Get-The-Money
With The Works 

Ohhh yeah buddy, here we go again… soon as the Derby’s over, everybody turns into a world-class excuse artist. Every single one of ‘em, including yours truly. “My horse got bumped.”“My horse got slammed.”“My horse didn’t eat his breakfast.”“My horse woke up on the wrong side of the stall.” Hell, somebody’s gonna was even sayin the Japanese Horse had a Ginzu knife moment. Like they were wathcing Desperate housewives of New Jersey on a loop. And then over here—oh Lord—here come

Well, well, well… if this weekend didn’t feel like déjà vu in a silk jacket, then I don’t know what does. The Kentucky Derby rolls around, the hats get bigger, the mint juleps get stronger, and somehow—somehow—the Ortiz brothers are already standing in the winner’s circle like they never left. It’s less “horse racing” and more “The Ortiz's Universe” at this point. A Hollywood ending in the making. And I’ll admit it—I got cute. Instead of just blindly following Irad and Jose l

KENTUCKY DERBY 152 EDITION IS AVAILABLE NOW It’s that time of year again, y’all—when every pundit comes outta mothballs like a Halloween decoration that still smells faintly of attic, and suddenly they’re the high priest of horse sense. Everybody tryin’ to be the great and powerful Nostradamus—but instead we get a whole herd of Nostradumbarse. And you know the type. Oh, they got takes. Lord, do they have takes. Bite-sized, microwavable, 240-characters-or-less wisdom like it’s

…We have turned the Kentucky Derby into an F1 or NASCAR race for the pole, and forgot it’s supposed to be about who can still run at the end—not who can win Tuesday morning practice unless they be Tyler Reddick. I mean, good Lord, you go back there on the backstretch and it sounds like a dang stopwatch convention. Everybody hollerin’ splits like they’re tradin’ stocks. “We got a 47!” “Well I’ll see your 47 and raise you a 45!” Sir, this ain’t poker, and that ain’t chips—that’

Ah… herd dynamics. A charming concept—order, hierarchy, instinct. Creatures moving as one, governed by subtle cues most never notice. But horses… Thoroughbreds… they’re a different conversation entirely. … I find that rather elegant, getting literally in a horse's head. Because the great lie in this game—the one whispered so often it’s mistaken for truth—is that all horses are interchangeable parts. Speed figures in flesh. Numbers with hooves that are not cracked or bruised.

Oooooooh DAWGY, I be preachin’ straight outta the Book of Common Sense and half this crowd done left the church. I’m tellin’ you—The Chief Wallabee bandwagon done rolled into town overnight like mushrooms after a summer rain. Folks actin’ like they discovered the second comin’ of Secretariat just ‘cause the man looked pretty and ran a fast workout. Bandwagon so packed they got folks ridin’ on the hood, hollerin’ “lock it in!” before they even checked the tires. And look—I ain

Buddy…been doing it all wrong, I shoulda spent 40 years starin’ at a stopwatch instead of a horse, then I reckon we might as well replace the whole backside with a bunch of accountants and a metronome. I been doing it all wrong, could have saved myself a lot of time. “Sir, your colt posted a 59.8—unfortunately I didn't see it I was looking at my stopwatch" My Workout Analysis 💥Boom! I love how this evolution went. I started out in the late ‘80s at Del Mar Racetrack, just a h

See Todays Scratches at bottom of page Y’all ever notice how folks will spend good money on a dog, buy it organic treats, talk to it like it’s a therapist… and then when it’s time to walk the thing, they out there staring at their phone like the dog is the one supervising them ? I’m serious. You see ‘em everywhere. Dog’s over there trying to live its best life—sniffin’ bushes, investigating a leaf like it’s a crime scene—and the human? Head down. Scrollin’. Thumb goin’ like t

Alright now—pull up a chair and listen here a minute, ‘cause this right here is my favorite time of the dang year. Spring in the Kentucky, baby. I’m talkin’ about Keeneland Race Course waking back up, two-year-olds hittin’ the track like caffeinated toddlers at a birthday party, and that long, glorious runway to the Kentucky Derby—the big dance, first Saturday in May. That ain’t just a race… that’s our version of March Madness, except with more bourbon and better hats. And Ap

So lemme go ahead and save everybody some time, ‘cause I get this question every single day like it’s printed right there between “scattered, smothered, covered” on the Waffle House menu… “Which track you like best today?” And I can feel it comin’, so I reach into my brain—just pull out that same speech I got laminated in there—and I go: “Well… we don’t grade cards.” And right about then I can feel their eyes glaze over, ‘cause they know they just unlocked a TED Talk they did

So let me get this straight, y’all… FanDuel and TVG are out here like, “Welp, times are tough, gotta tighten the belt,” meanwhile they quietly keep that Advance-Deposit-Wager machine hummin’ like a Waffle House grill at 2 a.m. Ain’t that convenient? “We’re shutting down… except the part where y’all give us money. That part? Thrivin’. God bless.” That’s the world now, man. Used to be folks packin’ up wagons headin’ west yellin’ “Gold!” Now it’s a bunch of tech bros in quarter-

Y’all… I’m just tryin’ to sit down, live my life, maybe watch a little ballgame, bet a few races, — simple pleasures like watching your first time starter win at double digits. . But nooo… first I gotta survive them pharmaceutical commercials. Every five minutes it’s like: “Ask your doctor about Blahblahzine,” and then here come the side effects—“may cause dizziness, dry mouth, night sweats, gambling addiction, and spontaneous tap dancing followed by nausea and trips to the O

Alright now… lemme ask y’all somethin’—have y’all noticed these big-time pharmaceutical commercials? You know the ones. Happy people frolickin’ in a field, throwin’ frisbees, grillin’ out, life just perfect … and then that voice comes on at the end talkin’ faster than an auctioneer on espresso: “Side effects may include dizziness, nausea, spontaneous combustion, and fightin’ your neighbor over a lawn chair…” And I got to thinkin’… Why in the HELL don’t horse bets come with th

Look here now, y’all… we done reached a point in handicappin’ where folks ain’t even handicappin’ no more. They just standin’ on the corner of Degenerate Avenue and Broke Dreams Boulevard holdin’ up a cardboard sign sayin’, “Winners please—anything helps.” Have some respect for yourself! I mean hell, used to be you had to work to lose your money. Now folks losin’ it efficiently. You scroll social media and it look like a damn soup kitchen for picks:“Hey man, anybody got a lo