Page 1 New York Times, 1884, Cannibalism

It is hard not to come away with something else when you're reading a very old edition of the New York Times by virtue of the digitization of all their copies.

It used to be I had to thread microfilm at the library, or get a spot at what was the Science and Technology branch of the New York Public Library on 34th Street and Madison Avenue (no longer there) and plow though someone's digital database. Now, doing it at home.

I didn't set out to find a story about cannibalism, but I did as I scrolled through the September 8, 1884 edition of the New York Times looking for the story about the fire in Libby Custer's home. (Prior posting.)

I didn't have the page number for the fire at the apartment of the widow of General Custer, so I started at Page 1 and kept going until I found what I was looking for on Page 8, of the eight page edition. If the headline of The Latest Cannibal Story on Page 1 doesn't get your attention, then I can't help you, and you should stop reading this posting..

WTF! Are cannibal stories a regular feature in that you're now up-to-date if you read this one? Hard to tell. I'm not scrolling looking for more; this one is more than enough. Midway down in the 8th column of the eight column edition (no photos) is the story. I kid you not.

The lede:

London, Sept. 7 The crew of the Mignonette captured the turtle on the fourth day after the sinking of the yacht.

No photos, but a drawing (above) gleaned from everybody's favorite AI sources, Google and ChatGPT.

The Times spares no gory detail.

On the 18th of June, having been seven days without food and five without water, they discussed the question of casting lots which should die that the lives of the other might be prolonged, but were unable to agree. [Gee, no volunteers, huh?] Next day it was determined to kill the boy Parker, when Capt. Dudley opened his jugular vein with a penknife and he died instantly. The survivors, the Captain and two seamen, drank the murdered boy's blood and sustained life by eating the flesh [raw, I suppose] until rescued by the Montezuma on the 5th of July. The reason assumed for determining upon the boy's death is that he suffered most from thirst and was unmarried. When rescued the men looked like skeletons. They will be charged with murder.

That's all she wrote that day. But no end to the story.

ChatGPT:

In 1884, the small yacht Mignonette sank in the South Atlantic while sailing from England to Australia. Four survivors escaped into a 13-foot lifeboat:

• Tom Dudley (captain)
• Edwin Stephens
• Edmund Brooks
• Richard Parker

After about 20 days with almost no food and very little fresh water, the 17-year-old cabin boy, Richard Parker, became gravely ill after drinking seawater. Believing they were all about to die, Dudley and Stephens killed Parker and the three survivors ate his body to stay alive.

Four days later, they were rescued by the German ship Montezuma.

ChatGpt

Crew of the Mignonette ate a crew member as they were marooned

Yes. This was the infamous Mignonette case, one of the most famous legal cases involving survival cannibalism.

The case became famous because the survivors openly admitted what they had done. Dudley and Stephens were charged with murder. In the landmark English case Regina v Dudley and Stephens, the court ruled that necessity is not a defense to murder. Although they were initially sentenced to death, their sentences were commuted to six months' imprisonment.

The case has had a lasting influence on criminal law and is still taught in law schools around the world as a classic example of the limits of the "necessity" defense.

One curious historical footnote is that the cabin boy's name was Richard Parker—the same name later given to the tiger in Yann Martel's novel Life of Pi, though the novel's Richard Parker is an animal rather than a person.

More AI Sources 

Here's what happened:

• After the Mignonette sank, the four survivors escaped in a 13-foot dinghy.
• They had only two one-pound tins of preserved turnips and no fresh water.
• On the fourth day, they managed to catch a sea turtle, which provided meat and blood for food and drink, prolonging their survival for several more days.

Eventually, after the turtle and turnips were gone and no rescue had appeared, they killed the cabin boy, Richard Parker, leading to the famous legal case of Regina v. Dudley and Stephens.

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I don't know how the events unfolded after the rescue, but obviously the three that were left didn't hold together and tell the rescuers that they were the only survivors. Since the case reads Regina v Dudley and Stephens I'm going to guess that Brooks spilled the beans on the other two.

