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Teach
03-12-2008, 05:55 PM
"You have the right to remain silent. You have the right to counsel. Anything you say can be used against you in a court of law." Yes, my brother was being read his Miranda Rights. The same brother who wouldn't step on an ant is being told to spread eagle and put his hands on the roof of his car.

It's the early 1970s. My brother Larry had just graduated from college. He soon found a job as a statistician at the Anderson Hospital in Houston, TX. My brother's job: To take the research data that doctors were doing and to put the numbers into understandable form. To supplement his income, my brother would tutor high school students in math. Some his clients were the children of doctors who lived in beautiful homes in fashionable Houston suburbs.

To make a long story short: One evening my brother's riding his beat-up jalopy that looks like it had survived a demolition derby into one of these posh suburbs. He's having trouble findin' the house he's supposed to tutor at.

Just then, he sees these flashing blue lights behind him. He pulls over. As my brother tells it, he says, "Something wrong, officer?" Now you ought to know at this point that my brother is a leftover from the "hippie" movement of the 60s. You know Haight-Ashbury, Woodstock, etc. He's got hair down to his navel and a beard that's unkempt and scraggly. His clothes look like they're straight out of Morgan Memorial. Sartorial splendor -- he ain't. Oh, he showers; but he often looks like something the cat dragged in. My mother was often after him about his appearance -- but it did no good. My brother marched to a different drummer.

So anyway, the cops stop him. "What y'all doin in this neighborhood," asks the cop with a "BillyBob" name tag. My brother says, "I'm tutorin." One the cops says, "Likely story. Put your hands on the roof of the car and spread eagle your legs." My brother complies. That's when they read him his rights. They then proceed to search his car. Ain't nuthin in there 'cept a ashtry full of cigarette butts and an empty carton of Marlboros.

My brother complies with the stop and frisk and then says, "Hey look, I'll give you the number of the person I'm supposed to be tutoring. Why don't you call, or radio back and have headquarters call." The cops do just that. A couple minutes later. It's "Nicely-Nicely" time. "Sorry Sir, we've had a rash of B & E's in this neighborhood...You understand." And off my brother goes to do his tutoring.

What's the moral of all this as it relates to handicapping? Well, it's the part about the Miranda Rights. No, nobody ain't gonna arrest you. It's just that when you're gambling on the ponies, you should have your own set of "Miranda" Warnings". Call them 'Thoroughbred Handicapping Thoughts':

"Do I really Want To make this Bet?
Am I Becoming Irrational?
Is This A Profitable Bet?
Am I Betting A Track I Shouldn't?
Am I Making A Bet That's Illogical?

Oh, I'm sure you can come up with some of your own.

As for my brother, he was going to sue Houston's Finest, but he knew it would be futile. Ya gotta pick your battles. As for Ernesto Miranda, he mighta got his rights read to him, but he got knived to death a short time later.

rufus999
03-13-2008, 12:30 PM
"Do I really Want To make this Bet?
Am I Becoming Irrational?
Is This A Profitable Bet?
Am I Betting A Track I Shouldn't?
Am I Making A Bet That's Illogical?



I go to the track to enjoy myself. No offense, but, running into someone like you would be a real downer.:D

rufus