Mays Landing or McKee City?
Frantic City opens today; thank you, Lord, for keeping this place alive somehow. This place and Delaware Park, even with the slot banditsz. You can burn down and demolish both Garden States, renovate Keystone, make hipstersz wonder about Liberty Bell & Brandywine (chariotsz!), but please don’t knock down dear old Atlantic City Race Course. It has to survive.
New Jersey Racing back in the day. Before people understood Steve Buscemi as Nucky Thompson, Frantic City was the World’s Playground. You could look it up. They had a stakes race here called the World’s Playground. As well, there was the Kelly-Olympic, the Boardwalk, the Margate, the Somers Point, the Miss America, maybe even a Marvin Gardens, but the recollection is unclear on that last one; the ones before it, however, yes, absolutely. Nowadays the races have sponsors. Nowadays Don Trump has to come in and be the Saviour of Miss America. This is called Progress.
And then there is Memory. You would go out to the walking ring at night, the air heavy from its being July and August and nighttime but also cool from its being close to the ocean. The cigar smoke was allowed, even outdoors, in those days, and you would look at the horseys parade through the walking ring. If it was a big night, you would whisper all starry-eyed to your Dad next to you, “Hey, there’s Angel Cordero, there’s the Ant-Man, there’s Jonathan Sheppard.” But he wasn’t interested in celebrity; only in the three horses to box in the exacta — all the races were the same to him! You couldn’t uncorrupt him. And he was a Physician, for crying out loud! He wasn’t one of these Gen X lo-fi indie slackers! Yet he knew it was folly to think of racing as anything close to resembling a “science”. Smart guy. He deserved more-grateful offspring — pity. Rest easy, Dad! Do not follow our selections! We are artistes over here!
The wiseguys on the apron would train their binoculars toward the Club House Dining Room, searching for the signal from Mr. Levy. Robert & Blanche P. Levy, owners of many fine Thoroughbreds, some of whom would debut at Atlantic City, which they also owned; sometimes even their great established runners would deign to make an appearance even though it was summer and far away from Monmouth, Belmont, Saratoga. The binoculars would look for Mr. Levy to get up from his table and stroll to the windows. The binoculars would then spin 180 degrees to the totalisator board in the infield. Yes! There was confirmation: $10,000 to win on the flashy Levy first-timer, or even on Bet Twice. The wiseguys shook their head!
Or else later in the walking ring, Levy wearing the appropriate summerweight poplin or seersucker, belly sticking out from consumption and an appreciation of many good meals, trying to instruct a hapless Howard Eskin (yeah, that expert, Howard Eskin) on what the racetrack was all about. Eskin had no chance. He looked like an Abbot in a Brothel. It was funny, but you felt sorry for him anyway. Eskin & Trump, probably they are top friendsz, Both of Those Guys Know EVERYTHING. For them, micromanagement and control proved to be a successful strategy, just like it was for Mayor Nucky Thompson. Never saw Trump at the races, anywhere, thankfully. That does not mean it never happened. He was too busy downtown, taking care of his fruit machines and burn cardsz and surveillance cameras. We should have liked to see an Iron Cage Death Match between Trump & Nuckols, with Eskin serving as Referee. Maybe Lucy the Elephant would have been introduced into the ring at halftime and all three of them perished! What a fantasy! How do you come up with this stuff and still be allowed to roam the streets of Studio City during Pilot Season? It’s a miracle. Amtrak & Conrail should have put a stop to it on Jan. 4, 1987. Too much luck for one lifetime, really, no matter anything else.
God bless you, Frantic City, Atlantic City Race Course. We hope we die before you. We don’t want to Live in a World where Eskin & Trump outlive you. We don’t want to be around if you go before us. Thank you.
Free ones: Rundown…
Frantic City 1, 2, 4, 5, 6
Calder 8
Happy Birthday, Al Pacino, 73. Never married! You give hope to little guysz everywhere.
Pay-side: Today…
Keeneland 2, 4, 6, 7, 8, 9
Pimlico 2, 3, 7, 9
Golden Gate 5
Lone Star 1, 4, 6, 7, 9
Today’s Stakes Pageantry: Kee 8, the Grade III Bewitch, on the pay-side.
BFHollyPark opens today, and of all the Southern California tracks, it’s the one with the modernist, Googie-style architecture. Santa Anita is Art Deco, Del Mar is Mission, Pomona is 1950s Leave It To Beaver and BFHollyPark is googie, like the zigzag overhang at Dodger Stadium, the trapezoid of the DiamondVision, the same zigzag patterns found in the pancake houses and carport designs throughout Los Angeles. Check it out. Maybe #4 No Contingency in the Henson, Race 7.
Yesterday’s Activity: Not bad again on the complimentary page. Sometimes…
WMF Report:
Early
Calder 6f
Nocturnal Submission: Maybe EvD 3 (7:30 p.m. EDT / 4:30 p.m. PDT) can get #12 Haliluke or #7 Emotional Cat home at a price. …Likewise the ninth there (10 / 7) for #3 Dusty’s Player, #8 B. J.’s Leroi, #1 Mirror Bay, #5 Onda Fast Track. …PennNat 5 (7:49 / 4:49): #5 Kathleens a Coach, #2 T. M.’s Treasure. …And #7 Lady Kee can survive the sixth at Prairie (9:44 / 6:44). …
Thank you. Best wishes. Goodbye. So long.
Your post gave me THE feeling! Not on a grand scale as the message, but the feeling the same. Uncle Pratt,would haul this 11 yr. old from town, 60 miles to the Ohio River Ferry, cross it and WOW–The old CONEY ISLAND & right beside it RIVER DOWNS!!! Didn’t know anything, instead watched and listened in awe!!. That feeling I know.
