Rain at Saratoga !

Oh buddy — don’t mean to throw y’all a curveball, or hit ya with some shock from left field like the time Uncle Joe decided to go sober and start doin’ yoga — yeah, we were all confused and mildly concerned — but it poured in Saratoga.

Shocker, right?

I mean, at this point, Saratoga rain is more reliable than Kyle's cousin probation violations. It’s like, yeah, the sun was out, birds were singin’, forecast said 20% chance of rain

— so naturally, it opened up like God knocked over a kiddie pool the size of Yankee Stadium.

I ain’t even mad about the rain anymore. That part’s just tradition. I’m mad at how everyone keeps actin’ like it’s the first time water ever fell from the sky in upstate New York. NYRA lookin’ around like, “Oh no! Whatever shall we do?” while we’re all sittin’ here drenched, tryin’ to handicap turf races that now look like damn water polo events.

So yeah — it poured. Again.And if you're surprised? Well bless your heart, you must be new here.

I mean, a damn monsoon outta nowhere — forecast said 20% chance of rain, which apparently in NYRA terms means “better get your floaties and call FEMA.” which wouldn't do you any good these days they wouldn't get here until labor day.

Now listen, the weather? That ain’t the problem. It happens. It’s nature. Unpredictable like your uncle Jerry after two bourbons. But the real mess — the part that’s harder to understand than a possum in a top hat — is how NYRA handles it.

Wait, wait, lord have mercy they have acted like Uncle Jerry just went back on the wagon:

Races 5,6,9, and 12 are off the turf. Race 11 is switched to that Melon course, and now you cool your heels and wait for the actual scratches, I may have a panic attack by then y'all.

Cuz' they still act like it's 1983 and we're all waiting on the pony express to deliver scratches and surface changes. Rain’s pouring sideways, track’s turning into a swamp, and they’re sittin’ there like,“Well, let’s give it a couple hours, maybe it'll dry out.”

Two hours, y’all. That’s how long it takes 'em to officially post scratches NOW.

Sometimes they cut it closer than a high schooler with a book report — ninety damn minutes before first post. That’s unacceptable. This ain’t some bingo game at the VFW, this is an industry where people are tryin’ to work, plan, invest, and win — and y’all out here treatin' it like Sunday brunch at grandma's.

You’d think by now — after watching bettors twist in the wind more times than a weathervane in a tornado — they’d say, “Hey, maybe we oughta speed this up a little.” But nah. They still cruisin’ around in their Buick, takin’ grandma the long way to the store, like nothing’s wrong. Meanwhile, the rest of us are sittin’ in front of our computers yellin’,“Just tell us what damn scratches are?”

And don’t even get me started on Equibase. Their whole system is held together by one guy showin' up to work like it’s a summer job at the bait shop. If he oversleeps, well tough luck, I guess nobody’s knowin’ nothin’ until lunch.

It’s 2025, y’all. You can get a pizza, a date, and a new pair of shoes all delivered to your house in 30 minutes — but not a scratch report from NYRA.

Now look — since Mother Nature already got me all riled up like a preacher at a tent revival, lemme shift gears and try to find a silver lining here. Gimme a second to think of one… ah yes — there it is — like an oasis in a desert of sloppy track conditions:

The beautiful, blessed shores of Del Mar are comin’ up next week.That’s right, folks — a little slice of SoCal heaven where the turf stays green, the sky stays blue, and the only mud you see is at the spa.

Now sure, Del Mar ain’t NYRA — and thank sweet baby Jesus for that. ‘Cause if we do get a monsoon in North County San Diego in mid-July? Well buddy, that ain't weather — that's the damn apocalypse. You see frogs fallin’ from the sky and horses wearin’ snorkels, it’s time to call your mama and make peace.

Meanwhile back in Saratoga, every time it rains, NYRA acts like it’s the first time they’ve ever seen water fall from the sky. I ain’t tryin’ to beat on a possum that’s playin’ dead — but dammit, you’d thunk by now they’d learn from their mistakes. Nope. They're like that one stubborn-ass toddler who’s gotta touch the hot stove three, four, ten times before he figures out,“Hey... maybe this ain’t a good idea.”

Del Mar don’t have those issues. Climate's predictable, the management don’t drag their feet, and when something needs to be adjusted — by God, I thunk I just may have jinxed .....

Y’all remember that old song? Albert Hammond sang, “It never rains in California” — and ol’ Albert? He wasn't lyin'. That man knew the assignment. Now if he’d spent a few summers up in Saratoga, he might've added a verse that goes:“It’s always rainin’ in New York, and when it does, girl, they sure don’t warn ya — it pours, man, it pours.”

Me? I learned the first time not to touch that stove. Burned my fingers once and said, “Welp, that’s enough of that.”NYRA? They're over there slappin’ both hands on it every week like it’s some kind of warm therapy rock.

So yeah — bring on Del Mar. Consistent, sunny, and just competent enough to remind you that horse racing don’t have to be a soap opera every damn time rain hits, and even when it doesn't,

Drama, y’all. Now listen — I ain’t against drama. Matter of fact, I love it — when it’s in the right place. Drama’s supposed to happen between the white lines or the damn rails on the track. You know, like a good ol' stretch duel where two horses are throwin' down like it’s the Derby and pride’s on the line. Or maybe a racehorse that just takes off like a runaway train lookin’ to make Amtrak jealous.

That’s good drama. That’s the kind we came for.

But what we didn’t ask for is Mother Nature pitchin' a hissy fit, then sobbin’ all over the damn track like it’s her personal soap opera. One minute it’s sunshine, next thing you know — bam! Thunder, lightning, and horses lookin’ to team up for the arrival of Noah and an ark.

