Aueduct: December 26, 2015

[Teach]

I want to begin by wishing the members of the Pace Advantage forum a Very Merry Christmas.

I must admit I’m beginning to go through withdrawal symptoms. Oh, I haven’t gone “Cold Turkey”. There are other tracks to play. Yet, I do miss Aqueduct. The next couple days are going to be even tougher, unless, that is, you want to play Puerto Rico’s Camarero Race Track or an Australian tracks.

Well, I’ve downloaded “The Big A” form. I’ve taken what I call a cursory look. Nothing serious, mind you. Just horses that I believe have a chance. I’ll be narrowing things down over the next couple days.

In addition, in a subsequent entry, I’ll be reposting (I believe I posted this story on the Pace Advantage board years ago) a horse racing story. It’s a story that combines the occult with racing.

Race One: :2: :6: :8: :9:

Race Two: :2: :6: :1: :5: :3:

Race Three: :8: :9: :7: :5: :3:

Race Four: :7: :6: :5: :4:

Race Five: :4: :2: :1: :5: :6:

Race Six: :4: :7: :1: :3: :8:

Race Seven: :11: :6: :8: :3: :2:

Race Eight: :3: :6: :4: :5: :2:

Race Nine: :1: :4: :6: :8: :9:

[Teach]

The Royal Road To Riches

The winds were snapping tree branches, downing limbs and felling power lines. By evening, the rains had turned to freezing rain and sleet. The roads had become skating rinks. Everything was sheathed in a thick coat of ice.

That late-February, mid-1990s evening, I had trouble falling sleeping.
With the howling winds and falling branches outside, I had trouble nodding off.

Eventually, I would catch a few winks. I began to dream. In my dream, I was seated in the clubhouse at Boston's Suffolk Downs second-floor tele-theater. I remember that I had just gotten up to make a bet. I recall that as I was about to reach the tellers at the rear of the room. I would then run into a dear friend. An old racing buddy. His name was Bob. He had recently died. As I looked at Bob, he appeared covered in a shroud. Everything else in the room was as clear as a bell, yet Bob was enveloped in a thick fog.

Well, for a few seconds, I just stared at Bob. I really wasn't 100% sure it was him (frankly, he looked older than I remember him). "Yes," I thought, "it's Bob." I asked, "What are you doing here, Bob?" It was a foolish question. Bob was a regular at Suffolk Downs (he owned and trained horses; years earlier, he'd run them at Rhode Island’s Lincoln Downs (now Twin Rivers Casino) and Narragansett). Bob was what I would call “well-healed” within the racing community. He knew several owners, trainers and jockeys. He was frequently good for a tip or two. Whenever I questioned Bob’s advice or a tip he had given me, he would always respond: "Is The Pope Catholic?"

Well, seconds later, Bob answered my question about what he was doing at Suffolk. He said, "I'm a jockey's agent." I wasn't surprised. Bob had been a Boston high school business teacher for many years; yet he confided in me several times that he always wanted to be a jockey's agent. Sadly, the real Bob died before he ever got that chance.

It was then that I asked Bob, "Like anything?" I remember he thought for a moment and then in a hushed, almost inaudible tone, said something that sounded like: "Ronny's Red Robin." At least that's what I thought he said. Frankly, I wasn’t quite sure. All I knew is that the horse that Bob had just touted had three "R's" in its name. Then, suddenly, just after Bob mentioned the horse's alliterative name, he vanished.

Seconds later, in my dream, I was rushing back to my seat in the Suffolk tele-theater to tell my friend "Bucko" what Bob had said when suddenly ---- I woke up.

That next morning, "Bucko" and I had made plans to go the Foxwoods in southeastern CT. I took one look out the window and thought to myself, "I've got to be crazy to be driving to Connecticut in this weather." The scene outside my window looked like something out of the 1965 movie, “Dr. Zhivago”. Everything was frozen solid. Good judgment would have cautioned: "Don't take a chance. It's too dangerous!" But no. Two degenerate gamblers cannot be kept from their appointed rounds. We were the kind of guys who would walk barefooted over hot coals or shards of broken glass to make a bet. A little ice, that’s not gonna stop us. I’m out the door.

