept on champs going for No. 10 who don't make it, but it is guessed it's one-third to one half who don't make it.

Tonight's Final clue:

20th Century History

The U.N, conference of April 25, 1945 opened with a speech that said this man "gave his life while trying to perpetuate these high ideals."

Caleb...piece of cake.

http://onofframp.blogspot.com

Meet the Mets

Well, maybe you don't want to meet the Mets. They are 40/57 at the All-Star break, solidly in last place in their division and are trying the patience of even a casual Mets fan.

By virtue of an annual outing with a former co-worker and his entourage of co-workers and son, I took in Sunday's afternoon Met game against the surging Red Sox, who prior to the game had won 8 in a row, and after the game?...well, guess.

There were Red Sox fans all around us. How is this possible? Are they all visiting New York baseball and smell blood in the water? Even heading home on the 7 train I was surrounded by people wearing Red Sox merchandise. 

The subway was of curse crowded after the game and I was standing between two guys having a conversation, one wearing a Mets jersey and the other a Red Sox shirt.

I inserted myself politely into their conversation when I heard that the Red Sox guy lived in Queensbury, New York. Queensbury is where my friend and I stayed for decades in our motel base at the Grey Court Motor Lodge before heading back down the Northway to Saratoga.

Red Sox told the other guy he lived behind the Wal Mart. Queensbury is hardly big. It sits between Lake George to its north, and Glens Falls to its south on Route 9, Lake George Road, within walking distance of the Great Escape amusement park. I asked the Red Sox guy if the Grey Court had reopened, since we knew it was changing hands from the McDonoughs to the ex son-in-law who bought it.

Red Sox didn't know of the Grey Court, despite Queensbury being about the size of a postage stamp. This of course made me try ands see if the Grey Court had gone back in business. On Monday, I finished talking to Tom McDonough who ran the motel with his wife Marianne for decades. The motel right now is being occupied by Great Escape staff as a bit of a dormitory. Massive construction is going on to connect the motel to the municipal sewer line. A fall reopening is planned.

I digress, but only to show that when in New York there is a connection to something or someone you know about right where you're standing in a subway car. Better than Six Degrees of Separation.

Initially, when my former co-worker Steve booked the tickets, it with an understanding that it was to be a giveaway event handing out retro Met Jerseys. In fact, Steve told me he was planning on wearing only a T-shirt to the game and leaving the game better dressed.

Not to be. The Mets made it a Kids Sunglasses giveaway, meant to give sunglasses only kids who entered. Once I cleared the metal detector and the ticket scanning, I asked where are the sun glasses? I was pointed to two high school girls who were handing them out, but ostensibly only to children at the game.

Not knowing it was supposed to be a giveaway to only kids brought to the game, the young lady asked me if I had kids. "Yes, I've got kids, just not with me." She somewhat reluctantly handed me a pair of the Met blue plastic sunglasses. I intend to give them to my 2½-year-old grandson. "Pays" to be a little pushy.

Eat something before the game? Got plenty of time.

Been looking forward to the pastrami on rye I had last time that was decent. That and a water and I'm at the seat. There are no little platform ledges to stand and eat this thing before heading to the seat.

Open the sandwich.  It is not cut in half. The lazy bone bone heads assembling these sandwiches didn't even cut it in half. I don't have a kitchen knife with me. (Would the metal detector go off if I did?) But I prevail, but not happily. I email Guest Services to alert their staff to CUT THE SANDWICH IN HALF. No answer. Writing a USPS letter to Steve Cohen today. I hate to be ignored. I still have 78¢ Forever stamps, which are now 82¢, so I'm getting a bargain on delivery.

Even a casual baseball follower would be aware that the Mets are having a terrible year. After a prolonged losing streak they fired their manager in his third year, Carlos Mendoza. Despite a wild card playoff appearance one year, the Mets have underachieved. I never thought much of Mendoza. He seemed asleep standing on the dugout steps. Goodbye Carlos.

Managing now? Andy Green, plucked from the front office. A former player and manager, Green assumes the role of interim manager. Huge change in now winning more games? Not at all. My 14-year-old granddaughter will tell anyone who asks about the Mets that METS is an acronym of MY ENTIRE TEAM SUCKS/STINKS. Something about teenagers who get things right.

