Mark Me!
- Bruno@Racingwithbruno
- Oct 3
- 2 min read
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 acts like he invented air conditioning. Meanwhile, you know damn well he lives in a studio apartment above a vape shop and ain't paid rent since Derby Day, but I digress, handicappers are overestimating them Saratoga pearls.
You got folks out here treatin’ Saratoga horses like they’re thoroughbred Jesus with figures for miracles. Just ‘cause they pranced around the Spa like prom queens don’t mean they’re prom queens outside the 518 area code, alright?
And the hype? Lord, the hype! These figure-inflated, New York-darling, media-pom-pom-shakin’, over-bet, under-deliverin’, public workout winners—Ain't on my radar.
Y’all are out here fallin' for this like it’s pumpkin spice season at the OTB.
Now I know, I know—some poor bastard from Brooklyn's already halfway through writing me an angry email in all caps tellin’ me I “don’t respect the game” or “don't understand Saratoga tradition.” BUDDY—I understand just fine. I just ain’t drunk on that overpriced Spa water they’re servin’.
Let’s talk brass tacks: Keeneland? That’s the real dirt. That’s where legends are made and frauds get found out. Ellis Park? Bigger fields, better value, and fewer stewards trying to play God with binoculars from the Jurassic era with a penchant for nepotism.
Well, I have to say that today's call to put up a fatigued horse, lugging in thru the lane whom was NOT going to win, went a little far, but we expect nowadays to get those decisions against us, simply because of the names involved.
And I love all the after the fact geniuses, who couldn't tell a difference between a horse passing gas and a lead switch, but yet.... there they are.
And don’t EVEN get me started on those morning line makers. These folks would set a 3-5 line on a one-eyed mule if it had "Todd Pletcher" next to it in the program. It’s a vicious cycle—low line, cult following, overbet, underwhelm. Every. Damn. Time.
But me? I ain’t playin’ that game. I ain't here to kiss the Spa's overhyped backside. You can keep your $3 winners and your “prestige.” I’ll take my Kentucky grinders, my Turfway warriors, and my 13-1 palate cleansers like Raiding Party—straight outta the poly and into the pay window, baby!
So yeah—maybe I lose one. Maybe I take a few lumps. But I ain’t goin’ down suckin’ Saratoga’s thumb while gettin' swindled by a Figure boosted by a New York firm and a slick social media following.
I’m stickin’ to my guns—right or wrong—like a redneck with a four-pack of Busch and a $2 exacta.
So to all the Saratoga fan club out there? Call me a hater. Call me crazy. But you damn sure better call me cashin' when the Breeders’ Cup rolls around betting against your overhyped horses.
Causer I ain't falling for it. So Mark me.... If you don't like don't read it, then take your Saratoga horses, I'll take my Kentucky - So Cal horses and Fuhgeddaboudit.