Squirrel Nut Soup
- Bruno@Racingwithbruno
- Aug 2
- 4 min read
Updated: Aug 28
Look now, I am all in on makin’ life better for the horseplayers — every last one of ’em. I ain’t just dabblin’ here; I done pushed all my chips to the center of the table like it’s the final hand at a All you can drink Bourbon World Series of Poker. When they thrive, I thrive. When they eat, I eat. Hell, when it’s really rollin’? We’re all slurpin’ down Squirrel Nut Soup like it’s Sunday supper at Granny’s.
The Del Mar & Saratoga Workout Reports are lit this weekend:
But Lord Almighty — I swear, some of y’all complain more than a hungover possum at a gospel revival. I mean, sweet Jesus, you try to do right by folks — you say “This one’s live!” and what do you get back? Not a “thank ya” or even a “hell yeah,” but instead: “Where’s the video?” Like I’m out here runnin’ a bootleg CIA operation with body cams and horse porn drone footage — when really I’m just tryin’ to let you know this pony’s got some juice in the tank!
It’s like tellin’ your wife you were workin’ late at Cooter’s Hardware for ol’ Jimbo when really you were drinkin’ Schlitz behind the VFW and hanging with a stripper named Cricket. Yeah, that went over real well. That’s what it feels like — you give folks the truth, and they look at you like you just confessed to hidin’ jugs of moonshine in the church piano.
The mistrust? It’s social media rot — plain and simple. Everybody’s got a voice now, but none of ’em can pin the tail on the donkey even if they were sober and wearin’ readers the size of damn satellite dishes. Ain’t nobody willin’ to believe nothin’ unless it’s got 42 retweets, a TikTok dance, and a conspiracy theory attached.
Now look, circlin’ back to that damn Squirrel Nut Soup situation—'cause lord knows we can't let that nonsense just ride—we gotta talk about these same fellas who treat the racetrack like it's the Golden Corral of gambling. I mean, they’re out here peckin’ at every damn exotic on the menu like a Turkey Condor that ain’t eaten since Christmas, flappin' around squawkin' for a trifecta like it's a piece of left over fried chicken.
Hold up, Tex. Slow down. Take a breath, take a knee, take a long hard look at that tote board and ask yourself—have you even hit the damn WIN button today? It’s still right there, ain't moved. Clear as day, like 23 Black on the roulette wheel—except your horse actually has 4 legs most of the time.
If the horse is live, bet that sucker to WIN. Straight up. Boom. Bingo. That’s your meat and taters right there, not all this pick 5, 10-leg wheelin’ wizardry like you’re tryin’ to hack into NORAD and see UFOs
Now once you’ve done that—once you got your base camp set at Mount Common Sense—then you can start talkin' about exactas. And I ain’t talkin' about boxin' ‘em up all willy-nilly like a granny at bingo night, all confused and dabbing across half the alphabet. No sir.
—that ol' Mount Common Sense—for some folks, it's like tryin' to hike the damn Himalayas in the dead of winter. I mean, it’s cold, confusing, and you’re liable to get turned around before you even get your boots laced. Best pack all the Squirrel Jerky you can carry, 'cause you’re gonna be out there a while wonderin’ how in the hell you ended up wagerin' $84 on a superfecta with a 30-1 shot named “Uncle Butch’s Revenge.”
I try to keep it simple—real simple. We’re talkin' KISS Method simple. You know what that means, right? “Keep It Simple, Stupid.” Or as Ms. Heidi—my grammar school teacher-slash-trauma—used to say, "Keep It Simple, Dummy."
Now Ms. Heidi wore them red lipstick stripes like she was leadin’ a NASCAR team, and when she leaned over your desk to explain fractions, buddy—you were convinced that math was foreplay. I still don't know how to do long division, but I damn sure remember her perfume.
But anyway, back to the point—you ain't no Harvard scholar, and you sure as hell ain’t Christian Wolff, that math genius from that movie who also happened to be a trained assassin? Yeah, you’re the opposite of that. You out here strugglin’ to count how many legs a spider has, tryin’ to construct a rainbow superfecta with money you should’ve used to fix your muffler.
You smash that exacta with your dude on top. Smash it again. Then once more just for good measure. Maybe toss in a little back-up for safety, sure, we’re not savages. But don’t you ever—and I mean ever—box it with the same amount you bet straight. That’s like bringin' ketchup to a fine steakhouse joint.
Keep. It. Simple. Bet to win, if you like money in your pocket jiggling like Ms Heidi walking in round the classroom , then maybe exactas. Don’t start gettin’ all crazy with the Pick 6 unless you got a PhD in pain and a trust fund from Aunt Barb
Horse racing ain't complicated, y’all. Don’t make it harder than it is. It’s not a damn crypto startup—it’s a horse runnin' in a circle. Treat it with the respect it deserves.
But still — I keep showin’ up, keep tellin’ ’em what’s live, hopin’ one day folks might trade in that cynicism for a little bit of trust and a whole lotta winners.
And ...did I tell you the works reports from Del Mar and Saratoga are lit... awesome this Saturday!!