About a half-hour later, I had reached "Bucko's" house (it usually takes me no more than fifteen minutes). The roads were nearly impassable. We were inching our way south toward Foxwoods. In fact, one of the shortcut roads we often used was closed by police because of numerous skidding accidents.

Eventually, we made it to the main highway, route #495. By now, DPW crews had begun sanding and salting the major roads. The worst, as far as travel was concerned, was behind us.

Well, in a more relaxed road-condition environment, I began chatting with "Bucko" about my dream. I might mention that as soon as I mentioned the word "dream," "Bucko's" ears pricked up like a mule in a donkey race. I remember "Bucko" saying, "Walt, tell me about your dream." I recall replying, sarcastically, "Yes, Doctor Freud."

Over the next several minutes, as we were heading south on route #95 toward Rhode Island, I told "Bucko" about my dream and my chance meeting with my late friend Bob at Suffolk Downs. I then said, "Oh, by the way, Bob gave me horse." "A horse," "Bucko" repeats. "What was the name of this horse?" he continues. I said that I could hardly hear Bob in my dream, but it sounded like "Ronny's Red Robin." I added, "It was a horse with three letter Rs in its name.

As I remember, "Bucko's now looking at me like I've just provided him with a map to "The Treasure of Sierra Madre." "Bucko" then says, "When we get to Foxwoods, we've got to look at the Suffolk form for a horse with three "Rs".

Eventually, we turned onto CT route #2. About fifteen minutes later, we turned a corner and gazed off in the distance at the teal blue roof of "The Palace in the Connecticut Woods," Foxwoods. We had made it!

Well, I proceeded to park my car; we then headed into the gaming area not far from Foxwoods' Racebook. I remember we shot craps for a while and then gravitated over to the nearby Racebook to buy (actually we had enough wampum points) the DRF and an array of individual programs. “Bucko” bought what he often does, “The Little Book”l it contains all the tracks, albeit with abbreviated lines.

We find two carrels and sit down to study the form. "Bucko" immediately looks through all the Suffolk Downs races. Just as he's doing so, an announcement comes from the P.A. saying that Suffolk has cancelled racing because of unsafe track conditions.

I recall saying to "Bucko", "So much for the three Rs." Just then, "Bucko" blurts out, "I've found it!" It's like Archimedes calling out: "Eureka!" "Found what?" I asked, in a tone of disbelief. "The horse with the three Rs," he answered. "Yeah," I said, "and the moon is made of green cheese." "No, seriously," he said.

He then showed me the 6th race at Calder Racetrack in Miami. There was a horse entered named Rory's Rolls Royce. "That's it!" I blurted out,
"That's it! That's the horse!" "Bucko" adds, "Besides, Rory's the name of my niece's husband."

As the sixth race at Calder was still close to three hours away, we had time to plan our strategy. We both agreed that we should definitely flat-bet the horse, but that we should also use him in a Pick-3.

Finally, the 6th at Calder was about to go off. I recall that it was a route race and that Rory's Rolls Royce was going off at 6-1. I remember that we each bet "a sawbuck" on Rory's nose (I'm sure it would have been more, but we both foolishly frittered away part of our grubstake at the craps tables) and used him as a singleton in the first leg of a Pick-3.

I remember the Rory race like yesterday. Rory was lagging far behind on the backstretch as the front runners were blazing ahead on the front end. I gave Bucko this "We're in trouble look." But as the horses were reaching the far turn, Rory's Rolls Royce was pickin' em up and layin' em down. As the horses reached the top of the stretch Rory had hit his best stride and easily passed the tiring front runners. He went on to win by two lengths.

Well, Bob and I were ecstatic. Rory paid $14 and change. Our $10 wagers had helped us recoup much of our early craps losses. And --- we were still alive, as partners, in a Pick-3 that started off with a $14 horse.

