Hey Kid, Which Horse You Got?

Do you remember back in school when your teacher asked you "What do your parents do for a living?"  For most, the answers to that question were pretty standard: doctor, lawyer, nurse, teacher, stay at home mom, you get it.  And then there was me.  When I was asked by my first grade teacher this question, my answer was "my mom stays home and my dad bets on horses".  Surely, my teacher thought I had an active imagination, so foolishly she asked me again, and when I responded with the same answer, she threatened punishment.  Of course, just weeks later at parent teacher conference, she must have felt really foolish when she asked my parents the same question, and yet again, got the same answer.

Yes, it's true.  My dad bet on horses for a living.  More specifically, he was called a Professional Handicapper.  In layman's terms, he handicapped, or evaluated, the field of horses in a race and then based on the odds of those horses determine which horses and bets provided the best value for the wager.  Many a man has tried and failed miserably to do this for a living, many of these I witnessed firsthand growing up around the racetrack.  But not my dad.  He had a system based in mathematical data and statistics, and while there were plenty of ups and downs, he managed to support his family well for over twenty years.  And let's be clear, what he did was 100% legit.  He wasn't a bookie.  He didn't bet for others.  He didn't bet on football or baseball, or hang out in casinos.  Sure, there was the occasional trip to Vegas, but his expertise was in horses and he knew and understood how to "gamble" responsibly and in support of his profession.

To watch my dad at the racetrack was like watching royalty.  People constantly rushing up to him wanting to know what he was doing.  Everybody always up in his business.  He was even the focus of a local New York newspaper article series.  Simply put, my dad was the King of the track.  He even substantiated that title one year by winning a handicapping contest beating out hundreds of competitors.

That's me on the left with my dad in the white shirt back in '84 at Saratoga

And of course, if my dad was the King, that made me the Prince.  For as long as I can remember, I've been going to the racetrack.  My mom still tells the story of a young me, probably no older than five, being asked "Hey Kid, Which Horse You Got?"  To which I provided that old man the winning horse.  Of course, for some bizarre reason he didn't listen and quickly learned not to doubt royalty. 

And then there was the day I successfully picked the winner of six straight races in a bet called the Pick Six, the most difficult of all wagers.  And I did it by selecting just one horse in each race.  In sixth grade when we were given an assignment to write an educational book, I wrote a book title "How to Bet on Horses".  That book won a contest for the best in the entire district and was published to all the schools.

The entrance to Saratoga Race Course

My love for horse racing ran so deep, it even managed to summon a mystical power from within.  As a kid, we spent our Augusts in Saratoga, a quaint little horse racing town in upstate New York, when the racing moved there from the tracks in NYC.  Well one August night when I was about eight, I experienced a very vibrant dream.  In the dream, I was supposed to ride the #1 horse in the first race at Saratoga, but I chickened out and was replaced by a jockey by the name of Jimmy Miranda.  The horse won the race, awakening me from the dream.  The next morning, I told this story to my parents, and when my dad relayed the dream to all of his friends at the track, they all rushed to the betting windows.  And wouldn't you know it, Jimmy Miranda, riding the #1 horse, crossed the finish line first in the first race.  And then, amazingly, riding the #1 horse, he did it again in the second race.  Everyone cashed in, and it was years before I could go to the track without being asked "Hey Kid, You Have Any Dreams Last Night?"

Yeah, I think it's safe to say my friends thought I had the coolest dad, even if their parents didn't agree.  And they all wanted to go with me to the track.  I even managed to help one of my friends cash in to the tune of $300 one magical day.  Many questioned my dad as to whether I was too young to be exposed to the dangers of gambling.  But what they didn't understand was that I was actually learning just the opposite.  I was learning how to respect the dangers of gambling and how to have fun trying to solve the great mathematical problem each new race presents at two bucks a pop.  Yeah, it was a pretty awesome childhood with lots of amazing memories and stories, and it's something I wouldn't trade for the world.

Too bad there aren't any tracks in North Carolina.

I want to hear from you!  Have you ever been to the race track?  If so, what's your best memory?  If you haven't, got a question you'd like to ask me?  Fire away!