The Three B's
- Bruno@Racingwithbruno
- Dec 2
- 3 min read
You want to be a better handicapper? First of all, get rid of the Bullet Works, Bias, Beyer Figures and CaWs rants off your plate. Start there. Beyers, Bias and Bullet Works are the three B's that are frowned up. They will not make your a better handicapper. Period.
But, you want to beat the CAWs right ?
Then stop complaining about them like they stole your lunch money back in fifth grade. They didn’t. They stole your edge because you were too busy whining to notice the obvious: they can’t see. Their algorithms are brilliant, terrifying, and ruthlessly efficient—but visually, my friend, they are Helen Keller in a windstorm.
So use your eyes. I know, I know—this is asking a lot. But humor me. Watch races. Watch works. Study replays. Read the reports. Actually look at a horse. Because the CAWs can crunch a trillion numbers a second, but they can’t spot a horse who woke up in a good mood.
Now, let’s discuss your “optical skills.” Or rather, your complete and enthusiastic lack of them. You read all kinds of nonsense online. My favorite?“Look at those dapples!” Yes, dapples. Glorious circles of sunshine on a horse’s coat. Not speed. Not stamina. Certainly not tactical brilliance. Just… circles. Yet people absolutely lose their minds over them. I’ve never heard a real visual handicapper say, “He was a cinch off those dapples.” No one wins a race because their coat looks like a children’s bubble party.
Energy? Ah, yes. The grand illusion. You see a horse prancing, dancing, pogo-sticking, and you think you’ve just discovered Pegasus on a caffeine bender. Wrong. That’s not readiness—that’s panic wearing a party hat.
And the commentators—God bless them—are worse. A horse comes in bouncing sideways like a malfunctioning washing machine and they gasp, “Oh, he looks terrific!” Meanwhile, the horse is internally screaming, “Please get me out of here.”
Let’s talk Lasix. It calms. Lowers blood pressure. Nothing thrilling. But mix a little Lasix with a heavy dose of Premarin and suddenly the horse walks into the paddock like he owns the place, the barn, the track, and possibly several offshore accounts. And, of course, everyone swoons: “Look at him! He wants to run!” Yes—run away, preferably back to the barn where no one is yelling about dapples.
Then comes the post parade. The horse is prancing on his toes, sideways, vertical, diagonal—geometrically unidentifiable. The crowd begins its chorus: “He looks READY!” He’s so ready they have to pull him out of line before he karate-kicks a pony.
Let me break it to you gently:This is all nonsense.
This “energy” you worship? It’s anxiety, nerves, wasted fuel. It’s the equine equivalent of someone chugging four Red Bulls before a job interview. By the time they get to the gate, they’re sweating like politicians at tax time and mentally checked out. They’ll use whatever’s left dragging the jockey for the first furlong and be cooked by the quarter pole.
When I see that kind of loud energy, I don’t just cancel my wager—I pretend I never even liked the horse to begin with.
What I adore—truly adore—is quiet energy. The horse half-asleep, like he’s contemplating life, taxes, and whether oats are overrated. One handler, not two. Saddled easily. Moving like he’s doing you a personal favor by showing up. That’s the one. The cool-headed assassin, not the caffeinated ping-pong ball.
Start there. Calm over chaos. Composure over fireworks. Less Cirque du Soleil, more Zen monastery.
The CAWs will never see it coming. Mostly because… well… they can’t see.