Perhaps, not being lawyers, they felt that the law would allow the killing and eating of another human if dire circumstances presented itself. Guess not.

I wonder if "necessity defense" is what drives "stand your ground" defenses when someone is harmed by a person who feels they are in imminent danger of being killed.

I have a source who might render an opinion on this if they answer. It will be interesting to learn if they have familiarity with  Regina v. Dudley and Stephens, when they were in law school, despite it no doubt being in British law.

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All Things Custer, 150 Years Later

I'm not going to bury the lede.

My grandmother, grandfather, and their 4 sons, one of whom was my father, were neighbors of "Libby" Elizabeth Custer on East 18th Street in New York City. I kid you not.

There's nothing we Americans like more than celebrating, or acknowledging a milestone anniversary. And even if that anniversary is about a massacre of U.S. calvary troops at a confluence of rivers in what is now Montana and at a place called Little Big Horn by an allied force of Native Americans against General George Armstrong Custer, who was only obeying his own ego rather than his orders, then it's still okay to think about it.

I think it was a Caleb Carr book, probably 'The Alienist', that I read that Custer's widow had been robbed during a fire. She lived in the Rutherford Stuyvesant Apartments, that at the time of their construction at 142 East 18th Street, New York City, introduced a ground breaking type of living in that multiple families lived in a single dwelling.

My grandmother's apartment was at 146 East 18th Street, on the southwest corner of 3rd Avenue. The family flower shop occupied the storefront. In the 1950s I remember being taken to see my grandmother and the flower shop. I always liked that the flower shop had two entrances; one on 18th Street, the other on 3rd Avenue. I have photos.

In the photo to the left you can see the Stuyvesant Apartments. Just to the left margin is my grandmother's building. I can't say I distinctly remember the Stuyvesant Apartments, but I certainly remember my grandmother's on the second floor, front corner, overlooking 3rd avenue and 18th Street, and of course he flower shop.

Rutherford Stuyvesant was wealthy, and was a direct descendent of Peter Stuyvesant, the last Dutch Director-General of  New Amsterdam. He was a great-great-great-great grandson on his mother's side.

There is a Rutherford Place that runs between 17th and 15th Streets, just north of Stuyvesant Park that is bisected by 2nd Avenue. Rutherford Place is between 3rd Avenue and the park. St. George Episcopal Church is on Rutherford Place, a church that J.P. Morgan worshiped at. Every morning on my way to high school at Stuyvesant High School on 15th Street I walked through Stuyvesant Park. There is of course a statue of Peter Stuyvesant in the Western portion of the park.

Additionally, there is the Friends Seminary and School on the corer of 15th Street. We supplied a small bouquet of flowers every morning for their Quaker services.

Did anyone in my family ever mention that Custer's widow lived next door until about 1924, when she moved to 71 Park Avenue where she passed away at 91. Seventy-one is still there, condominiums. I was in the city last Wednesday, and passed the building not knowing anything about a prior tenant. Next time I'll inform the doorman.

Did Libby buy flowers at the shop? Who knows? What we do know is that there was a fire in her apartment on September 7, 1884. It was reported in the NYT on September 8, Page 5 of an 8 page paper that cost 2¢ for the weekday edition; 3¢ for Sunday.

Some of the wording is quaint. The heading goes:

A PANIC IN A FLAT HOUSE

The sub-heading: 

Slight Damage in the by Fire in the Rutherford Stuyvesant House

The Rutherford Stuyvesant flat house, on the south west corner of Eighteenth-street and Third-avenue was on fire at 4:15 o'clock yesterday morning, causing much alarm amongst the inmates...

Flat House for apartment house; Inmates for tenants.

The fire started in Mrs. Custer's apartment at the base of the air shaft, thought to have been caused by a match thrown from above, landing on rubbish.

