You and Me 'Forgetitaboutit'

You want to talk about the **most important factor in racing?** Look in the mirror.

**It’s you.**

Not the guy shouting on social media with a selfie avatar and a thread full of losing picks. Not the armchair expert with a blurry mic and a TikTok strategy he cooked up after three white claws and a losing Pick 4. No, my friend, it’s **you**—the one who takes the time, who puts in the hours, who actually *wants* to know, not *appear* to know.

We’re a dying breed, you and I. The ones who still *read*, who *observe*, who *think*. The last of the independent minds in a world that rewards conformity with likes and filters.

You want truth? You won’t find it in a retweet. You’ll find it at the bottom of a chart, in the flick of a horse’s ear during a gallop, in the silent moments between hoofbeats when no one else is paying attention.

Social media? *Pfft.* That’s like getting your geopolitical briefings at Thanksgiving dinner—“Pass the stuffing, and by the way, did you know the Queen is a lizard?” It’s nonsense. Flavorful, yes. Entertaining? Occasionally. But **profitable?** *Dangerously not.*

And yet… people still listen.

They listen to the digital carnival barkers with more legal trouble than winners. To the Kool-Aid peddlers in designer hoodies, promising certainty in a game defined by chaos. Because the lie is prettier than the truth. But the lie won’t get you paid.

**You make your own luck. You build your own data. You shape your own process.** I did.

I remember it vividly. December of 1999. A $20 bill in my pocket, a dream, and a deadline. By nightfall I had twelve hundred dollars and five friends headed to a Bon Jovi concert. That’s not bravado—it’s belief. *Belief in the process.* In discipline. In watching, learning, adjusting. I didn't get there listening to someone with a burner account and a daily rant about how "the game is rigged."

I became a better player when I stopped chasing, stopped panicking, and *trusted* my own system. The work. The nuance. The discipline. It wasn’t sexy—but it was *effective.*

I learned from the greats—Barry Meadow, James Quinn, Steve Davidowitz. I built my own Beyer figures. I *clocked* works. I *felt* the horses with my eyes before I ever watched them run.

You know what Rick Lochner, today's Racing Digest editor at the time, told me in a dusty break room in Torrey Pines in 1991?

"You’d be really good clocking."

And just like that, the dominoes fell.

Jay Privman gave me a shot in print. The world started paying attention—not because I *yelled*, but because I *delivered,*its been 35 years and I am still here.

And now, years later, I'm telling you:

**You are the most valuable player in this game.**

Not the tip sheet. Not the algorithm. *You.*

If you're betting just to bet, get help. If you’re in it for the puzzle, the art, the chase—pull up a chair. This is a thinking person’s game.

You’re not on a game show.

This isn’t *Let’s Make a Deal*, you’re not dating horses like they’re "Bachelor #2." You're not Monty Hall, and this isn’t a costume party.

This is war. And in war, **you don’t broadcast your plan**.

You analyze. You adjust. You strike.

Like Corleone—calm, quiet, and deadly.

The best players? They’re invisible.

They don’t need praise. They don’t need posts. They cash.

They get the G.I. Joe for their son, the Cindy Crawford kit for their daughter, the Gordon Ramsay skillet for their Saturday morning omelet—and they do it *their way.*

So… you want to win?

You want to build a legacy in a game filled with noise, frauds, and fools?

**Invest in yourself.**

Not in the tip. Not in the trend. Not in the clout. In **you**—the last person in this circus who still gives a damn about doing it right.

*Now rub your hands together, like Mr. Miyagi. Wax on… wax off… and let’s go to work.*