It would seem like other teams, the Mets have added a dance team. This of course means young, J-Lo type ladies with boundless energy and bare midriffs who dance on top of the Mets dugout with Mr. and Mrs. Met to thumping music.

The Mets have only two starting pitchers who have winning records: Nolan McLean is 6-5 and Christian Scott is 2-1. The highly sought after and expensive Freddy Peralta acquired in the off season is hardly an ace, at 5-8 and a 4.66 ERA for the first half of the season. The New York Post awards him an F in today's mid-season report card.

Young Zach Thornton starts the game, and pitches a gem. He shuts the Red Sox out through 7 innings, issuing 2 walks, along with just two hits, throwing only 82 pitches, striking out 5 and retiring 12 of the first 13 batters. Very effective.

But of course in this era of protecting a pitcher's arm, 82 pitches over 7 shutout innings means Zach needs to come out and let the bullpen nail the win down. I said to my friend's co-worker after the 7th inning that I was now worried about the bullpen. Eddie, being a rabid Met fan knew my fears were justified.

The Mets need 6 outs to give Thornton his first MLB win. In comes Luke Weaver. Three outs.

But of course, a reliever has to be removed for another reliever to get the real nails driven into the Red Sox coffin and secure the win for Thornton and avoid a three game sweep by the resurgent Red Sox.

Well, how did that go? It might have gone well if Fransico Lindor didn't muff a game-ending double play for an error. Now the Red Sox are standing on bases they weren't standing on all game, Today's New York Post gives a mid-season report card on the Mets and its players and mangers.

Fransico, coming back from a prolonged injury, gets a D. from the New York Post report card. Up to the 9th inning, was the hero, driving in the runs with a double and a homer. If Bill Gallo were alive Lindor would be drawn as the game's hero.

After the error, Gallo would have drawn Lindor as the goat, and that didn't mean Greatest Of All Time. It meant the boo-boo guy.

So, who was the second reliever? Devin Williams, who the New York Post gives a D to, telling us "a disappointing overall performance for Edwin Diaz's replacement, who has pitched to a 4.70 ERA and blown three saves. When he's off, he's ugly bad." Meet "ugly bad."

Met fans will remember the Mets flubbed signing Edwin Diaz, and saw him go to the talent rich Los Angeles Dodgers. Nothing like helping out the team in your league. The Dodgers are currently coasting with a winning percentage of .629, with the second place team, Arizona, behind them by 11½ games. The Dodgers look like the Yankees of old. Break up the Dodgers.

Devin gets out of the inning, but he allows a run to walked in, and a single that ties the game. The Red Sox have occupied the bases like the British did New York City during the Revolution. It was hard to watch.

Brooks Raley comes in to stop the invasion. A 10th inning is required, and that means a man gets to start at 2nd base in order to speed the game up and get to a decision. One of the better changes in baseball.

Raley stays in to pitch the 10th. Tactics. The runner on 2nd is bunted over to third and a sac fly gets him home. 3-2.

Bottom of the 10th for the Mets. Three outs and the fair-size crowd heads for the exits. It's a nice Sunday afternoon, and no one seems to be booing. They should be.

The extra inning has caused Steve and his entourage to miss a train at Penn Station that would take them home to New Jersey. The 5:11 is missed;. the 6:11 is taken, making the day even more frustrating.

I leave the game thinking I'd rather lose 9 races at either Belmont or Saratoga than sit through a 10-inning Mets game loss.

The New York Post is really the only New York paper covering baseball and all home sports with any attention. In Tuesday's edition when report cards are revealed, the Mets General Manager, David Stearns get an indelible F. "The architect of this nightmare. His misses on this roster far outweigh his hits."

Fans have already taken to creating signs that say "STEARNS MUST GO." After Mendoza was let go it was widely assumed that Stearns should be looking toward his next employment. Well, not so. Steve Cohen of the Mets has given a vote of confidence to Stearns telling anyone who will write it down that he'll be here to finish his contract, which expires in 2½ years.