In the second leg of the Pick-3, we had combined to pick three horses. "Bucko picked one, I picked one and, by consensus, we selected another. Well, Bucko's pick, a longshot, popped at something like 10-1. We were now alive with two horses in the final leg.

The third and final leg was about to begin as the horses were beginning to load for a mile-an-an-eighth route race that had been taken off the turf. I had been intrigued by a MTO horse that was piloted by Jorge Chavez. I recall my choice, Chavez's horse, had the extreme outside post.

Well, the gates opened. "Chop Chop" (Chavez's nickname) had his horse (our horse) on the lead. "Our" horse was challenged several times throughout the race but was never headed. As the horses reached the top of the stretch, jockey Chavez was feverishly getting into his horse with his karate-chopping motion. At the wire, there was a photo, but from the naked eye, he had appeared to have hung on.

About a minute later, the numbers were posted, our horse, the #12 horse, had hung on to win by a neck. He didn't pay a lot--- I believe $6 --- but he did complete a lucrative Pick-3. Needless to say, we were overjoyed.

On the way home, I said "Bucko," you've made me a believer. Before today, I didn't think much of dreams, but after today..." I then continued, "'Bucko, didn't Freud call dreams 'The Royal Road to the Unconscious Mind'? "Yeah," he answered, "that's right. But in this case," he continued, "It's been the 'Royal Road to Riches'." We both laughed.

[dartman51]

Great story, Teach. Merry Christmas to you and your family. :)

[nelliekoren]

I lurk, know virtually nothing about racing; enjoy your stories very much! :jump: :jump:

[nellanod]

GREAT STORY---I REALLY ENJOYED IT, ALWAYS GOOD WHEN U WIN.

[Teach]

Found In Yonkers

I was down. Depressed. Oh, it wasn’t that I was losing at the track. It was just that I yearned for female companionship. Feminine pulchritude. I tried everything. I went to a bar that featured a rock band and lost several decibels of hearing. I went to a mixer and proceeded to get drunk. I got fixed up. When we get back to my date’s house, she sicks her dog on me. I was feeling like Rodney Dangerfield: “No Respect!”

At this time I was teaching on Long Island. It was the mid-to-late 1960s. In my school, there were a handful of attractive, eligible, young women-teachers; yet, I decided not to try to date any of them. If the kids ever get word that you’re dating one of the other teachers, your life can be become a living hell. Besides, an old-timer once told me: “You Don’t Stick Your Pen In Board Of Education Ink”.

At the time, I was living in New Hyde Park, NY. I would frequent various dinettes and even a burger place called Wetson’s. One night I had dinner at a “greasy spoon” on the Jericho Turnpike. As I stepped up to the counter to pay my bill, I noticed a cardboard cutout that advertised computerized dating (call it eHarmony in ‘The Stone Age’). I took one of the brochures from the sleeve.

That evening I filled out the computerized dating questionnaire. There was a section that asked you about your likes and preferences. I could have said: reading, gardening, the movies, walks; yet, instead I was honest. Oh, I included some of the above but I also mentioned: gambling, the horses, casinos, sex, “loose” women, strip clubs. Hey, I’m “normal”. I might have been a high school teacher, but I also masqueraded as: “El Maestro de Pecado”.

Anyway, I sent in the required $10, along with my completed questionnaire. About a week later I get these five women’s name; a telephone number was adjacent to each.

Well, the first woman I called said the whole thing was “a joke”. Her friends had played a prank on her. She mentioned that she was “in a relationship”. If this were baseball, I just took the first strike, looking.

As I recall, the second woman I called lived in a Manhattan apartment. I set up a luncheon date for a Saturday afternoon. We were going to dine al fresco, you know “out in the open”. I leave early enough only to run into a humongous traffic jam on the L.I.E., The Long Island Expressway. It seems there was a car fire. My luck. Add the curiosity factor and I’m at least a half-hour late. When I finally reach my date’s apartment, I go to ring the doorbell. Just then this doorman says, “You can’t do that; I ring the bell”. This was a far cry from my family’s inner-city Boston apartment where nobody – I mean nobody – rang the bell except the tenant or a visitor. No doorman. No maid. No valet. No butler. No frills. Anyway, I finds out from the doorman that my date was not available, something about an emergency. Strike Two. I never got my bat off my shoulder.

