The Bronx Boys

Mass Hysteria: Saratoga Has Officially Kicked Off Summer 2026

Well folks, mass hysteria has descended upon upstate New York once again. Saratoga has kicked off Summer 2026, and just like every year, the whole town has collectively decided sleep is optional, common sense is negotiable, and horse racing is the center of the known universe.

How glorious. How fun.

And the madness begins.

I did the NYRA Belmont-Saratoga summer circuit for ten years. Every season I'd rent a little cabin on the lake and spend my days working two tracks—from the main track over to Oklahoma and back again about four times a day—with my right-hand man, Mike Saratoga.

Along the way I fell in with a crew of characters who seemed less like horseplayers and more like a casting call for a Martin Scorsese movie. Eddie Boots. Jo Jo the Ace. Beaver. Fat Lenny. The late Jimmy the Penguin. And Rocky, according to rumor, "he had half a brain before brain surgery and now he's got a quarter."

Left to right: Beaver, Racingwithbruno, Eddie Boots, Jimmy the Penguin and Fat Lenny" - of course Jo Jo was late

Them boys were my Bronx boys.

I was in heaven.

Now they warned me about certain places in the Bronx.

"You got theres with us," they'd say. "But not by yousself."

Naturally, being who I am, I went by myself, yes, the pizza joint they specifically told me not to go to by myself, "their rats" I was told but the pizza was phenomenal.

Five minutes into eating it my phone rings.

"YO! We's told you you don't go there by yousself! There'll be a car up front in five minutes. Get in it!"

Now maybe that's an offer you can refuse. I wasn't interested in finding out.

Five minutes later I was in the car.

Right or wrong?

Ah, Saratoga summers.

But it wasn't all laughs and camaraderie.

The racing community can be a little suspicious of strangers. Especially strangers carrying notebooks and asking questions. I got enough cold shoulders from the backstretch to build a hockey rink in the dogs days of August.

Every roadblock imaginable got thrown in my path. Workout tabs would mysteriously disappear. Folks were told not to talk to me. Information dried up the second I walked into a room.

And most of it seemed to originate from the clocker's stand.

I felt like I needed to stroll around Saratoga with my middle finger permanently extended just to let everybody know I was aware I was being watched.

See, these people ain't handicapper-friendly.

They'll hide bullet works. Manipulate workout rankings. Put dead horses on workout tabs.

I'm convinced some of them also know where Jimmy Hoffa is buried. Hell, they probably got his Beyer figures too.

One morning in 2016 I watched a team work from the gate. Big chestnut horse and a bay horse.

The chestnut broke down before reaching the half-mile pole and seriously injured exercise rider Nick Bush. Terrible accident.

The bay horse continued on by himself and actually finished the work impressively.

When the workout tab came out later, the chestnut that never completed the move somehow received a better workout ranking and faster time than the horse that actually finished.

That bay horse?

One Liner.

Later on he won a three-year-old stakes at Oaklawn and paid 7-2 in his debut that summer.

Meanwhile the horse that broke down apparently clocked a better work from the afterlife.

That's the kind of thing that makes you keep your head on a swivel around Saratoga.

Everybody wants information.

Everybody wants a winner.

For a while some of the best intelligence in town came from the horsemen's kitchen.

Then there was Woody the Barber. He cut all the jockeys' hair and always had information.

Every conversation started exactly the same way.

"I heard..."

Didn't matter what followed.

You were listening.

Then there was Rondre the Giant. I don't know if he was related to Andre the Giant, but he certainly looked qualified. The man occupied approximately half of the Whitney Stand and cast a shadow over three counties. Before drones were a thing, Rondre was the aerial view.

Saratoga just oozes character.

And chicanery.

You gotta beware of everything there.

• The people.

• The rumors.

• The workout reports.

• Even the weather.

In fact, I may have personally caused a near-biblical disaster one afternoon.

I got knocked out of a Pick 4 by a horse named Abraham. After the race I posted on social media:

"I didn't believe in Abraham. #Biblical"

Thirty minutes later a lightning strike split a tree in half in the backyard.

Nobody got hurt, thankfully.

But that incident led to an immediate and permanent moratorium on biblical references from me on social media.

I figured the Lord had issued a warning shot.

And who was I to argue?

I could go on for hours about Saratoga.

The place is equal parts racetrack, carnival, family reunion, conspiracy convention, and mob movie.

And honestly, I loved every minute of it. Saratoga Fever.

Days at morning works with Lee Davis and Peter Rotondo, Sr.

I can help crack up for ten minutes thinking of the times.

We'll rekindle some of those Saratoga memories and get ready for this Saturday's Belmont Stakes during our Zoom gathering Friday night at 8:30 PM Eastern, Jo Jo may even join us.

Saratoga is one of the greatest places on Earth.

Just remember:

We recommend you don't go there by yourselves.

Otherwise...

We got a car up front in five minutes.