This seems like a hollow promise, and likely means the kiss of death for David's employment with the Mets when the season ends.

Meanwhile, Steve, our social director, is already planning on what tickets to buy for next year.

Because if anything is true about sports, there is always next year.

http://www.onofframp.blogspot.com

Rack 'Em Up at Raxx II

Don't rack 'em again until they fix the air conditioning. What should have been a nicely cooled set of games on a steamy July afternoon, was instead a sticky, sweaty endurance. Not a good time.

John and his pool-playing daughter Susan descended on RAXX for what might be their second of three yearly outings recreating the past for dad. Susan has no legacy pool experience; dad has plenty, and he seems to like reliving it as best he can in the 21st century.

RAXX is a pleasant place in the afternoon. It is far from crowded. The place is clean and the tables are in good shape. The thought was they recovered every table in what looked like a sand color. It was like playing on a beach. Didn't like the color.

Whatever happened to traditional green, or even light blue. I think the table color had changed from the last outing. This is confirmed when the 1/12/26 posting from the last outing is reviewed. Maybe we'll stay away long enough for the color to change again. Or, at least have the air conditioning fixed.

The many TVs hanging from the ceiling were showing a rare set of Yankee and Met day games being played—not being replayed, but live. Both struggling teams won, which these days has become rare.

Soccer would not be on until 4:00 with France taking on Morocco. It was learned this morning that the U.S. team's Christian Pulisic suffered a broken leg in the loss to Belgium. Chris gets hurt quite a bit. With the U.S. eliminated, he'll have plenty of time to recover. He needs more commercials.

We've been to RAXX enough times to recognize the regular afternoon players who surely live there. They play alone, and I like to think they're gearing up for some competitive 8 or 9 ball.

No one plays straight pool these days. John had the thought to start off with Susan to play a straight pool game, leading up to 25. Susan went along with it, but would rather play 8-ball.

Since neither of us can usually work up a run past 2, the game goes slow, and is boring. Susan pulled into the lead, 11-4 , but in the third inning John caught fire and had what would be an outstanding run of 4! He finished ahead of the stalled out Susan.

Onto a single game of 8-ball, which John won as well. Tired and sweaty, we had enough, and called it quits.

John promises to never again propose a straight pool game. That was what he and his friend Dennis played after high school in the 60s. Dennis was very good and the game moved along because Dennis went on runs. John liked to think he could recreate the skill of racking up for the second inning with 14 balls, and leaving a single ball as the "break" ball, that if played well, can be sunk while plowing into the cluster, and allowing the shooter to keep going.

This requires skill beyond anything Susan and I can muster. It takes positioning skill to leave a break ball that can act as a battering ram. Neither of us were good at it. The game dragged. The initial objective of going for 25 points was shortened to 20 to help get it over with. We were both glad of that.

There was only really enough time to play a single game of 8-ball. We like to keep the sessions to about 1½ - 2 hours. Aside from fatigue on John's part, running the clock for two players means more money. We generally end with a $35 tab at check out. Enough.

When will we play again0? Not really known, but the hope is the air conditioning will be working. Otherwise, we might just abandon and resort to games of backgammon in the dining room back at home.

http://www.onofframp.blogspot.com

The Value of Odds

All of this may seem counterintuitive, but bear with me.

Anyone who knows anything about horse racing knows there is an odds board. But do you realize that those are not odds as in probabilities?

The outcome of throwing dice has probabilities. Thirty-six to be exact. The odds, the probability of throwing a 7 is 1 in 6. Seven is accomplished 6 ways: 5/2, 2/5, 6/1, 1/6, 4/3, 3/4. You have the greatest likelihood of throwing a 7 more than any other combination. Throw it on your first throw, you win. Throw it before you throw your "point." you lose. Your point is the number you first throw other than a 7.

A 10/1 shot does not have a 1 in 10 chance of winning. Tote boards odds are not odds; they are expected payouts. A winning 10/1 shot will return at least $22 for a two dollar bet, the traditional racetrack bet. Naturally, a $1 bet—the lowest win bet—will return $11.

