Easy as Cherry Pie
- Bruno@Racingwithbruno
- Jul 31
- 3 min read
Well folks, Mother Nature’s been havin' herself a real hissy fit with NYRA lately — like they done said somethin' cross about her mama. The whole damn card at Saratoga got washed off the turf again, which at this point is about as predictable as your uncle gettin' into a political argument at Thanksgiving. I mean hell, tryin’ to cap that mess is like tryin’ to thread a needle while ridin’ a mechanical bull — slippery, unpredictable, and gonna leave you bruised.
Now don’t get me wrong — I love the Spa. Great characters, drama, them wild storylines like a good soap opera at a bingo hall. But if I’m layin' down real American dollars on horses, I’m takin' Del Mar all day, baby. That West Coast sun’s shinin’, the turf’s fast and firm, and the vibe’s smoother than a cold Coors Light on a tailgate.
And let me tell you, today's Del Mar card? It's got a little somethin' for everybody — like a well-stocked Waffle House menu at 2 a.m. But most important? We got a workout report that don’t just whisper sweet nothin’s — no sir — this sucker sings. I'm talkin' Mimi's fresh, homemade cherry pie levels of confidence. You can taste the truth in it. Tart, sweet, and it’ll stick to your ribs.
Now yeah, there’s other workout reports floatin' around out there — bless their hearts — but most of 'em read like Uncle Earl after three bourbons tryin’ to recite the alphabet in musical notes he made up on the spot. Just a whole lotta C-minuses and question marks. You ever seen someone try to explain a horse’s breeze like they’re decipherin' ancient runes? Yeah, that ain’t helpful.
See, a real workout report oughta shine a light on these four-legged athletes — not confuse you like you’re eatin’ a bowl of alphabet soup mixed with Fruit Loops and tryin’ to find a message from Jesus in it. Give me clean, crisp gallop info with some insight — not mystical horse BS and a shrug.
Now look here — y’all can do a little comparison shoppin’ if you want, like you're down at Cooter’s Hardware right next to the Corn Cob All-You-Can-Eat Buffet, where the only thing heavier than the gravy is the judgment from Miss Loretta behind the sneeze guard. Go on, sift through all them workout reports, past performances, tip sheets, and Twitter experts with usernames like @BigHorseDaddy420.
Treat it like you’re the county clerk judge, sittin’ up there in your mental overalls, bangin’ the gavel and handin' out verdicts like: “This one’s a work of art, and this one smells like racetrack hotdog water.”
But now listen: if your final pick turns out to be dumber than a screen door on a submarine — well, sugar, that’s on you. And you might find yourself eatin’ a sad little supper of Pork & Beans from the Piggly Wiggly, sittin' in your recliner, starin’ at the TV like it personally owes you an apology.
So yeah — shop around, do your due diligence. But when it's time to pull that trigger, make damn sure your pick ain't the horse equivalent of buyin’ a $3 lawnmower off Facebook Marketplace. 'Cause bad decisions at the track’ll hit your wallet harder than a Baptist grandma with a flyswatter in church.
So today, forget the mudslide in Saratoga. Come out West, let that firm turf, and the main track hug your soul, and trust the tape at Del Mar. 'Cause out here, we ain't just throwin' darts at a program — we're bettin' with a fork in one hand and a forkful of Mimi’s pie in the other.