"It's so convenient you have all the works from that horse except the 59.4!"
I can finish the sentence most of the time, handicappers can be the most paranoid group you ever met, consipracy theorists have got nothing on them.
There is a saying around the track "You might as well tell the truth because they all think you're lying anyway''. I live by it.
I am going to call this guy Barney, for blog sakes, he came up to the press box one morning at Del Mar some 20 years ago, and wanted to tag along for the works.
I don't mind company, but don't call me a liar and suggest I am a cheat, its a long way down six floors if you by pass the elevator.
So, Barney comes up and starts off with 'how can you miss a 111 and change work, that horse last weekend worked fast and you didn't have it". That's a sure fire way to turn me off and point my toes, in like a mule, about answering any pertinent question.
The horse he insinuated I was 'omitting' was a Bruce Headley, whom had worked in the pitch of darkness at 5 AM or even earlier, but this dingleberry thought he was cute calling me out.
This all happened between 645 am and 700 am as we prepared for the break. He had no idea what was installed for him and the crow sandwich he was about to digest.
I knew he knew nothing when he asked me if he could see the list of the horses that were going to work. I told him there was no such thing. He was confusing the work tab released by the clocking crew after the morning works, but genius kept insisting I had it and didn't want to share.
I consider my working clocking space to be like my home, and this #@!!$%&& was insulting me, my integrity, and my patience, but I had a plan.
'What do you look for in the works?" He now wants my opinion and years of experience in one nicely tied up sentence and a few syllables.
Break is over and chaos ensues. Twenty to thirty horses work in a span of 2 minutes, gate is going off, gallopers, joggers, ponies, dogs and cats living together, mass hysteria.
I take a peek, at the genius, and his mouth is agape in disbelief. i was hoping a bee would fly in it, but at least he wasn't talking.
The mass of horses that flew by in a blink, I feverishly called out into my recorder, a typical big work day at Del Mar, Saratoga, Churchill, Keeneland, you name it.
My stopwatch didn't stop for 6 minutes, meaning, I kept splitting horses, for example, I would pick horse at 1/2 mile and snap on my watch, the split is 144.3/5, I call it, at the half 144.3/5 split. I hope you are good at math, and time, at the wire is 232.4/5, the difference doing quick math in my head, is :48.1. The horse worked a half mile in 48.1.
Genius thought he heard 57.4, and says who went 57.4, I said that was a split, he didn't believe that either. Then, he wanted names, who was that horse, who was that barn.
Perhaps, he was on the rudest ^#@$%&* of all time, but I explained that I needed to transcribe all in my book and then see the tab.
Ah Ah! as If i was caught in something, 'there is a list!'.
Yes, there is, but its after the fact and showed him on the wall of the pressbox, there was worktabs from days prior.
I should have been knighted saint hood after that morning, October 6, Saint Bruno.
Why do I bring this up 20 years later,
After 20 years, I run into the guy, F$@%^&g Barney, in the grandstand one morning as he was sitting there, same spot, as always, and yes, he was still sour.
He said hello, he remembered me, but there was a slight disdain in his voice, he has gone so far down the rabiit hole with the conspiracies he is lost in the handicapping world. I was cordial.
He asked if he could come by in the morning, "sure! come by the clockers stand on the 6th floor!" I told him, now I know you are saying why? Why relive that?
Because, i am not there I am on the 4th floor at the 16th pole. No way, Jose! Not again!
Paranoia will destroy ya.
The other day I saw a post from a guy I know on social media, he is crying that his horse lost the rider, at the start, and posts the workout notes from another clocker, and he blames the workout report for not telling him the horse was going to dump rider and go thru gap after the start.
Are you that guy?
Do you blame the jockey, clocker, the starter, the trainer, the track?
Maybe its you!
Maybe you are not cut out to play, maybe not even cut out to play checkers, because that old man on the other side is cheating. He can change colors to the checker pieces without you knowing.
You can look at social media and find horseplayers who think they are good and talk like they cash every race, and after every race they are lamenting about everyone but their mother, for their failure.
You see it has been scientifically proven that stupid people, don't know they are stupid, they think they are smart, but if they were smart, they would know they are stupid.
So, there you have it, if you have one of those in your group, lose them, dump them, leave them on a desert island or lock them up in a basement with water and vegemite sandwich during racetrack hours.
There is always that guy, always, and there is a hunch play for them this Thursday, BETHEGUYNOTTHATGUY, running at Del Mar on Thursday, Race 4.