It’s a good feeling, Honeyman, a good feeling. To remember like that is to know that you were alive in that moment, that it mattered and no matter how snide and cynical and grown-up everything around you has become — and maybe even you yourself have become all those things, unlike your Peter Pan buddie over here— you lived the moment as all subsequent moments should be lived: in full.
Thanks for sharing. We put on our Green Onesie now and zip across the Stage. Regardsz to all our friends in Lexington, Ky., esp. Ashley Judd. Even our best frenemies at HDW. Yup.
Brotha McConnell put the fear in Ole Ashley, but thats OK. Now can’t find a Dem to oppose him. Be seeing Dr. Jim, Ron & Rich Monday and I’ll pass your REGARDZ along
Yeah. This sounds good. Keeneland is done now, so you guysz have time to hook up. Maybe AJudd can join you. I would put my money on Ron to beat all of you to the punch and whisk her away; I think he has the size advantage on the three of ya. Tell those guysz we are in the midst of a search for a young, hungry developer and we should all like to take a bite out of the market share of the Ritual Circumcision Handicappers. Those guysz have had their way for too long now. Time for redistribution! Judd 2020! Planned economy #1 alwayszzz! Yeah…
Maybe it’s like M. Cramer said in that book “Kinky Handicapping”, where he hired out to a Tout Service. His picks made a profit, but The payers & players wanted winners not profits. So they sent him on his way??? Finally payed attention to you , Steve, & the Mitchell tapes before the POSITIVE turnaround. Yesterday 4 winners out of 22 bets & a + ROI. If you want to quit drinking and can’t, Pay attention to someone who has, not all this mumble jumble from people who don’t have a clue. Like it has been said about the TV handicappers, a mouthful of useless information. The BETTING LINE is the BOTTOM LINE. Enough from me.
Dems seem to think a woman can beat Mitch, tryin to get ALLISON GRIMES to run against him. She had her picture made with “THE HONEYMAN” at HONEY DEW APIARY’s booth at the Daniel Boone Pioneer Festival last fall. She’s not bad either just the ugly green outfit, kinda lemony army green. I was actin like a puppy after his treat.
No kiddin the Georgetown boys said something about what you wrote. I’ll tell them about the developer. They never fail to ask how I’m doin with ALL IN ONE? I take my monthly WAGER REPORT with me. more times than not it is a positive one! I’m more interested in your buddy fixin me up with a Hot Blonde.
Good morning!
Funny story: There are sushi joints up and down the length of Ventura Blvd. here in Studio City. Indeed, Ventura Blvd. is fairly known locally and probably even the world-over for its preponderance of sushi places. These run the gamut from hole-in-the-wall to quick-and-dirty to chichi. Not as chichi as koi or Matsuhisa, but close enough. The hole-in-the-wall joints are the ones likely to be omakase, the sort of place where the chef will decide what is served.
There are some kind of the people in the world — all of them seemingly concentrated in the entertainment capital of the universe, Southern California — who, even knowing that it’s omakase, will send stuff back anyway, vociferously argue with the chef. Because, of course, they do know better than the chef. Of course. The customer is always right, right? That old Oriental guy in the documentary Jiro Dreams of Sushi, what the hell does he know? Send it back!
I can’t fault the late, great Johnnie Rancont. I heard many stories about him, nearly all of them scandalous and prickly; however, with a little thought and perspective, it becomes apparent he was just an omakase-style chef, pushing handicapping software instead of raw fish. He liked to raise his voice toward the complainers, and maybe that was his issue, maybe he didn’t have to plunge immediately to their level, but when an artiste does his thing and then gets called out by someone who really doesn’t understand half as much about the process, the artiste’s ego probably wants to react. In the ensuing conflict, Rancont’s side can be seen.
What a world, huh? Everyone has to know exactly where there going, every last second. Life has been preprogrammed. Kermit the Frog and I instead ask: Where’s the wonder? What happened to serendipity? Malkmus sings it with his usual dead-on flair: “There’s no grace in love/With a known trajectory…” Amen.
For proof: the best human-interest stories in the coming Kentucky Derby television buildup, they will not have a the smooth linear progression everyone strives for in life. Twists, turns, up, downs, yet the story winds up good. Now, there would not have been a story if they decided to send the sushi back. When the story ends up good, you know there was no sending the sushi back.
The problem with touting is that its immediate trajectory is not known. It doesn’t trace a majestic parabola or take full flight from launch. Rather, it dances, it flutters, it jukes and jives; it’s a butterfly, a knuckleball, not a 100mph James Rodney Richard fastball. This ultimately proves frustrating and unacceptable for the masses, who have been raised to appreciate only bombast and bloat and perfection and the Undeniable Right of The Big and The Strong. The little things are disregarded.
Keep making your honey, HoneyMan. You’ve made it for years and you do a good job. You do it for the process, for the love; the customers may or may not follow, but you know what you are doing. You are not doing it to be precious or twee or ironical. You just love your beesz! God bless you. It’s the rare person who can make his true passion his living.
P.S. Regarding hot blondes: Not sure if you have picked this up in recent posts, but it’s PILOT SEASON out here. You will be able to set yourself up; you won’t have to rely on any middlemen or agents and the complications they bring. Even better, you don’t have to settle for a blonde. Brunets, redheads, women who’ve shaved their heads — you want it, you got it. Should we send you some samples?! Hahahahha.
No, Knuckleballs & Ego’s are enough for my understanding!
Sir, how about knuckleheads? Knuckleheads with egos currently undergoing downsizing. Thank you for your part in our ongoing therapeutic process!