My third date was from a section of Brooklyn called Canarsie. Now you Carnarsieites, or whatever you call yourselves, don’t get all bent out of shape about what I’m about to relate. I know that my comments don’t reflect on your fine citizenry. Yet my date was a klepto. I “doubled” with a friend; we went to Manhattan’s Playboy Club (my buddy had “a key”).

Well, my date took just about everything that wasn’t nailed down. I mean everything: silverware, linen, napkins, condiments, glassware, etc. Her pocketbook was so heavy with her ill-begotten booty that my date was listing to the side like The Titanic. That was the end of that. All I could think of was a headline that read: “Long Island Teacher Indicted As An Accessory In Playboy Club Caper”.

My next date was another disaster. In a nutshell, I go to a Queens single-family home. This very attractive woman greets me. “Walt, she says.” I nod. I’m in clover. I’m about to be served a gopher ball right in my wheel-house. Just then, what I perceive to be my date hands me off to another woman. Someone not as nearly attractive. I’m thinkin’, “What goes here?” At that moment, I’m of a mind to say something like “I left my lights on; I’ll be right back…and then high-tail it out of there.” Well, I stuck around and took my date miniature golfing. I made the whole thing as short as I could. Everything was just too bizarre.

My last at-bat was young woman who lived in a Manhattan apartment. She sounded good on the phone. I suggested the track. Yonkers. You’d be surprised how many women I took to the track on first dates.

That evening, I pick her up. She’s cute. Petit. Pretty ears (strange how I’d noticed that). Nice smile. She’s thin. I believe she could have made the weights.

Well, we exit her apartment and head up the Saw Mill River Parkway to Yonkers Raceway. I get us seats in the clubhouse. I’m in my element. I give her a few bucks to bet. She bets a horse named Janie Key (she told me she has an aunt named Jane). Wouldn’t you know, the mare pops for $10. She’s happy. I’m happy. We’re havin a wonderful time. I’m thinking to myself, “Finally, on my last at-bat, I keep my hitting streak alive.” I feel like “Joltin Joe” in 1941.

After the races, I suggest we head for a Manhattan lounge for a nightcap. She counters with some homemade apple pie and a coffee at her place. We head back to her place. As I’m riding back, I’m thinking what a wonderful time I’m having; it made up for all the disappointments.

When we get back to her place, my date, I’ll call her Phyllis, fixes us coffees and warms up the apple pie. It’s delicious. We engage in small talk. She’s from the Midwest but came east after college to take a job with a NYC children’s publishing company.

We finish up our coffees and pies. I tell Phyllis that I need to call it an evening (it was somewhere after eleven) as it was a weekday and I had to be up early to begin teaching school. I figure a good-night kiss and an “I’ll call you”.

Well, Phyllis says, “Walt, can you wait a minute”. I said, “Sure”. Phyllis disappears into a bedroom area. I’m sitting on the couch for about a minute or two; Phyllis then comes out of the bedroom dressed in low-cut negligee (I’m telling an honest story here). My heart skips a beat. I don’t know if you could say “that my pants were on fire,” but the embers were being to heat up. Phyllis proceeds to start unbuttoning my shirt. Who needs Viagra at times like these. We kissed, tongued, hugged and embraced. It was magical.

At that moment, I had a big decision to make. My id-like nature (Remember “Herman’s Head”) was saying, “Stick around, at least for a while for “extra-curricular activities”. My superego-nature said, “Hey, you gotta get up tomorrow morning, teach classes, and even get paid”. In the end, I opted for the later. Oh we kissed for a while longer, but I left about ten minutes later. Stupid. Probably.