Now, hey — weather’s gon’ weather. Can’t stop that. But here’s the thing: we adjust. That’s what pros do. You wipe off your glasses, roll up your sleeves, and get to work. We got protocols. We got plans. We got people who know what the hell they’re doin’.

And most importantly? We got folks with urgency — the kind that moves like a dog at a park who just saw a fire hydrant and three squirrels. That’s the energy we’re talkin’ about.

See, the goal is to keep the chaos on the track, not in the damn press box or the scratched race list. Save the drama for the finish line, not the announcement table.

We ain't askin' for miracles — just a little hustle, a little foresight, and maybe someone at the wheel who’s awake, aware, and not on a lunch break when the clouds open up.

So yeah — Mother Nature can throw her fits. Let her cry it out. But us? We stay ready.‘Cause this ain’t our first storm, and dammit, it sure as hell won’t be our last.

So now we just sit here and wait — like we’re at the DMV of horse racing — to see what judgment gets passed down on the turf races today. You know, like your mama makin’ a peach pie but only usin’ one peach, then throwin’ in some apples just ‘cause they were sittin’ on the counter gettin’ soft.

It’s like, "What are we even doin’ here?"

Y’all, this ain’t selective rain. The track didn’t get a little moist in just the 3rd and decide to stay dry in the 7th. If it’s a swamp, it’s a swamp. Either get your floaties or reroute the damn canoe — but pick a lane.

And yeah, maybe they’ll prove me wrong. Lord knows it wouldn’t be the first time. Kinda like that time in high school I asked Janice to prom ‘cause she smiled at me once during chemistry, and ignored the fact that the beautiful Dana — you know, the one with a brain, a sense of humor, and actual interest in yours truly — was practically handin' me an engraved invitation.Yeah, that kind of wrong.

So we wait. And maybe NYRA surprises us — shows a little consistency, a little logic, a little “Hey y’all, we actually paid attention to the weather and the track condition.” But I ain’t holdin’ my breath. Not unless I’m doin’ it underwater, which honestly feels pretty on-brand for Saratoga these days.

And bless their hearts — and I mean that in the genuine way this time, not the Southern backhanded version — folks like David Grening and Mark Hennig out here doin’ the Lord’s work. One’s a beat reporter, the other’s a trainer — and neither one of 'em is gettin’ paid in actual U.S. currency to post surface changes for NYRA.

They got their own shit to handle. David’s tryin’ to wrangle facts like he’s herdin’ cats with a notepad, and Mark’s over there keepin’ horses sound, owners happy, and racetrack karma in check. But still — they take the time to hop on social media or wherever and let us know what's goin’ on.

And you know what? We see that. We appreciate that. In an industry that sometimes feels like it was built entirely outta paper straws and duct tape, they're the shiny new apples in the bunch.

Yeah, people love to say this sport's full of rot and old habits — and don’t get me wrong, it’s got its fair share of dusty corners and broken clocks — but it ain’t all bad. Every now and then, someone like David or Mark steps up and reminds you:“Hey, there’s still some good folks in this mess.”

So yeah — next time you get that turf update or that scratch info before NYRA’s even finished their second cup of coffee, remember who brought it to you. And maybe send 'em a thank-you… or at least don’t be one of those jackasses in the replies with a tin-foil hat and a grudge from 2004.

Good people exist. Who said we ain’t got no shiny apples left in this industry?Hell — we got a few that still sparkle.

Hell now… things are gettin’ fluid, folks.And I don’t mean like a peaceful river flowin’ through the holler — I mean more like a busted pipe in the trailer park, happenin’ fast and makin’ a damn mess.

Stuff’s changin’ by the minute. One second it’s turf, next second it’s mud, then suddenly your pick 4 ticket looks like you let your toddler fill it out with finger paint. It’s like tryin’ to play musical chairs but somebody keeps movin’ the chairs and changin’ the music to polka halfway through.

And don’t get me wrong — I’m glad things are happenin’... just wish it wasn’t all at once, in a panic, like they just now realized it rained this morning. Y’all ever seen a group of folks “hustle” while also lookin’ confused? That’s what it feels like.

But hey — we’re keepin’ up, adjustin’ on the fly, and takin’ notes faster than a Baptist mom at parent-teacher conference. So buckle up. It’s one of those days.

But hey — credit where credit’s due, y’all. Let me tell ya… NYRA actually jumped outta bed this mornin’ and posted the off-the-turf notice bright and early. I mean, hell, they must’ve set an alarm or somethin’. Maybe even had coffee. Miracles do happen!

So yeah, good on ‘em. We see you. Golf clap.

BUT — and you knew a big ol’ Southern “but” was comin’ — what about the scratches? Huh? That’s the meat and potatoes, baby. That’s the part we actually need if we’re gonna try and make sense of today’s mess. Posting “off the turf” without scratches is like bringin' out a plate with no steak on it — just an empty fork and a nice linen napkin.

Like thanks, I guess? But I’m still hungry and confused.

We appreciate the baby steps, but this ain’t kindergarten. This is the big leagues — money's movin', folks are workin', and we ain’t just sittin’ around paintin’ with pudding. We need the whole picture — surface changes and who’s in, who’s out, and who’s still tryin’ to figure out if their horse even brought the right shoes.

So yeah — good job, NYRA, for waking up on time today. But let’s not stop there.Let’s get the full meal. I ain’t tryin’ to eat a salad at a barbecue, you feel me?