Goodbye, Foggy

Like most horseplayers, I've developed affinities for certain horses while playing the races. But, among these special horses, not every horse is viewed with an equal level of fondness. Some horses merely appeal to the betting side of my soul, typically for their consistency in interesting ways. These horses are ones that, for whatever reason, are profitable, but not terribly inspiring to watch and certainly not awe-inducing. Contemporary examples from the New York circuit could include Naughty New Yorker, who, up until his last race where he showed some new tricks, was a classic consistent late plodding closer, or Freedom Isn't Free, a consistent board horse that has the speed, but not the personality, to win. I like these horses, but don't love them, accepting our relationships for what they are -- mere relationships of convenience to help the grinding out of a profit.

But, then there are the relationships that are deeper -- the ones with the horses that can do something special on the race track. We saw one of my favorites yesterday with Lava Man becoming the first horse to win the Big Cap, Hollywood Gold Cup, and Pacific Classic in the same year. And, in doing so, he fought off the demons of last year by maintaining his form late into the summer season. He now will seek to complete the ultimate rags to riches story -- moving from the claiming ranks to horse of the year by winning the Breeders' Cup Classic. Yet, despite this inspirational performance from a true champion, the weekend was left covered by a tremendous cloud with the news that Lost in the Fog -- another one of these special horses -- had terminal cancer.

I've written about Lost in the Fog before (see the June Archives) and most racing fans are familiar with the exploits of this horse. And, elsewhere this season, I've drank the anti-Kool Aid and become critical of this horse, and openly wondered whether I had been fooled and christened merely a fast developing horse as a great one way too soon. Looking at this performance this season, I had to admit it -- his critics have been right. He was simply beating up on weak horses and was exposed in his first real test during the Breeders' Cup, and he would continue to be exposed during the remainder of his career. But, upon receiving the terrible news, and thinking back about the past two years with the Fog, I finally realize what I've missed in accepting these arguments -- whether LITF was a great horse is absolutely and completely meaningless to his story. By focusing the light solely on this particular question, we are likely to miss a good part of what brings us to the racetrack in the first place.

From the beginning, he was a thrill to follow and observe and made for wondrous anticipation, intense drama, and, especially, great horse races. I remember vividly the first race I watched of him on Fountain of Youth day last year. I was blown away by his performance -- I don't recall ever seeing anything like it. I went home and signed up for a replay service so I could watch what I had seen again and again. And, I was thrilled when I returned to the OTB on Wood Memorial Day and saw him slated to run again -- I had been mesmerized by the sheer speed and intangible wonder that this horse brought to the races. And, when I originally planned a trip to NYC from Denver for the Belmont Stakes that year (the plans unfortunately fell through), I was most excited about being able to see the Fog in person. But, I told my friends to make sure to be there for his race, and sure enough, they came home talking non-stop about Foggy, instead of Afleet Alex.

Yes, on a one-dimensional hierarchical scale, LITF was not historically great, or possibly, even the best sprinter in his particular time and place. But, when looking at the intangibles of what makes a horse race great and what makes this sport thrilling to watch, he was as good as it gets. Even in defeat, he was the consummate race horse -- the type you rush home to see his race and wonder whether he'll wow you again. And that's what makes his story on the racetrack so wonderful and its ending off it so devastating. I'll miss him and what he brings to this sport terribly.

They're Alive!!!

The Handicapping Life made a brief haj last week down to the mecca of horse racing. A nice ride on the Lake Champlain Ferry and an uncrowded journey down I-87 brought me down to Saratoga, where I met my parents for a wonderful day explaining and sharing the races. Yet, despite the beautiful surroundings, I usually have mixed feelings about going to the track. I never bet as clearly as I do at home and a strange need for action comes over me -- I find myself with a bet in almost every race...something that never happens when playing from home. And, yet, despite these temporary losses and annoyances and the obvious benefits of spending time and sharing the sport with others, I still go to the track for one primary reason: Like many horseplayers, I simply love seeing horses in person.

Upon arrival, a full parking lot forced me far away from the race course, but, much to my excitement, extremely close to the stable area. I'd wandered around the backside of tracks before -- most notably at an empty Keeneland during a visit last summer -- but I'd never been to one that was fully stocked with the best horses in the world. I walked past Corinthian, the spastic horse who caused the Fountain of Youth drama, and Artie Schiller, the defending Breeders' Cup Mile champion, who keeps finding ways to burn the public's money. And I saw tons of beautiful, active horses that I couldn't recognize. It was, hands down, one of the highlights of the summer.

I've always found these feelings quite surprising -- independent of my love of racing, I'd never be described by friends as a horse lover, and the suburban Cleveland home of my youth did not present much opportunity for horse keeping. And, because of Denver's lack of big time racing (where I first became deeply enamored with the sport), most of my early experience with playing the horses came through watching TV monitors and engaging in data analysis in the racing form. Yet despite my lack of tangible experience with horses, I always feel a special affinity towards these animals when I see them in person. I think, at the core, see in these animals reminds me of something that I occasionally forget -- that the entities that we're betting on are living creatures, with all the nuances, quirks, and intangible wonder that life brings.

