Get-The-Money
With The Works 

Last chance for big savings. My friend, opportunities like this… they don’t linger. They slip through your fingers like contraband diamonds if you’re not paying attention. So before the new year arrives—and before the smart money wakes up—you’d be wise to stock up for 2026 with your remaining credits. Because come December 12th , Oaklawn roars back to life. And for the second consecutive year , we’ll be there with a full, unmatched workout report . Oaklawn is a fortress of s

What are y’all doin’? December’s flyin’ by faster than a damn three legged snowplow , and meanwhile we’ve got some killer deals on credits sittin’ here gettin’ cold. Get you some for the rest of December and rollin’ right on into 2026—they don’t expire, they don’t spoil, and they’ll be good whenever you wanna use ’em. We even got some all-inclusive specials for y’all fancy types. And look—if you’ve been keepin’ up the last few articles, you know we’ve been in full Beat-The-

Ah, yes… the art of race-watching. Sit down. Pour a drink. Because what you’re attempting to learn isn’t a method, my friend—it’s a sensibility , a way of seeing the world that most people never acquire. Most handicappers approach replays like over-caffeinated TSA agents—rifling through every frame, searching for “trouble,” obsessing over who broke slow, who went wide, who was checked, bumped, boxed, or bullied. They watch replays the way the world watches security footage:

You want to be a better handicapper? First of all, get rid of the Bullet Works, Bias, Beyer Figures and CaWs rants off your plate. Start there. Beyers, Bias and Bullet Works are the three B's that are frowned up. They will not make your a better handicapper. Period. But, you want to beat the CAWs right ? Then stop complaining about them like they stole your lunch money back in fifth grade. They didn’t. They stole your edge because you were too busy whining to notice the obvio

Sit. Breathe. I’ll tell you precisely what’s happening… and what we have in motion for the winter. First, the videos. Fascinating things, really — simple images, fleeting moments of muscle and movement — and yet the public devours them. In 2025, we’re poised to approach 200,000 views. Nearly double the 105,000 from 2024. A remarkable leap, but entirely predictable. People crave access. They crave insight. They crave the illusion that they’re seeing something they shouldn’t.

h, the Claiming Crown at Churchill Downs… a day I hold in particular esteem. You see, it’s not a celebration of gilded pedigrees or the aristocracy of the turf, no. It’s a tribute to the grinders—those noble creatures who’ve earned every inch of their reputation the hard way. Horses who didn’t arrive in a parade of seven-figure bids, escorted by men convinced that excess zeroes on a check somehow guarantee them glory. No, the Claiming Crown is not about morning glories on th

These keyboard cowboys out here —they don’t care one lick about the horses or the riders,but boy, they sure got a lot to say about a vet scratch. Yeah, every time a horse gets scratched,they act like it’s some grand conspiracy. Like the Illuminati’s runnin’ the paddock ,and ol’ Doc’s out there scratchin’ horses for sport. (leans forward, mocking voice)“Oh, the vets are ruinin’ the sport!” Buddy… they’re tryin’ to keep the horse alive, not ruin your Saturday Pick 4. (shakes

Ah… the Saturday Breeders’ Cup card is available online. The most intoxicating spectacle in the sport — equal parts theater, arithmetic, and madness. You can almost feel the pulse of it, can’t you? That quiet hum before the storm, when the air is thick with promise and anticipation in equal measure. The card is available now, and we are — as they say — set for the weekend. But let’s not pretend this game is simple. The gods of racing are cruel, capricious little tyrants. The

Lord have mercy , y’all… why do I even bother? (In that BDJ sarcastic tone) I sit down, I write these blogs — like an adult, like somebody who cares — and I lay it all out plain as day. Schedules. Times. Schedule Post for Picks. Links. Everything short of interpretive dance and you really don't want to see me dance. And… I get the same question: “Hey BDJ, you doin’ a Zoom this year?” Yes. Yes, I am. I said it six times at least, wrote it five times, , in bold letters, with p

Ah, Del Mar. There’s a certain poetry to it — the kind you only find when the stakes are high and the champagne is lukewarm. You stand there, watching those thoroughbreds glide across the dirt, and you realize this isn’t just a set of races. It’s a theater of obsession. The players come dressed as gamblers, trainers, touts, and hangers-on, but underneath the hats and the tailored blazers, they’re all the same: seekers. They’re seeking redemption, mostly. Some for money they s

Today was full of intrigue, suspicion, and the sort of genteel cynicism Racingwithbruno would wrap around a fine morning cup of espresso. You know, when I saw the morning line for what they’re calling the race of the century — the Breeders’ Cup Classic, this Saturday at Del Mar — I nearly choked. Sovereignty at six-to-five. Well, now, not six-to-five to win , mind you… six-to-five just to NOT make the race, according to his trainer. This morning, Bill Mott held a press con

Alright look, I hear handicappers’ inner thoughts all the time—mostly ‘cause they won’t shut up about ‘em. Every racetrack got at least a dozen fellas who talk loud enough that even the horses are like, “Damn, man, calm down.” And one thing they love to carry on about? Workouts and at Breeders Cup everybody and their long lost Uncle Jim love to tell you about works. They all know. Ah... the Breeders' Cup. That sublime collision of speed, stamina, and sheer speculation—the fi

Ah, yes… the Breeders' Cup. Two weeks out and already the usual suspects are circling, murmuring their predictable discontent over—of all things—the venue. Del Mar, of course. Picturesque. Immaculate. Temperate. But evidently, not to everyone's taste. You see, if I may be so bold, there’s something inherently tragic about the age we live in—where reaction travels faster than reflection, where a well-crafted sentence is devoured by the immediacy of a poorly constructed tweet.

The Age of Hot Takes & Dumbass Certainty Y’all, we are livin’ in the golden age of the knee-jerk reaction. The "say-it-first,...

My Dear Racing Friend, The first weekend at Keeneland is in the books—and what a weekend it was. A tapestry woven with close calls and...

Now look here, y’all. It’s Saturday—God’s day. The day He created specifically for horses, gambling, and screaming at the TV with a cold...

I ain’t sayin’ Saratoga’s bad , I’m just sayin’ it’s like that one cousin who always shows up to the family reunion in a rented BMW and...