Expected payouts are a function of the distribution of the bets made (in this case the win pool). More money bet on say the 3 might make the 3 favored over the 4. To say the "public" makes the favorite is not completely true. An individual, or a coterie of individuals, can skew the pool their way by making heavy bets. 

These people might be called whales, heavy hitters, professional gamblers, or are part of a Computer Assisted Wagering group (CAW)—and there can more than one of those. Likely the 20/80 rule applies: 80% of the handle in a pool is created by 20% of the people betting. Nevertheless, the " public" will be given credit for creating the favorite.

So, how do you decide who to bet if the odds are not really the odds? The eternal question that drives all horseplayers mad. Horseplayers are a group of people who can exhibit undiagnosed degrees of masochism because they shoot themselves in the foot every outing. They are walking amnesiacs, doomed to repeat their mistakes over and over. 

I once knew a social worker who wrote a book about the "inner bully" in all of us; the internal voice that tells us we're going to fail, or tries to tell us. We may listen, or not. But the less you "listen" to this inner bully, the better your life will be.

I had a very good friend who was a very good handicapper. At the local OTB he was constantly getting up to cash a ticket at one of the many tracks he was playing, not just New York. He was uncanny. Not always, but he could be up $300 only to bet a massive amount on a Triple at some racetrack, say the Finger Lakes. He'd lose. The only way he'd come out ahead on the day was if he hit on the last race he'd bet and it was time to go home. 

The actor Omar Sharif, a champion bridge player went broke gambling, and said being so far down was actually exhilarating. Ahmed Zayat, the owner of the once powerful Zayat Stables, and the Triple Crown winner American Pharoah, had to declare bankruptcy. His gambling debts got to be too much.

I had a die-hard horse playing neighbor who told them that when New York City had its OTB and you used letters instead of numbers to play a horse, he and his buddy would play a "GA" double because it stood for Gamblers Anonymous.

You can't listen to any pre-race analysis by anyone who won't use the term "value." The "value" bet is... So what is "value"?

It is when your think your selection's odds are not in tune with the odds board, that the odds board has a horse at significantly greater odds than you'd expect.

Self-assigning odds is fine, and totally subjective, and meant to predict probability, but the comparison is  being made to something that is anything but a statement of probability, but rather a function of the betting money distribution. Thus if you think your horse should be 2/1 odds and the board says 7/1, it is a "value" play. And you might make it.

The true chances for a horse to win are not reflected in tote board odds. How many racing analysts, or, as the late, great Harvey Pack would call his ilk, Professors of Equine Prophesy, tell you they like the 2 horse at 2/1 but the odds are too short. They can't play a horse with such low "odds." It has no "value."

So, tell me, what value is a losing ticket on a horse you've selected who has "value" who basically doesn't really figure and winds up the track? They don't cash on those tickets.

In my handicapping, I assess each entrant with 11 metrics and assign a final number. (Unraced horses are a different story.) I then look at the board and construct a bet. In other words, I don't let the board make my selection.

How do I do? Just fine. I've been playing the horses since 1968, but only in the past 25 years using my self-assigned numbers. Back-in-the-day, my friend and I had a mentor, Les, Mr. Pace, who guided us into analyzing pace. In those days, he'd assign a number to each entrant. I never knew how he developed his system, but it often gave a horse a negative number, which was a great number to have. 

In the 70s, the weight a horse was carrying was a key handicapping element. These days weight means little, and I'm not even sure I hear that a jockey is "2 pounds overweight" anymore.

Les, like anyone else, had his share of winners. We all do, In those early days of my going to the track the Daily Double was the only "exotic bet" And only one Daily Double. Pick the winner s of the first two races. There were no exactas, and no triple, quinellas, supers, or other horizontal bets that linked races in multiple legs. These bets are relatively new and a function of faster computer calculating. 

It used to be you had to have your Double down ten minutes before the first post to give the mutuel department time to make its calculations.

I will forever remember Les meeting us at the seats we reserved with paper over them for the 1971 Belmont Stakes with Canonero II going for the Triple Crown. Les, always avoided being there for the Daily Double. He didn't want to blow his wad on it. 

