Extinction level Event

I’ve read a few of them “For Dummies” books.Yeah, I said it. I’ll own it. I’ve cracked open Excel for Dummies, Taxes for Dummies, hell I think I even read Breathin’ for Dummies at one point. And why?

Because the real dummies don’t ever read the books written for dummies.

Y’all gotta understand—dummies think they’re geniuses.They walk around quoting Aaron Rodgers like it’s scripture and call it “doing their own research. ”They’re out here talkin’ about how they “know how the world works” because they saw a meme once with a bald eagle and three different fonts.It’s like, “Sir, you think a David Lee Roth is an IRA or a type of sandwich”

If you’re truly smart? You know damn well you ain’t the smartest person in the room.That’s wisdom right there: knowing you’re dumb enough to learn.

Lemme tell y’all somethin’ I’ve learned the hard way, usually at a bar or in an Italian ristorante.

Dumb people don’t know they’re dumb. Nope. In fact, they think they’re smart. Like, real smart. Like “I watched a YouTube video and now I’m an economist-epidemiologist-lawyer-pilot” smart, today.

See, if they were actually smart? They’d know how dumb they are. That’s the paradox. That’s the circle of life, but with GEDs and Facebook conspiracy threads, its like the Grand Buffet at X-Train in Las Vegas.

Because real intelligence? Comes with a healthy dose of self-awareness. It’s like, “Hey, maybe I don’t know everything about 15th-century maritime law or horse racing pace scenarios at Turfway Park.”

But dumb people? Buddy, they got confidence. Like, "park sideways across three spots and argue with a Waffle House manager" kind of confidence.

And it’s always the same dude too—wearin’ a Bluetooth headset that hasn’t been connected to anything since Obama’s first term, and he’s real sure the Earth is flat but also hollow and probably haunted by the ghosts of a long lost civilization that calls themselves now 'The Gig.

He’ll sit there, look you in the eyes, and say with his whole chest:“Well if the horse ran fast last time, he’s gonna run fast this time.”Wow. Sherlock Holmes over here. We should get you on a panel.

Meanwhile, the smart folks—the ones who actually know stuff—they’re sittin’ there second-guessing every damn thing."Was the pace too hot? Did he get a bad trip? Was the rail dead? Am I overthinking this? "Probably. But at least you’re thinkin’.

It’s like Dunning-Kruger meets the Daily Racing Form. The less they know, the louder they are.

And I swear, there’s nothin’ more dangerous than a confident fellar with a hot tip and twenty bucks.

So yeah, just remember: If you think you’re smart? You better double-check. And if you know you’re dumb? Well hell, you might just be on your way to learnin’ somethin’.

It’s like Fredo in The Godfather.“I’m smart! I know things!”Yeah, well… so did Blockbuster Video investors, and look where they at.

Now, don’t get me wrong—I’ll cop to it. I’ve had my short-bus moments. Hell, some days I’m the damn driver. Sometimes I need life explained to me with big print, bold fonts, and a cartoon duck in the margin.

But when it comes to horse racing? Buddy, I ain’t sittin’ in the back of the class no more.

I got some tricks.I got some angles.I got a few aces up my sleeve—and not the coupon kind for the Wednesday buffet at the harness track.I’m talkin’ real insights. Old man wisdom. Passed-down, beer-stained, post-parade gospel.

You want to talk Beyer figs, bounce theory, class drops, bad posts, turf sprints? I’m ready. You can bring your DRF, your Brisnet, your Power Picks—I’ve already scribbled all over mine like it’s a conspiracy map.

I may be a dummy at taxes, home repairs, parallel parking—but when it comes to the ponies?

I ain’t Fredo—I’m Michael.

Us horseplayers, we got one thing goin' for us: We’re not just bettin’ on horses.

We’re bettin’ against people. And not just people—I’m talkin’ the kind of folks who think "parimutuel" is a French dessert.

This whole damn game is built on the beautiful, chaotic hopes of folks who get their tips from guys who know a guy, who once shared a urinal with the assistant to the hot walker at Monmouth Park.