As a postscript, I dated Phyllis one more time. It was as enjoyable as the first. Yet that would be the last time I would ever see her as I was soon returning to Boston to teach in the Boston Public Schools.

Finally, not long ago, I “googled” Phyllis. She was living on one of those islands off the Florida coast on the inter-coastal canal. I learned that her estimated net value was two million dollars. Yes, I “found” her at Yonkers but, in the end, I “lost” her.

[Unicorn]

Maybe she did a little betting at Yonkers. lol

[nelliekoren]

Boo!
But I share fond memories of Wetsons (on Empire Blvd), too. Merry Christmas!

[EMD4ME]

Found In Yonkers

I was down. Depressed. Oh, it wasn’t that I was losing at the track. It was just that I yearned for female companionship. Feminine pulchritude. I tried everything. I went to a bar that featured a rock band and lost several decibels of hearing. I went to a mixer and proceeded to get drunk. I got fixed up. When we get back to my date’s house, she sicks her dog on me. I was feeling like Rodney Dangerfield: “No Respect!”

At this time I was teaching on Long Island. It was the mid-to-late 1960s. In my school, there were a handful of attractive, eligible, young women-teachers; yet, I decided not to try to date any of them. If the kids ever get word that you’re dating one of the other teachers, your life can be become a living hell. Besides, an old-timer once told me: “You Don’t Stick Your Pen In Board Of Education Ink”.


At the time, I was living in New Hyde Park, NY. I would frequent various dinettes and even a burger place called Wetson’s. One night I had dinner at a “greasy spoon” on the Jericho Turnpike. As I stepped up to the counter to pay my bill, I noticed a cardboard cutout that advertised computerized dating (call it eHarmony in ‘The Stone Age’). I took one of the brochures from the sleeve.

That evening I filled out the computerized dating questionnaire. There was a section that asked you about your likes and preferences. I could have said: reading, gardening, the movies, walks; yet, instead I was honest. Oh, I included some of the above but I also mentioned: gambling, the horses, casinos, sex, “loose” women, strip clubs. Hey, I’m “normal”. I might have been a high school teacher, but I also masqueraded as: “El Maestro de Pecado”.

Anyway, I sent in the required $10, along with my completed questionnaire. About a week later I get these five women’s name; a telephone number was adjacent to each.

Well, the first woman I called said the whole thing was “a joke”. Her friends had played a prank on her. She mentioned that she was “in a relationship”. If this were baseball, I just took the first strike, looking.

As I recall, the second woman I called lived in a Manhattan apartment. I set up a luncheon date for a Saturday afternoon. We were going to dine al fresco, you know “out in the open”. I leave early enough only to run into a humongous traffic jam on the L.I.E., The Long Island Expressway. It seems there was a car fire. My luck. Add the curiosity factor and I’m at least a half-hour late. When I finally reach my date’s apartment, I go to ring the doorbell. Just then this doorman says, “You can’t do that; I ring the bell”. This was a far cry from my family’s inner-city Boston apartment where nobody – I mean nobody – rang the bell except the tenant or a visitor. No doorman. No maid. No valet. No butler. No frills. Anyway, I finds out from the doorman that my date was not available, something about an emergency. Strike Two. I never got my bat off my shoulder.

My third date was from a section of Brooklyn called Canarsie. Now you Carnarsieites, or whatever you call yourselves, don’t get all bent out of shape about what I’m about to relate. I know that my comments don’t reflect on your fine citizenry. Yet my date was a klepto. I “doubled” with a friend; we went to Manhattan’s Playboy Club (my buddy had “a key”).

Well, my date took just about everything that wasn’t nailed down. I mean everything: silverware, linen, napkins, condiments, glassware, etc. Her pocketbook was so heavy with her ill-begotten booty that my date was listing to the side like The Titanic. That was the end of that. All I could think of was a headline that read: “Long Island Teacher Indicted As An Accessory In Playboy Club Caper”.