Arriving at the seats, Les couldn't contain himself. Pass Catcher in the Belmont had been given an ungodly number by Les. He couldn't stop talking about the horse who had in his prior race finished second to Bold Reasoning in the recent Jersey Derby. Bold Reasoning at the time was a top three-year-old, but not on the Triple Crown trail.

The word "value" wasn't bandied about then. Picking a winner was though, and Les picked a live one. An $80+ mutuel on Pass Catcher, ridden by Walter Blum who dropped his whip in the stretch. Pass Catcher sent a lot of people home disappointed, an entire 4th floor of Venezuelans to be exact, But not Les.

I hate horizontal bets, and wouldn't go near them. You can spend a lot of money on permutations that deprive you of the payout from when one of your choices makes a good return and you've only got them on a dead horizontal ticket. I prefer win and exacta betting only.

So, do I make a lot of money betting? No. My "value" is achieved by cashing a voucher out for more than when I started. 

At 77 I'm still around, and I don't owe anyone any money.

http://www.onofframp.blogspot.com

The Viking Comet

Tune into a PBS station and they're busy advertising Viking River Cruises to affluent retirees who get off on watching nature shows, miniseries from England, and the news from  the BBC.

Tune into a FIFA World Cup telecast featuring Norway, and it's how Earling Haaland cruises against the opposition. There's Earling, and there's everyone else. It's his world.

Four years ago I could not have predicted that I'd ever be watching as much soccer as I have been. And it's not just because the United States men's teams has advanced into the round of 16. I'd be watching anyway,

I used to make fun of my son-in-law in Westchester, who would always have a soccer match on when we went over. Now, I can't get enough of the Premier League broadcasts on the weekends when Rebecca Lowe talking so fast that I sometimes think she's auctioning off cattle.

They play quite well in the Premier League. Usually, I don't even know where a team like say Arsenal comes from (London), can't really care who's on top of the "table", (leading the League) and who's trying to stave off "relegation," I like the fast pace, the resemblance to hockey, the crisp passing, and the fact that despite a 24'  wide net that is 8' high, there's little scoring. The goaltenders actually manage to make acrobatic saves standing in from of an opening the size of a Lincoln Tunnel tube. Amazing.

The names of the players mean little to me, except one, Earling Haaland, the premier striker from Norway who helps Manchester City win titles (not this year.)

Haaland, pictured above is astonishingly only 25 years old, He looks like he's at least 35. His hair is always tied back in a man bun, and his thick, 6'5" frame rumbles down the field like a full back coming out of the back field at 100 miles per hour. He's incredibly fast.

His position is "striker" which means he plays forward in the center and is a pain-in-ass to defenders, and especially goaltenders. These guys can really kick the ball hard with uncanny aim. Thank goodness the measurement of "velo" hasn't crept into soccer—velocity off the bat in baseball, despite being caught. Hard hit baseballs that are caught are not exciting, even if they're traveling fast enough to get a ticket from an attentive  state trooper. Listening to a baseball telecast is very tough these days.

Soccer matches generally take 2 hours to complete a 90 minute game divided into 45 minute halves. Give or take. There is the mysterious "stoppage time" that gets added by the referee to account for elapsed timed  when no one is playing but are being attended to by trainers and medical staff. They don't stop the clock in soccer, even when they're arguing. It's very different. 

The referee—and there is only one—keeps track of the time. "Stoppage time" will be added in accordance with what he determined to be the lost time due to "hydration breaks" and Video Assist Referee reviews (VAR).

Of course, during stoppage time, there is elapsed time that qualifies to be stoppage time, but is not shown what that is. Thus, playing through say 10 minutes of stoppage time might take 12 minutes because there were 2 down minutes. And it's always minutes. Stoppage time is never say, 8 minutes and 12 seconds. They announce stoppage time before the half or before the game is over, just to let you know to stay in your seat.

Haaland is one of the pre-eminent strikers playing in this World Cup. The World Cup is better than any Olympic games, and last longer. And it's televised "live, not "plausibly live" like the networks like to bring you televised Olympic events. What you're watching is what they might be staying up late to watch many time zones away on another continent.