These are the types who take every half-baked whisper like it came straight outta the Book of Revelation.“Hey man, the 6 horse? LOCK. My cousin’s ex-girlfriend’s weed dealer heard it from the jockey’s Uber driver.”

And you just nod and say, “Sounds good, boss,”Meanwhile, you’re sitting there with your Timeform, a bloodstock catalog, and a headache tryin’ to figure out if the rail’s dead or if that last maiden race was just a glorified trail ride.

But that’s the game, right? Parimutuel betting? That means we make the odds.It ain’t us vs. the house—it’s us vs. the guy who thinks the milkman is some kind of turf whisperer.

Like:“Yeah, the milkman told me the 3’s a lock in the Daily Double.”What? The milkman? Man, this ain’t 1952! Who even still has a milkman?“Well, the milkman heard it from the paperboy.”Oh, perfect.“And the paperboy got it from the plumber.”Well hell, now it’s basically a press release.

And this dude is walkin’ around the track like he’s got inside info. Meanwhile, you’re sittin’ there with a two-dollar trifecta and an ulcer, hopin’ his "sure thing" gets cooked three-wide and clears the way for your price play.

But that’s what keeps us comin’ back—Because every time that guy bets the farm on his psychic lawn care guy’s hunch?The odds shift just a little in our favor.

So thank you, sir. Thank you for misinterpreting every barn rumor, tip sheet, and Social Media hot take like it’s a damn treasure map. Because while you’re bettin’ based on what you heard, I’m bettin’ based on what I know. And if I lose?Well… at least I didn’t take advice from the damn milkman.

Alright, lemme tell y’all about the best character I’ve ever come across at the track—and that’s sayin’ somethin’, because I once saw a man lose a Pick 5 and propose to his girlfriend in the same 30 seconds, and neither ended well.

But this guy—this fella, Lord have mercy—he genuinely believed Andrew Dice Clay was the 26th president of the United States.“Ohh! Hey! Hickory Dickory Dock, I broke up Standard Oil with a rock!”What are we even talkin’ about, man?!

And he talks like he just stepped off the set of A Bronx Tale but forgot his lines halfway through and is just wingin’ it in pure vowel sounds and sideways glances. He’s lookin’ around like the clouds got cue cards, or maybe he’s just checkin’ to make sure the Spanish Inquisition ain’t got no detectives hidin’ behind the breadsticks.

I had a waiter like that once at this old Italian place—he fit every single one of them qualifications. Took my order like it was a state secret. Told me the spaghetti “comes highly recommended… by the right people.”Like buddy, I just want carbs, not to be recruited into a crime family.

But anywho—this is the kinda guy we’re bettin’ against. And that’s important, 'cause understanding where the money comes from on the tote board? It can be a black hole of madness and misinformation.

You got Turf Authority workout reports floatin' around like they're classified intelligence. Passed from one guy to another like they're bottles of water at a July 4th barbecue. And the second some dude sees a little “B+” scribbled next to a name?

Stampede. It’s like Black Friday at Walmart, but with more cigars and unpaid child support.

They think they got inside info—But really, they got the same Xeroxed sheet that’s been goin’ around since Tuesday, but your motto is 'I don't like chalk' meanwhile its all over your face.

Here’s what I’ve learned: It’s like Wall Street, man.If you're hearin' the "hot tip" at 1:45 post time? You’re already late to the party. Hell, the DJ’s packin' up and the Jell-O shots are melted.

So what do you do? You adapt. You evolve. You avoid extinction like you're the last racetrack velociraptor tryin’ to avoid gettin’ cooked by all these Brontosauruses stompin’ around thinkin’ a tips comes from a crystal ball.

While they’re out here makin’ moves straight outta The Big Bang Theory—like, “Bazinga! Bet the chalk!”—We’re movin' in the opposite direction.

Because in this game, if you think like everyone else? If you move with the herd? You end up like the herd. Extinct. Fossilized in a cheap blazer holdin’ an exacta ticket and a Slim Jim.

So yeah—you wanna win?Think different. Think backward. Think sideways. Be the weirdo in the corner scribblin’ trip notes while everybody else is waitin’ for Tony, the busboy’s, pick in Race 7.

Because I’d rather be weird and paid… than broke and basic.