My next date was another disaster. In a nutshell, I go to a Queens single-family home. This very attractive woman greets me. “Walt, she says.” I nod. I’m in clover. I’m about to be served a gopher ball right in my wheel-house. Just then, what I perceive to be my date hands me off to another woman. Someone not as nearly attractive. I’m thinkin’, “What goes here?” At that moment, I’m of a mind to say something like “I left my lights on; I’ll be right back…and then high-tail it out of there.” Well, I stuck around and took my date miniature golfing. I made the whole thing as short as I could. Everything was just too bizarre.

My last at-bat was young woman who lived in a Manhattan apartment. She sounded good on the phone. I suggested the track. Yonkers. You’d be surprised how many women I took to the track on first dates.

That evening, I pick her up. She’s cute. Petit. Pretty ears (strange how I’d noticed that). Nice smile. She’s thin. I believe she could have made the weights.

Well, we exit her apartment and head up the Saw Mill River Parkway to Yonkers Raceway. I get us seats in the clubhouse. I’m in my element. I give her a few bucks to bet. She bets a horse named Janie Key (she told me she has an aunt named Jane). Wouldn’t you know, the mare pops for $10. She’s happy. I’m happy. We’re havin a wonderful time. I’m thinking to myself, “Finally, on my last at-bat, I keep my hitting streak alive.” I feel like “Joltin Joe” in 1941.

After the races, I suggest we head for a Manhattan lounge for a nightcap. She counters with some homemade apple pie and a coffee at her place. We head back to her place. As I’m riding back, I’m thinking what a wonderful time I’m having; it made up for all the disappointments.

When we get back to her place, my date, I’ll call her Phyllis, fixes us coffees and warms up the apple pie. It’s delicious. We engage in small talk. She’s from the Midwest but came east after college to take a job with a NYC children’s publishing company.

We finish up our coffees and pies. I tell Phyllis that I need to call it an evening (it was somewhere after eleven) as it was a weekday and I had to be up early to begin teaching school. I figure a good-night kiss and an “I’ll call you”.

Well, Phyllis says, “Walt, can you wait a minute”. I said, “Sure”. Phyllis disappears into a bedroom area. I’m sitting on the couch for about a minute or two; Phyllis then comes out of the bedroom dressed in low-cut negligee (I’m telling an honest story here). My heart skips a beat. I don’t know if you could say “that my pants were on fire,” but the embers were being to heat up. Phyllis proceeds to start unbuttoning my shirt. Who needs Viagra at times like these. We kissed, tongued, hugged and embraced. It was magical.

At that moment, I had a big decision to make. My id-like nature (Remember “Herman’s Head”) was saying, “Stick around, at least for a while for “extra-curricular activities”. My superego-nature said, “Hey, you gotta get up tomorrow morning, teach classes, and even get paid”. In the end, I opted for the later. Oh we kissed for a while longer, but I left about ten minutes later. Stupid. Probably.

As a postscript, I dated Phyllis one more time. It was as enjoyable as the first. Yet that would be the last time I would ever see her as I was soon returning to Boston to teach in the Boston Public Schools.

Finally, not long ago, I “googled” Phyllis. She was living on one of those islands off the Florida coast on the inter-coastal canal. I learned that her estimated net value was two million dollars. Yes, I “found” her at Yonkers but, in the end, I “lost” her.


Teach, THANKS FOR SHARING in detail. Love hearing other's experiences! Well told sir!!!

[Teach]

Ill tweak it tomorrow, if necessary.

Race One:

I believe :8: Casa Gato deserves more attention than his 15-1 ML status would seem to indicate. Yes, I’m going out on the limb with this gelding. I suspect that Aqueduct surface will come up wet for today’s card (showers predicted in the New York City area this evening). By the way, this Tale of the Cat- (Storm Cat) bred should relish any wet going. The replay of this gelding’s last race indicates that he had a horrendous trip. He was “sandwiched” not once, but twice, leaving the gate. This 3 year-old was back about mid-pack down the backstretch and ended up out in the 7-path (more bumping) as the horses made their stretch run. Any kind of improved trip and this 3 year-old is “a contendah”. The rider switch to Gabe Saez should help. Kate Feron, who trains for Akindale, is the gelding’s conditioner. Others: :2: , :6: , :9:

Race Two:

:2: Gehrig is my choice in this non-graded Damon Runyon Stakes for New York State-breds. This Ghostzapper-bred has wet-track pedigree on both his Sire’s and Dam’s side. He does move up to face winners by virtue of his last race, a maiden-breaking sprint. I believe the stretch-out today to eight panels should not cause him any problems. In fact, I believe this gelding wants to go longer. A solid mid-December work signals readiness. “The King of Philadelphia,” Kendrick Carmouche, is in the irons for trainer Bruce Levine. Others: :6: , :3: , :1:

Race Three:

:9: Zababa got NYRA announcer John Imbriale’s first call in his last, a 6 and ½ panels sprint at the “Big A” over a month ago. In that one, after the break, this Mineshaft-bred 2 year-old chestnut colt drifted back to mid-pack. In that most recent race, this Dehere-bred finished a disappointing fourth; yet the colt was finding his best stride as the horses made their stretch run. The colt would go off as the prohibitive 3-to-5 favorite in that one. The colt was claimed out of that race from the Steve Asmussen barn to Chris Englehart’s. Trainer Englehart, by the way, does very well with beaten favorites. Englehart also adds blinkers. Any moisture on the racetrack would help this colt. “Double “A”, Angel Arroyo, picks up the mount. One note of caution: Arroyo must get into this colt, early. With the ½ panel cut-back, this colt needs to mount his charge before he runs out of real estate. Others: :8: , :3: , :7:

Race Four:

:4: Sam Sparkle is a 7 year-old ridgling out of the Dave Cannizo barn. He appeared to have needed his last race. This Rubiano-bred had been away from the races for several months prior to his most recent early-December “Big A” start. This ridgling was in contention in that one only to run out of gas in the race’s late stages. With one under his belt, this Silver Deputy-bred should be much better prepared to meet the same type of optional claiming field. Liston, Louisiana’s own, Kendrick Carmouche, is in the irons. This ridgling should improve in this his second start off a layoff. Others: :7: , :5: , :6:

Race Five:

:4: Tiz A Chance, is a 3 year-old Tiznow-bred colt out of the Graham Motion barn. This Storm Cat-bred has been literally knocking on the door in all four of his previous starts; it should be noted that all four of those races were on the turf. This colt has finished second three times and third once against this caliber of competition. Today might just be “graduation day”. This colt is facing the same 55k MSW class of horses that he finished second to in his last, albeit, as cited, on the grass. Any wetness should help. The slight stretch of 70 yards shouldn’t make any difference. The colt’s trainer, Graham Motion, does very well with horses who are going from turf to dirt. It should be noted that trainer Motion has yet to saddle a winner during this Aqueduct meet. This race gives him a good shot. Kendrick Carmouche has the call. Others: :2: , :5: ,

Race Six:

:4: Nevada Kid. I’m going to take a gamble – that’s what horse racing’s all about, isn’t it – on this Old Trieste-bred 6 year-old horse. My concern: Which Nevada Kid do we get? The one that reeled off two straight wins many moons ago; one of those coming in Gulfstream Park’s 200k CC Jewel, or the one that broke through the gate in his last and was eased over two months ago in a race at Belmont. This one’s “a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma”. If this horse is right, he can tower over this field. Yet, the question remains: “Which Nevada Kid do we get?” I will say that trainer Jeremiah Englehart does have a penchant for reclamation projects. Will it happen here? Speaking of Chris Englehart, he’s very good both with horses who’ve been away from the races for prolonged periods of time and horses entered in claiming races. I should also mention that a sharp recent work bolsters confidence. Pablo Fragoso is in the irons. Worth a look on the track and on the tote. Others: :7: , :8: , :1:

Race Seven:

In this New York State-bred allowance sprint, n1x, I’m going “outside” with :11: Daddy’s Thief. Mike Aro (I remember Mike from Suffolk Downs; he was usually one of the leading trainers) is this 3 year-old gelding’s conditioner. Trainer Aro does well with horses who have been away from the races for three months or more. This gelding, Daddy's Thief, hasn’t raced since the middle of September at Prx. In that one, an 86k allowance, this Storm Cat-bred finished third in a six and one-half panels sprint. The Tiznow-bred (he should handle any moisture) is now dropping in class against this group. Jockey Joshua Navarro is in the irons. I will say that this gelding’s relatively recent morning work was mediocre. Yet, the gelding has hit the tote in all three of his lifetime pari-mutuel tries; he’s one-for-one, a maiden-breaking win, at the distance. Others: :2: . :6: .

Race Eight:

In the 100k Gravesend non-graded stakes, I’m going with :5: Fabulous Kid. In his last, the Grade III Fall Highweight Handicap, this A.P. Indy-bred colt had a troubled trip. This colt veered in at the start and bumped the horse to his inside. He then appeared to ever so briefly check on the backstretch. He then swung wide into the stretch. He appeared to find his best stride in mid-stretch; yet by then he was running out of real estate. The colt did appear to bump the horse just to his outside just before the wire. Yet, when all was said and done he finished a closing third only a half-length off the winner, Green Gratto. A smoother trip would do wonders for this colt. There should be a lot of front speed. This colt may well be the one to take advantage of that. Manny Franco is in the irons for trainer David Jacobson. Others: :3: , :2: , :6:

Race Nine:

:1: Succesful Brothers is my pick in the finale, a one mile and 70 yds. claiming route, n3L. This Candy Stripes-bred chestnut gelding should benefit from his inside post to mount a late, closing charge. Admittedly, this Invasor-bred has only two wins in 31 lifetime tries, yet the gelding has finished second eleven times. I like the turf-to-dirt angle. The gelding’s trainer, Jason Servis – winless at the “Big A” meet – does well with horses making the racing surface switch from grass to the main. I should add that Servis also does well with second starts for a trainer and second after a claim. I should also mention that this 5 year-old would benefit from any residual moisture on the racetrack. Gabe Saez is in the irons. Others: :4: , :6: , :8:

[mannyberrios]

Merry Christmas, Teach

[Teach]

Manny, Merry Christmas. To all my Hispanic friends, including my son-in-law, "El Cubano" (his family was originally from Camaguey): "Quiero desearles una Feliz Navidad."

[lamboguy]

the 6 is scratched in the 2nd race today

[Teach]

Thanks, lamboguy. I'll look that one over again.

[Teach]

In the second, I'll put in the :5: E J's Legacy to replace the scratched #6. E.J's Legacy did win his last, albeit on the turf. I believe this gelding's lineage says he's been bred for the grass. Yet, he can get the distance; he proven that. Might just complete a gimmick.

[Teach]

In the seventh race, I'm adding as one of my possible exotic selections: :3: Super Nicky

[Teach]

Good Luck on today's Aqueduct card. I'm experimenting with my numerology (see my article, "...By The Numbers"). There is nothing logical, quantifiable or empirical about this. It's all ESP. Thus, I might take "with a grain of salt" what I'm about to prognosticate in Aqueduct's first; it only corroborates the picks that I've offered. "As I ponder weak and weary...," I envision several "round" numbers. Mind you, as I've just cited, this is just a whim-like approach. Stick to your handicapping. Yet, for what's it's worth, :2: , :6: , :8: and :9: fit this "round" pattern. You might, also include: :3: and possibly :5: (a hybrid). Before you utter, "Abuelo loco," let's see how this plays out. Again, Good Luck!

[Alwaysonpoint36]

serious great work in r1 teach....good lord.

[Teach]

In Race Six, I'm trying to do my pre-cognition thing. I'm looking at "crooked" numbers (hard to call #1 "crooked". Again, #5 is a hybrid. So here goes: :1: :4: :7: , possibly :5:. Also possibility of a "round" number at end of super.