Call Your Mama

I'm fired up and ready to go. All you have to nowadays to get fired up is just scroll the internet.

Handicappers with all their bluster, writing like they are the authors of the Racing Dead Sea Scrolls.

Well bless their hearts, I tell ya what… these handicappin’ “experts” done lost their ever-lovin’ minds.

“He was 24-1 first time out, tells me they didn’t like him.”Oh does it now, Sherlock? Or maybe—just maybe—the tote board ain’t the dang Gospel of John. Sometimes it just means folks guessed wrong. Happens every day, especially to people who think they’re smarter than they are.

Then you got these geniuses sayin’, “There wasn’t one mention of the horse on social media.”Well GOOD. That’s called an edge, you ding-dongs! If everybody on Twitter—or X or whatever Elon’s callin’ it this week—is talkin’ about your horse, guess what? You already missed the boat. That price is deader than disco.

And don’t even get me started on:“I went on Twitter to see if people I respect liked my pick.”

Oh really? That ain’t handicappin’, that’s emotional support. That’s you sittin’ there goin’, “Hey mama, you still love me?”Course she does. She’s your mama. Don’t make you right!

Y’all out here usin’ social media like it’s the tote board, and the tote board like it’s divine intervention. What in the world are we doin’? That’s like navigatin’ by vibes and horoscope signs. “Mercury’s in retrograde, better key the 7 horse!” Get the F*ck outta here.

And then—LORD—this fella celebratin’ hittin’ a Pick 5 on a $540 ticket like he just cured cancer. Buddy, if it costs you $540 to be right, you didn’t win—you survived. That ain’t handicappin’, that’s financial cardio.

Or my personal favorite:“Hey y’all, I got a $3000 Pick 5 ticket, sellin’ 10% shares!”

Yeah okay… and I got some beachfront property in Frankfort, KY, to sell ya. Lemme guess—you sell 200% of it and magically profit no matter what? Ain’t foolin’ nobody who wasn’t born yesterday… and even some folks born yesterday are squintin’ at that one.

You write anything intelligent and guarantee you there are them few that get butt sore, like you shafted them with a flag pole, not that they wouldn't do that you in a heart beat, but merely butt sore because they weren't the ones.

You know, nowadays, we celebrate dipshittiness and troll the smart competent types, especially if they tend to make sense. Sensibility is frowned upon by the insecurities and narcisstics tendencies of today's society.

Folks think if you ain’t tweetin’ about your own horse, you bred, and poured your own sweat and work into, it must not be any good. No, genius—it means we ain’t tryin’ to blow up our own price! Loose lips sink ships, and apparently nowadays they also kill overlays.

That’s the disease right there: everybody wants validation. Likes, retweets, follows—like that means you know what you’re talkin’ about. It don’t. It just means you got Wi-Fi.

Meanwhile, the folks actually doin’ the work? They keepin’ their mouths shut, them smart ones, cashin’ tickets, and lettin’ y’all chase breadcrumbs across the internet.

So yeah… if your whole handicappin’ strategy is "all about what people sayin’ online,” I got a strategy for you: Call your mama.

Ask her if she still loves you.

Because that’s about the only confirmation you’re qualified to get.

P.S. If y’all ain’t noticed by now, most everything I talk about in this game ain’t numbers—it’s what’s goin’ on between your ears.

This here’s a mental game.

Like Yogi Berra said, “It’s 50% physical and 90% mental.”Don’t ask how that math works—just know he was right.

Because half of y’all ain’t losin’ ‘cause you can’t read a form—you losin’ ‘cause your brain’s out here lookin’ for reassurance like it’s on life support.

You ain’t handicappin’, you’re crowdsourcin’ your confidence.

You see odds, you panic.You see Twitter quiet, you panic.You see somebody else like your pick—you celebrate like you already cashed. That's emotional gambling.

There are two buttons I don't hit, Panic & Snooze.

This game’ll eat you alive if you need to be right more than you need to be profitable.

So yeah—the horses matter… but your mindset matters a whole lot more.

Now Go Call Yout Mama.