Excerpts from "Fast Horses"
From Chapter 1:
The seed was planted in the late 1980’s, when I watched my wife’s 30-1 shot win convincingly under the lights at Los Alamitos racetrack. I knew nothing about horse racing at the time. Speechless, I just stared enviously when she triumphantly waved her winning ticket.
“30-1!” she exclaimed. “Ka….ching! I’m rich! Jealous?”
My eyes bugged out. “Why’d you bet that horse?” I asked.
She laughed mischievously. “I liked the name,” she replied, bouncing down the second-floor bleachers to pocket $62 for a measly $2 bet.
Gray matter percolating, I made some quick calculations. In blackjack (which always had my number), most payoffs are even money: a winning $5 bet returns $10 from the house, a 100% profit. Hardly peanuts. However, my wife’s bonanza made Las Vegas look like cheapskates: she’d doubled her original bet 30 times, for a 3,000% profit! A track newcomer, I thought only the Mafia could make a killing like that. What other forms of gambling could match horse racing’s huge returns?
Like St. Paul on the road to Las Vegas, I began to see the neon light: Not only can you hit the jackpot at the racetrack, but all you need is one winning ticket to break even for the night. With ten chances to make a profit, it’s very possible to play with “their” money all night. (OK, it’s not really the track’s dough; it’s the other bettors you pickpocketed!)
You foot the bill for food, admission, and programs, but in return there’s four hours of edge-of-your-seat entertainment--with several long shot possibilities. Other track-night benefits include sitting outdoors on starry moonlit evenings, seeing coyotes and rabbits frolic in the infield, hearing the bugle calls to the post, listening to the roars of the crowd, and watching heart-thumping races where nanometers often separate winners from losers. Where else can you gamble in such a utopian setting? Compared to the track, the casino’s a highly contrived, artificial light show—blinking neon madness...ding, ding, ding…jammed elbow-to-elbow with other gamblers.
THE GREATEST SHOW ON EARTH
Before Los Al’s first race, anxious anticipation and nervous excitement electrify the track’s atmosphere. The tote board lights up in the infield, flashing ever-changing odds for each horse. Two lakes--surrounded by palm trees and explosions of crimson bougainvillea--beautify the lush, park-like setting around the oval. Inside, hundreds of tense, hopeful bettors passionately debate the merits of their favorite horse, or shout at the monitors carrying simulcast races.
The charged atmosphere feels like a circus—or a Fellini movie, with a motley crew of weird, wonderful, and wacky characters.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” the track’s race-caller suddenly bellows over the public address system. “Welcome to Los Alamitos. Tonight’s track is fast. Here are the changes in tonight’s program. In race number one….”
Outside, prancing down the track in single file, the race horses--bundles of nervous energy--enter the paddock to be saddled. Clomp, clomp, clomp…
The clock’s ticking. It’s almost race time, the mother of all moments, and heart rates are rising everywhere. Will horseplayers have the right animal for the win, or will a horse given no respect by the public pull off the upset? Bettors scramble to make their bets.
“The horses are at the gate…One minute until race #1. One minute.”
As the Quarter Horses load into the starting gate--just 350 short yards away-- fans lean anxiously over the rail, peering down the track. Which horse will fly out of the gate? Will the public’s 4-5 shot break like a cheetah—or a turtle? Every race is a mystery waiting to unfold.
The equine sprinters fidget in their narrow stalls. Then the bell suddenly rings, and all hell breaks loose. The gate shakes and rattles. Fans scream. Dirt flies. The Quarter Horses thunder down the track, a Calvary charge measuring 4.5 on the Richter scale.
At Mach 1 Schwanie’s Grill’s a blur…
At Mach 2 they fire through the gap…
At Mach 3 they rumble past the grandstands…
Welcome to the Greatest Show on Earth: Quarter Horse racing, featuring the world’s fastest equine athlete, the American Quarter Horse—an animal that looks like a Thoroughbred on steroids.
Quarter Horse racing takes your breath away in less than 18 seconds. A blast of pure speed. New fans may wonder, “What happened? The race’s over already?”
The pedal’s always to the metal. Adding the extra incentive of making money to the pure joy of just watching race after race creates a highly addictive form of entertainment.
Other Excerpts from Fast Horses, Fast Money:
"Watching American Quarter Horses thunder down the track--breathing hard, pounding the dirt, eyes fierce--awakens the poet/dreamer within our soul, reminding us of frontier days when wild horses roamed the Western plains. Every race is an organized stampede, a stirring cacophony of flying dirt and streaming manes.”
“Consider the regression or ‘bounce’ factor: Our winning chances may be slightly better if we don’t bet the horse with the highest speed rating at the distance in its last race. The data shows that this speedster is more likely to hiccup than triumph: if 48% of the winners had the highest speed rating in their last race, 52% did not meet this standard. Not betting this animal, which may be a false favorite anyway, forces us to look for better value in a race.”
“Possible overlay or long shot: Bet the best trainer’s horse in any race. Rationale: Our winning chances range from 32-40% according to the research. Even novice handicappers can use this simple strategy, which shows that handicapping doesn’t always have to be mentally taxing.”
Copyright 2007. All rights reserved.
