Obfuscating

I’m apparently “too tough” on folks who don’t know how to look at workouts or assess how a racehorse is actually moving. And that accusation alone is impressive, because it usually comes from the exact same people who will tell you—out loud, with confidence—“I’m not really sure what I’m looking at,”and then immediately explain it to you like they personally foaled the horse, broke him, trained him, and tucked him in at night. All in one sitting.

Buddy, that ain’t humility—that’s an oxymoron doing donuts in the parking lot.

And no, oxymoron is not the detergent your aunt buys at Costco that promises “brighter brights.” It’s when two things that should not exist together somehow shack up anyway—like ignorance and certainty. Handicapping didn’t invent that combo, but it dang sure put racing stripes on it. Everybody thinks they’re Jack Schitt, and most of ‘em ain’t even Jack’s cousin.

Now handicappers—God love ‘em—have imaginations that could power Disney. They can tell you what a trainer was thinking, what the jockey whispered, and how the horse felt emotionally, all based on a past performance line and a cup of gas-station coffee. They’ll read body language off newsprint without ever touching a horse. That ain’t analysis—that’s horse racing fan fiction.

The one that gets me is when handicappers tell you exactly where the horse would be on the track in every part of the race, but that's for another day.

Which reminds me of one of my favorite moments ever. Dinner. Horseplayers. One trainer. Bad combination—like fireworks and whiskey. Somebody asks the trainer about a horse, trained by that trainer, adding blinkers the next day. Before the trainer can answer, another handicapper jumps in like he’s Columbo at a murder scene.

“Well you see, the blinkers are to get the horse focused, more speed, forwardly placed—”

Trainer looks up and says, real calm:“Actually, I just wanted to try something different.”

That’s it. No Jedi mind trick. No chess match. Sometimes it’s just, “Hell, why not?”

And don’t get me started on this idea that trainers are always plotting to “cash a ticket,” like that’s some scandalous ambition. Trainers know when a horse is live because the horse tells them. And sometimes the horse tells them, “Boss, I ain’t ready.” Yes, trainers bet. Of course they do. You just won’t find ‘em standing next to you at the window arguing with the teller like it’s Burger King. They have their right to hit a whopper, too.

Except the late Julio Canani—because Julio was Julio, though.

February 4th, 1992. Santa Anita. Julio trains The Cleaners. Seven-to-two on the board. I go to bet and Julio is at the press-box window stuffing stacks of hundreds through like he’s paying ransom. Horse drops to 2-1 a minute later

Julio, jumps up from his seat, and yells,“WHO CRUSH MY HORSE?!”

My brother in Christ—you did, though.

That’s rope-a-dope, old-school Julio style. Nowadays with ADWs and offshore books, money moves like a ghost. Folks still act shocked when odds change, like the universe sneezed.

“Oh, they dropped the horse ‘cause they want to lose him.”

Yeah— Let’s talk math. Fifty grand in the horse. Drop him to twenty-five. Win, get claimed, you’re about even. That ain’t villainy—that’s arithmetic, that's business.

Now here’s the twist—because there’s always a twist.

Trainers will proudly tell you, “I don’t bet.” Like it’s a church creed. Julio himself used to say, “I dun bet, tho.”Sure you don’t, Julio. The character in Luck of Turo Escalante was written by David Milch based on Julio, of course he does though.

Then the stories leak out. Quietly. Somebody [trainer] owes nine grand offshore and seems to turn into Dr Richard Kimble in Fugitive when it comes to pay up. Turns out offshore books got reps at the track—clockers, riders, sometimes trainers. I know of a couple, and they love to talk. Not my business. But if you want to understand the game, you gotta understand who’s playing it and where it's being played. Trainers like to obsfucate works, among other things, why not wagering where the money doesn't show on the board. Keeping it on the down low.

Because monies don’t float onto the toteboard like fairy dust. Odds move ‘cause people move ‘em.

Which brings us to workouts.

Trainers obsess over times like a country boy obsessing over fried pork chops, biscuits and gravy . Bullet works are dangerous—draw too much attention. So you ask for gallop-out time. Stretch it. Hide it. Call it “maintenance.” Clockers help out. Not corruption—just cooperation. Information is currency.

And, that’s why workout video scares some folks.

Video don’t lie. It don’t negotiate. It shows how the horse actually moved. Head carriage. Stride. Energy. Suddenly that “softened” work looks a lot less soft. And that matters—to handicappers, owners, breeders, agents. Anybody with real money on the line.

And that’s the problem.

Transparency kills advantage. So people muddy the waters. Argue relevance. Accuracy. Intent. Anything except what’s right there on the screen.

Because video answers questions folks don’t want asked.

So we come full circle—people telling you they “don’t know what they’re looking at,” while offering unsolicited opinions like they’re gospel. That’s just noise. Loud noise. Judgment-clouding noise.

Ignorance ain’t shy. It clears its throat and speaks with confidence.

If you can tell the difference between a sheep and a sheepdog, you are dangerous, You ain’t being cruel—you’re being smart. And being smart makes some people real uncomfortable.

Julio, for all his contradictions, understood one thing perfectly: he looked out for number one, didn’t apologize, and let the chips fall where they may. His cry at the 1/4 pole was one of the classic lines you would hear in the press box:

"Hangin' pozition" when a horse was about to spit the bit.

He accepted that and didn't fantasize, he was all about intention counting on reality and he cashed regularly. One of the best wagering trainers and handicappers all into one.

Once we understand that, then we can stop fantasizing about intentions, it wasn't the jockey or the trainer making the horse spit the bit it was reality, and that's horse racing.

That, my friend, is the most stubborn condition of all, remodeling how we think about the game, because in the end we may not have all the information.

We love stories and here is a doozy all wrapped up in a red bow, Jack Carava was worried about losing an owner, a good owner whom claimed a lot of horses. This owner hadn't won a race in a long while. So, Jack devised a plan to get him in the winners circle. He took hard knocking $20K claimer from those connections, and dropped him in for $10K. He got Eddie Delahoussaye to ride. What could go wrong?

In the paddock, Jack was going to make sure Eddie understood why, and explain it to him, that the horse was doing well. He was dropping because he needed to get the owner a victory, a confidence booster, for he and the client. "Eddie, this horse should win by 10 in here, ride him with confidence" he told the rider while giving a leg up.

Anyone with past performances would have uttered, 'they want to lose the horse', when in reality that was the furthest things from the truth.

Well, hearing Jack tell the story was much more amusing, Eddie got him in trouble at the half mile pole, the 1/4 pole and force to check and alter course at the furlong pole and gets beat by a neck. Jack is fuming, there is a tag on the horse, meaning he was claimed, and as he approached Eddie D, the Cajun rider beats him to the punch: "Hey Jack, next time make it 12 lengths, just to be sure".

Jack couldn't do anything more than laugh about it, but that's the story, that even though you may know, you really don't know. In this case, Jack was trying to keep his client happy and get hisself out of the doghouse. and it gloriously backfired despite having an Hall of Fame rider on board.

Who knew?