X's and O's

Ah… yes. Now we’re getting somewhere. We need our X's and O's.

So here we are again, circling the Derby preps like seasoned jewel thieves casing the room before the lights go out. And thanks to Dery Media at Churchill Downs, we have something that horseplayers swear they crave more than oxygen in the stretch — FREE past performances.

• For the Gotham Stakes at Aqueduct Racetrack.

• For the Fountain of Youth Stakes at Gulfstream Park.

• For the Rebel Stakes at Oaklawn Park.

FREE.

It’s a beautiful word. Rolls off the tongue like a confession in a dimly lit interrogation room. We want free. We demand free. We chant free like it’s some sacred incantation.

And then — when it arrives — we don’t quite know what to do with it.

Because here’s the uncomfortable truth: if it’s free, many assume they already know what it says. Ego is a remarkable anesthetic. It convinces us we’re informed before we’ve read a single line. A vicious circle — we think we know, therefore we don’t look, and because we don’t look, we never actually know. It is like Who's on first..... turning us into Abbot and Costello routine.

Handicapping used to belong to the curious. The obsessive. The Sherlock Holmes types who would sit with past performances and a highlighter, like it was a cipher from a Cold War spy. It was a puzzle. You hunted. You deduced. You earned, now its just a punchline for arrogant egos.

Now? We want every piece handed to us preassembled. We cut corners. We assume. And as you well know, when you assume, you make an arse out of you and you.

Hearsay? Inadmissible in a court of law. Yet alive and thriving in racing. Word salads on podcasts. Biased declarations masquerading as insight. Volume mistaken for wisdom. Clicks and follows are THE true wordly currency.

And then we have the theater — oh, the theater. The performative arts are alive, saying something deliciously stupid for click and follows? Actually, what I call deliciously stupid is really whats truly believed. Hmmmmmm....the horror.

As of lately, self-appointed commissioner crying for transparency on social media, while conveniently forgetting his graded winner who tested positive at two in the Hopeful Stakes, he owned, and buried. Outrage over veterinary scratches — once, twice, multiple times — when a horse wasn’t right, wasn’t sound. If that isn’t transparency, I’m not sure what dictionary we’re consulting, but here we are with all the fake outrage.

But this — this is the noise. The loudest of all.

Meanwhile, the game remains beautifully indifferent, yet gloriously attractive, it is designed specificaly, parimutually speaking, for the smartest and astute to prevail.

You subscribed because you wanted more. Not another preening personality telling you what to think. Not another male bimbo pounding a table, and let it be know, we feel the females in this industry, have a better grasp on reality, but that's our opinion.

You wanted the X’s and O’s. The cold truth. The uncomfortable angles that don’t trend on social media. You got it, but you have to wade thru the noise.

Handicappers rage about CAWs. About takeout. And yes, some of those gripes have merit. But rarely — almost never — does anyone pause, look in the mirror, and ask, “Do I actually do anything for this industry to begin with?” but in the end its all about having one thing:

Hope. That’s why you’re here. That little flag at the end of the fairway. The possibility that something slipped through the cracks — something visible only if you were paying attention.

The Fountain of Youth? Often speed that can finish into that short stretch. Not necessarily a ten-furlong grinder built for the first Saturday in May at the Kentucky Derby. Now you see the little flag at the end of the fairway, some thing to point to but not take home to meet mom.

The Gotham? One-turn mile. Tactical speed. Position. A very different exam than Churchill’s cauldron on the First Saturday in May. Daddy wouldn't approve.

The Rebel? Historically productive. Honest. But even there — no guarantees, but the family may nod in approval at the time.

And now, 2026 Derby watch, is as open as they come.

Every week there’s a new crush. Paladin today. Nearly yesterday. Perhaps Renegade tomorrow. Same orbit. Same personalities. Same breathless analysis and after this weekend a new infactuation. 😍

We follow barns like they’re royalty. We dissect every nominee from Todd Pletcher — is it because he has a real shot each year, or because volume makes for good copy? The latter stands out in my mind.

Two Derby wins in twenty-five years. An interesting ratio when weighed against expectations, or is it a Derby prop bet, who will be the scratch on Derby day, since he has more of those than actual winners.

And of course, Bob Baffert — the white-haired gunslinger. Surely he has another bullet. Perhaps. Or perhaps this is the Litmus Test this year for the Baffert shedrow, no pun intended.

But here’s what actually wins the Derby — or any event worth your attention.

X’s and O’s.

Trip. Pace. Conditioning. Distance suitability. Trainer intent. Patterns. Decisions made weeks before the gate ever springs.

Personalities? They’re like arseholes. Everyone has one.

If I were you — and sometimes, in spirit, I am — I’d tune out the word salads. Ignore the ego-driven sermons. Take those FREE past performances and treat them like what they are: raw intelligence.

And a word to the wise, there is still time for something to come out of the woodwork, a new shooter, keep that in mind.

Study all of them. Question them. Build your own case.

Because the path isn’t found in someone else’s voice.

It’s found in the work.

Enjoy the free information.

Then earn the rest.