Haaland's two goals last night against Brazil put him in a tie with other leading strikers for what is called "The Golden Boot Award," the player who scores the most goals in the competition. Something like an MVP award, and not what CBS is doing to their news crew.

The players have their names on the back of their jerseys. For some reason, the Norwegian players' names look like they are spelled out with strips of tape. Haaland adds his mother's maiden to precede his. Thus, the back of his jersey says BRAUT HAALAND.

Anyone who has been watching the news knows about all the foreign tourists who have come to the U.S. to follow their teams as they advance in the tournament. Stories of ranch dressing flying off the shelves have lead Kraft to make a small size that will fit in carry on luggage for departing foreign fans.

So many  Norwegian fans have been bouncing around New York that they filled Times Square with their synchronized rowing tribute to the Viking heritage of Norway. 

I was watching a Mets home game last week and there was considerable background noise of chanting during the telecast. I wondered if the shirtless fans had overtaken the bleachers, a growing trend of guys going topless at ball games.

The camera caught up to the noise. It was a conga line of  Norwegians in their red jerseys threading their way through outfield seats, chanting in Norwegian. Steve Gelb, the roving SNY TV reporter caught up to the head Viking, who explained that a considerable number of the Norwegians were offered seats at the game, They didn't know anything about baseball, only to root for the team in white, the home team. The head Viking told Gelb that he wanted to see a home run. (It happened later in the game.)

The tournament is getting to the point where the top strikers are going to square off in a game. On Saturday, the Norwegians play a quarter-final against the so far undefeated British squad, lead by a possible Golden Boot winner, Harry Kane.

New York, New Jersey's Met-Life stadium is the site for the coveted championship match. The stadium has been packed, despite the astronomical cost of seats and transportation. New Jersey's newly elected governor, Mikie Sherrill, tried to defend the $150 round trip New Jersey Transit train fare to get to and from the Meadowland stadium from Penn Station for the 22 minute ride that should cost under $20. Parking at the stadium is not allowed. After the inevitable media screaming about extortion, the fare was lowered to $100. The place still fills up. Unbelievable.

Soccer has replaced my suffering through what is becoming a dumpster fire of a baseball season for the Yankees and the Mets. My 14-year-old granddaughter has proclaimed METS is the acronym for MY ENTIRE TEAM SUCKS/STINKS. I love that kid.

So, more important soccer tonight, with the U.S. men's team getting the services back of their red card banned player, Folarin Balogun due to a "presidential pardon." Gotta love that guy too.

How many red cards would be given to people who ride the New York City subway who bumped into people? No one would be at work the next day. They'd all be suspended.

http://www.onofframp.blogspot.com

 

Surprise!

Sometimes the cynic can be surprised.

It's a week later, but the New York Times has deigned to hardcopy print Corey Kilgannon's piece on the closing of Aqueduct, that prior to its appearance on the front page of Sunday's, July 5th edition, Metropolitan section, only existed online in cyberspace. 

This mean it will forever be part of the archives, and anyone 50 years from now who might wonder what happened to the place will get an excellent read of how it reached its closing after 132 of presenting thoroughbred racing within the New York City limits in South Ozone Park, Queens.

Anyone who might be a reader of this blog—and I know there are a few of you out there, I get the stats—will know I took the NYT to the woodshed for not producing his article in print.

When I congratulated Mr. Kilgannon on an excellent piece with top notch photos, he replied with his thanks, and confirmed what I thought, that he's not really any kind of horseplayer. True, but he's a good reporter.

New York City is so big that it can withstand numerous events taking place simultaneously. In between Aqueduct's closing in Sunday, June 29 and now, the city has been the site for Taylor Swift's wedding at Madison Square Garde, Times Square holding tourists of every stripe who are here to witness FIFA World Cup matches at Met Life Stadium, which has to be called New York New Jersey Stadium because only FIFA can gain any money from imbedded advertising. Met-Life stadium is not allowed.

And of course you can't ignore the amorous Russian couple that climbed to the top of the antenna on the Empire State Building and unfurled their banner about LOVE.

Say what you will about AI, it does allow for the creative to insert images where the original image was. Take the banner that was unfurled. Some horseplayer took the time to create an AI image of a betting ticket from Aqueduct as what they unfurled. My own daughter inserted Mr. and Mrs. Met atop the antenna. 