And, in addition to this fuzzy feeling, I also find that seeing horses close up in person, at the backside or even just the paddock, really helps my bottom line. Sitting in my office and reviewing race after race, I unfortunately occasionally forget that horses exist independent of racing and are way more than just a collection of numbers. And, when I get into this mechanistic thinking, I find that my handicapping suffers -- I'm engaging in static, as opposed to dynamic analysis, and routinely find myself supporting the animals that look the best on the surface of the form. It's only when I'm truly aware that horses are living creatures with a tremendous amount of volatility in performance that my handicapping reaches the level for profit. And, so, even with short-term losses, I'm always willing to take a occasional day to go visit any track. Besides, I still haven't figured out how to get Saratoga chips, a BBQ pork sandwich, or tasty draft beer in my office.

Show me the money!

This past Saturday, I originally decided to take a much-needed day away from the races. Yet, being the devoted horseplayer that I am, I nonetheless decided to take a late evening look, figuring I might find a minor stakes or a solid allowance race to capture my attention. Within minutes, I'd isolated a race that fit the profile: The Prairie Meadows Sprint. A quick analysis of the six-horse field revealed a heavy and legitimate favorite in Coach Jimi Lee, a winner of almost $800 thousand that, on paper, dominated a field of local allowance horses. It seemed like a lockdown bet for sure. As I searched the pools for value, my attention turned to the show pool, where I unsurprisingly discovered that the bridge jumpers had found another target. I didn’t write down the exact amounts, but, at post time, it was something like $97,000 bet on the Coach and only around $1000 bet on the others combined. Needless to say, Coach Jimi Lee dominated the field on the track, and the show bettors happily survived – taking the minimum payout ($2.20 in Iowa) and collectively forcing the track to pony over $9700 into their pockets.

Lately, I’ve become intrigued by these bridge jumping incidents. For those unfamiliar, the act of bridge jumping is a consequence of the mandatory minimum payouts for $2 bets, even if insufficient funds exist in the pari-mutuel pool to fund the payouts. Thus, a bettor could bet as much as he’d like into the pool and be guaranteed a 5% return ($2.10) or 10% ($2.20). While a bettor could always bet an inordinate amount of money into a pool and turn the payoff into the minimum, it usually only occurs in the show pool -- the only place where a bettor could theoretically determine that the reward is consummate with the risk. And, the consequences of failure, of course, are extreme – hence the term “bridge jumping.” Despite the small anticipated payoff, you’ll lose your entire investment if something goes awry.

Most handicappers I’ve met chastise this risky behavior – laughing loudly when one of these horses fails to hit the board. Yet, despite this public scorn, these incidents happen quite often, and typically, they’re successful – it only becomes a topic of conversation when they do fail. And, when failure occurs, it’s usually only due to catastrophe, such as breakdown or a thrown jockey – even a bad start usually allows a talented, dominant horse to get up for third. And, in the extremely rare cases where they do fail due to the competition of the race, such as Dubai Escapade in the Princess Rooney, it’s typically due to case of a miscalculated risk, such as the failure to consider that a horse was trying a new track (the tiring surface of Calder) and a new level (Grade I) or, in other cases, simply putting too much faith in the predictability of the unreliable non-stakes horse.

And, although hundreds of thousands tend to flow into these pools in the biggest races, I've never met this type of bettor, either on the track or in my conversations with handicappers across the country. And, yet, they clearly exist – throwing down their $5000 to win $250 week after week after week. At its core, it’s a strange sort of betting that goes against much of the current orthodoxy of wagering. It requires virtual perfection – a far cry from a long term philosophy encouraging overlay wagers that one expects to lose in the short term. One miss in 20 (at the common $2.10 minimum) renders any gains moot. And a second miss in 20 brings the losses to a level that would be very hard to catch. While it’s possible to balance these over time, the sheer loss of capital makes the long-term quite difficult to achieve without an immense bankroll. And, even with an massive bankroll, it’s hard to believe that profitability could result from these bets unless they were virtually fail safe – expected to hit over 95 times out of 100. And, in order to derive any substantial profit, a hit rate of 99% must be expected. Yet, these wagers happen and occur with great regularity – is it possible that some out there achieve this lofty goal? These wagers – when carefully chosen -- probably offer the closest thing to certainty in the entire world of racing. And, while the consequence of a loss is great, I often wonder whether the risk, when analyzed in terms of likelihood of happening, is really that large compared to other, more socially accepted wagers. Indeed, a precise show bet may be the least risky proposition – even when considered in terms of potential reward – in the entire game of racing.

But, even putting aside the mathematics of risk and the murky waters of assessment, these wagers fascinate me from the perspective of my favorite topic – the psychological side of the handicapping life. First, I can’t imagine that wagering like this is very fun. There’s no excitement in waiting for the expected to happen, the rewards are never very high, and the anxiety from the large potential consequences must be unnerving. And, despite the large size of the wager, it’s about as far from pure gambling as you can get. There’s no rush and no adrenaline boost from the big potential payday – a fact which inspires the playing of many of horseplayer. In addition, wagering like this goes against the short-term ego gratification that drives many horseplayers. There’s no feeling of outsmarting the crowd in an individual race when you merely echoed the crowd’s sentiments to an extreme. And, yet, with careful selection and not too much extreme bad luck, the bridge jumper can feel good at the end of the day – pocketing a profit – something that the typical horseplayer only does with a generous helping of luck.

So, what sort of picture are we left with of the supposed bridge jumper? To me, despite the moniker, the extreme show bettor is much less a risk taker than the typical horseplayer – an exceptionally careful individual, meticulously picking his spots to avoid the vagaries of luck and who is also free from the need to take risks for short term ego gratification. Indeed, in comparing this with the typical horseplayer, I’m left wondering who the real bridge jumpers are in this game.