There is tremendous detail in the reporting. All the people who were affected by the disturbance, what they lost in the fire, how they made their way out. They are all named, and the value of their losses is reported.

"Mrs. Custer laments the loss or partial destruction of many mementoes of the General. Mr. Calhoun lost a gold watch presented to her by her brother. It was stolen by some one who entered the apartment after the family left it. The thief also took a small morocco purse, which was empty. It is believed that the fellows snatched up the property in a great hurry, as in a case in plain view was solid silverware worth several thousand dollars."

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ChatGPT provides a further summary

The New York Times covered the fire the next day under the headline "A Panic in a Flat House" (September 8, 1884). The fire began in or near an air shaft connected to Libbie Custer's first-floor apartment and quickly spread upward through the building. Residents fled in panic, many climbing to the roof while firefighters battled the blaze. Fortunately, no lives were lost.

What made the story especially newsworthy was that Mrs. Elizabeth ("Libbie") Custer, widow of General George A. Custer, was among the tenants. During the confusion, thieves reportedly entered her apartment and stole valuables while everyone was focused on escaping the fire and saving property. Contemporary accounts described the theft as an example of opportunistic looting amid the chaos.

The Stuyvesant Apartments themselves were famous as one of New York City's earliest upscale apartment buildings. Libbie Custer used her apartment there as a base while writing and lecturing to defend and preserve her late husband's reputation after the Battle of the Little Bighorn.

One detail that struck newspaper readers at the time was how novel apartment living still was. A fire in a large "flat house" drew crowds and extensive press coverage because multi-family apartment buildings were still a relatively new concept for middle- and upper-class New Yorkers.

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ChatGPT provides background on the apartments.

The Rutherford Stuyvesant Apartments (also called the Stuyvesant Flats) at 142 East 18th Street, between Irving Place and Third Avenue, were demolished in 1958. They were replaced by a newer apartment building on the site. [ My grandmother's apartment house was also demolished in 1958. 150 East 18th Street, a "luxury" high rise was built on the site in the mid-60s.]

This building was historically significant because:

• It was built in 1869–1870 for Rutherford Stuyvesant.
• It was designed by the renowned architect Richard Morris Hunt.
• It is widely regarded as New York City's first apartment building designed specifically for the middle class, helping popularize apartment living in America.

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At some point I must have told my one of son-in-laws, whose father is retired New York Police Department, about the fire, and the theft.

No mystery to a retired NYPD: "The firemen took the goods."

NYPD and FDNY have always been a bit intolerant of the other. My son-law's father, if near a fire house will always tell you to, "keep quiet, because they're sleeping in there. We don't want to disturb them."

The NYT in yesterday's Arts Section ran a full two page spread with paintings, sculptures, and news articles about the massacre at Little Big Horn. Custer, with under 300, men attacked a Native American presence of over 4,000 from various tribes. He either got very bad intel, or ignored it.  

Two nephews, two brothers, and a brother-in-law of General Custer were slain. A lot less seats were needed from then on at the family's Thanksgiving dinners.

The two-page spread is impressive, and even more impressive when viewed online. The color from the artwork really stands out. A clip from the 1912 silent movie about the massacre comes to life online. Amongst one of the pieces is a piece done by Standing Bear, who fought in the battle as a teenager.

No cameras, but an eyewitness/participant of the battle. We're so conditioned to pay attention to the soldiers who were killed we forget there were Native Americans who took part in the fight who lived for decades afterward. The artist Sitting Bear  passed away in 1933.

The artwork he created was at least 40 years after the massacre on June 25, 1876. It is in the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

I have only one older cousin left who could possibly reflect on what my family knew, or didn't know about a woman who lived next door to them. We're not in touch, so if there is knowledge, it's probably going to the grave.

I will see if I encounter the doorman at 71 Park Avenue and ask if he knew of the famous tenant Elizabeth Custer. I'm prepared for them to reply that they never heard of General Custer and the Battle of Little Big Horn.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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