I read that as metaphor that that is the only time the Mets will be atop anything this year. I'm sure there are many AI creations.

The photo used at the top of this post is an image taken from Mr. Kilgannon's piece of what a crowd that once existed at Aqueduct looked like. It is undated, but my own horseplaying guess is that it's from the 1970s. The tote board is not LED, but lit by numerous light bulbs. The information displayed aside from current odds will tell you the amount bet on each entrant in the WIN, PLACE, and SHOW pools. That kind of information is no longer displayed, basically because there are many pools these days for each race. Never has the racetrack offered so many ways to make a bet as now. They've cone a long way from a single Daily Double on the first and second races.

I sent a congratulatory email to Mr. Kilgannon on seeing his effort so prominently displayed in print. My hope for him is that his editors send him to tell the world about the "newly imagined Belmont" and what its patrons think of the place after it opens on September 18th.

I for one will appreciate a non-horseplayer's take on the place. Because you can take it to the bank that I'll be providing my take on the "newly imagined Belmont."

http://wwwo.onofframo.blogspot.com

Empire State of Mind

There are strange things done in the Big Apple sun,
But the strangest might now be,
The two in love from high above
Who were safely arrested as they said "I love thee."

New York is a big place, and the people in it hold big ideas, even climbing the TV/Radio antenna of the Empire State Building and proposing marriage. (She accepted.)

That they weren't electrocuted is only because the authorities saw that they were up there and cut the power.  Signals had to be switched. What were they thinking? Love.

I will forever member the pair of Christmas party lovers, who when in a vintage Pennsylvania Railroad passenger car leased for the event that was sitting on tracks in Penn Station, used by Amtrak and New Jersey Transit, that had high voltage catenary wire overh0ead, left the party to get better acquainted.

The amorous couple couldn't find a broom closet, so they left the party and climbed onto the roof of the train car with the live wires overhead. In that instance, no one knew anyone had put their lives in danger of being electrocuted, and the power remained on. The force was with them and they died for love.

The Russian couple from East Orange New Jersey was luckier than the copulating couple on a train track. Since they were brought down alive, they were arrested and charged with numerous charges: felony burglary, reckless endangerment, criminal mischief, along with misdemeanor raps of possession of burglary tools and criminal trespass. 

Perhaps needless to say, they didn't get to go out for a celebratory dinner, but were jailed awaiting arraignment later on Wednesday. That would have been a fun night court to be at.

A maintenance door had been breached. There will certainly be an internal investigation since the building's security thought they had already done enough to prevent trespass near the top for selfies. Well, I guess not. Did any of the activity show up on CCTV? More questions.

Tall buildings are forever an attraction for stunts. Didn't someone parachute off the Empire State Building? Yes. Didn't someone free base off it? Yes. Didn't Phillippe Petit do a high wire act between the nearly completed original Trade Center Towers? Yes. Didn't Martians invade the observation deck? Well, sort of.

My daughter Susan, a long-time "I Love Lucy" fan, reminded me of Lucy and Ethel dressed as Martians on the observation deck. Parts of the episode were actually filmed on the deck. Lucy and Ethel were doing it as a publicity stunt to raise money for a charity. It was another one of Lucy's wacky adventures with Ethel dragged along.

This is the same daughter who didn't actually climb the Empire State Building, but instead invited herself and her friend, into the family dentist's office on the 77th floor, without an appointment, just to see the gorgeous view Dr. B. had looking south.

Aside from proposing, why did the couple choose a proposal site that even Taylor Swift and Travis Kelce left for others? World Peace.

Atop the tower, with no safety harnesses, they unfurled a black banner with white lettering. A quote that the New York Post tells us is misattributed to Jimi Hendrix: "when the power of love beats the love of power the world knows peace," but is really a quote from a 19th century British politician William Gladstone.

No report yet on how the case will be settled, When Phillipe Petit was arrested after his high wire act he was fined $110, representing the number of stories in each World Trace Center tower.

Love makes you do dangerous and crazy things.

http://www.onofframp.blogspot.com