I will be heading out on a road trip – with a bit of luck, that will include observing a spectacular total eclipse in the beautiful state of Oregon, U.S.A.. If all goes well, I will blog about that later.
That will take some time away from blogging, so I am
presenting a piece that I wrote quite some time ago (late 1990’s), concerning
my attempt to “beat the horse races”, with the applications of computing power,
data analysis, intelligence and dogged determination. I did ok for few years, and learned a lot of
statistical techniques (via concurrent courses in multivariate analysis). I certainly learned plenty about the pluses
and minuses of data mining, and the wisdom behind the notion that one should be
careful about post-hoc analyses.
Plus, I had some fun – there is nothing quite like a big
score on a long odds horse that your system predicted, that hardly anybody thought
had a chance.
And
some of the photos are old, so the quality isn't great, but they are
authentic, so there's that. The better photos are from google images.
And some of the photos are old, so the quality isn't great, but they are authentic, so there's that. The better photos are from google images.
Horse racing Days (3)
II – The World of the Racetrack
The Culture of the Racetrack
An important element of the track was its
sociable nature. One usually didn’t sit
alone, as some regulars could almost always be counted on to be present. Once this happy band of warriors was located,
an inside conversation would develop.
Much of the talk was about handicapping, some related to the above
mentioned conspiracies of jockeys, trainers, and racetrack officials. Great significance was read into a sudden
drop in a horse’s odds; inside money was obviously at work. A jockey change or claiming drop was also
grist for speculation. Occasional
references were made to the outside world of jobs, family, and world
events. However, these were kept within
respectable bounds, as it wasn’t considered to be good form to take too keen an
interest in the world beyond the track.
This was the province of
‘citizens’, not those who were in the self selected gambling elect.
As horse players, we were marginal
figures in society and we knew it. At
times this outsider status was regretted, but mostly it was savored. We were thumbing our noses at society’s
conventions. Hard work was a necessary
evil, required at times to get enough
money to bet with, but cash from a big racing score was much to be
preferred. A career was something one
tolerated, but it was widely recognized to get in the way of the important
business of following the races. Certain
scruples, such as not betting the baby’s milk money, were expected when it came
to family. After all, there was a fine
line between being a player and a degenerate.
However, this couldn’t be taken to an extreme. Moaning about how the wife would kill you for
losing money was considered to be fairly contemptible behaviour.
As with any sociable activity with a
continuing cast of characters, the interpersonal relationships could take on a
soap opera quality. Interlopers were suspect,
until they had established their bona fides by gambling often enough and in
sufficient quantity. A weekend bettor
who wagered ‘chump change’ was tolerated, but not taken very seriously. The true steel of a man (and they were mostly
men) was measured in how well he could take a loss; whether he could stand the
pain. Wins were also expected to be
taken in their stride. While a certain
level of exuberance was expected, excessive gloating was considered to be going
beyond the pale. After all, one man’s
good fortune was invariably another man’s pain.
Rivalries could emerge, some petty and
transient, some serious and longstanding.
Frequently these revolved around debts, other times personal betting styles, on occasion people
just didn’t like each other. This
presented difficulties, as the limited real estate of the racetrack meant it
was nearly impossible to stay away from people who rubbed you the wrong way, or
brought on bad luck. On the other hand,
great friendships could spring up at the track, which frequently carried over
into ‘real life’.
People exhibited a range of behaviours
while a race was being run. Some were
steely eyed observers, so called trip handicappers, who watched the entire race
to note subtle events that escaped the scrutiny of the average fan. Perhaps a horse broke badly from the gate,
but otherwise ran a superior race.
Perhaps it got boxed in, or had a bad ride from the jockey, or suffered
some kind of bad ‘racing luck’. The
smart handicapper tried to keep account of these things, to use to his
advantage when this horse went off at good odds on another race.
Other bettors allowed themselves to get
swept up in the moment, with eyes for their horse only. These tended to be the screamers and
shouters, urging their horse on with word and gesture, foul means or fair. This could get tricky; my brother Russ swore
that a friend of his could affect the outcome of a race just by shouting. When I doubted the likelihood of that he
would say, “Don’t you think the jockeys can’t hear Cliff. That man’s voice can carry a long way, and he
can rattle people.” I think Russ thought
Cliff had some kind of voodoo, but within the context of the racetrack the idea
didn’t seem totally impossible.
I tried to fit in somewhere between these
extremes, being neither a betting machine nor a crazed fanatic. That wasn’t easy, and I am afraid I lost it
on many occasions.
Money was the ostensible reason that we
were there, so its presence, or more likely its absence, was keenly felt. There was an expectation that someone who had
scored any kind of a reasonably sized win would be generous. A round of beer perhaps, or a small loan to
someone who had already blew his racing wad.
It would not do to get the reputation of a piker. This made it doubly difficult to maintain a
profit at the track. Usually, one bet
real money (i.e. money you had worked for), and won play money (i.e. gambling
money that one was not expected to be tight with). However, it was expected that over the long
run a rough parity would emerge, as long as everyone kept to the unspoken
rules.
Gambling debts were ubiquitous, and could be hard to keep track of. Small loans weren’t really expected to be paid back. Again, over time it was expected that the principle of reciprocity would apply, and everyone would come out even. However, anyone who was thought to be taking advantage of this rule was considered deeply suspect. Larger loans were expected to be repaid. This was easier said than done, so it could create friction when one was dealing with someone who was badly in the grip of a losing streak.
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Real life is pretty interesting, at the track, but fiction
can be almost as good. So, here’s a
short story that I wrote in those early years, about a horse-player and the
devil (probably).
A Dark Horse
This is a
short story of about 6500 words, or about 35 to 45 minutes reading time, for
typical readers.
Amazon U.S.: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01M9BS3Y5
Amazon U.K: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B01M9BS3Y5
Amazon Canada: https://www.amazon.ca/dp/B01M9BS3Y5
Amazon Germany: https://www.amazon.de/dp/B01M9BS3Y5
Amazon Australia: https://www.amazon.com.au/dp/B01M9BS3Y5
Amazon India: https://www.amazon.in/dp/B00OX60XJU
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