Del Mar stars Natasha, Bobby Sleeth and Toni Exuim, Part 2

by Frank Cotolo

Part 1 is here.

I told Natasha, “I am much like Picasso. Except I do not paint.”

“This horse-betting formula of yours is an art?” she said.

“Yes. Well. More like a scientific art, so to speak.”

There is no correct approach explaining professional pari-mutuel play. Especially to a novice. All I hoped to do is prove there was a best way to invest time and money in it. A best way to profit from it. Not just to impress Natasha. I wanted a good hit. A ticket with cash written all over it.

That would take time and patience on the student’s part. I hoped to have an edge as the teacher because in this case the undefinable forces of attraction were fueling the dull time between races. We talked and laughed about many things. Then she said, “You know another race is coming up, right?”

“I am passing this one too.”

“You don’t play much, then?” Natasha said.

“It depends,” I said and showed her how my procedure protected me from betting as much as it encouraged me to play a lot at certain times. She was impressed when I told her that all of the handicapping for that night of racing was done the day before and that success or failure rested upon those evaluations. “Do not get the wrong idea. I am not a whiz at math,” I said, “but I am a master of my own behavior and intentions.”

“It’s just strange to go to a racetrack with a gambler who has more time to socialize than to gamble, you know what I mean?”

“I have been called worse things than strange,” I said and we had another wonderful moment smiling at one another.

When I played my first race of the evening and lost, she said she understood why I played a horse based on my own odds and bet only the amount to win from my structured betting chart. Hell, she was one smart cookie and that multiplied my attraction to her to me. More coffee and laughter followed and time flew by. Then it was time for another bet.

“This is the race,” I said about race 9, “where I hope the betting public will screw up.”

“How so?”

“I hope that their lack of patience and caprice presents a great opportunity for me.”

It was April 16, 1988. Race 9 was a 1 mile pace, conditioned, purse $3,600, 5-year-olds and under. Non-winners of $2,500 in last six starts. Also eligible: Non-winners of six races and/or $20,000 lifetime. A field of seven.

My odds line read:

1. Toni Exuim — 1-1

2. Lotta Fuel — X

3. Mount Hutt — X

4. Barbaras Prince — X

5. Absolon — 5-1

6. Tigershark — 5-1

7. Tell Me Now N — 7-1

“Okay Picasso,” Natasha said, “is this a race to bet?”

She saw a big smile on my face as I watched the tote board on the TV monitor. “If the betting stays this way, yeah.”

Toni Exuim at even money meant I could bet him at 2-1. On the board with a few minutes left to post he was 6-1. The crowd was making Lotta Fuel the favorite. But Toni Exuim had a strong excuse finishing eighth/distanced last out in the local Gold Rush Series final because he burned out in an early duel. The series finish before that, he won a leg and finished seventh from post 9 dueling parked out. He was a gift at 6-1.

I did not give drivers much, if any, matter in my odds lines but for the appearance of Robert Sleeth. In my California betting history, the public was rarely influenced by his driving; though for me a Sleeth-guided horse overlooked by the public was an overlay lock.

Natasha saw me dig into my pocket and said, “Is this a good one?”

“Oh yeah.”

She reached into her pocket and plucked out a $10 bill. “This is a good one, right?” I knew it was a huge bet for her and I would feel horrible if she lost, but I said yes knowing I would give her the $10 back if she lost. I told her how to call the bet and she did so. I checked my betting chart and called $80 to win on Toni Exuim. He went off 8-1.

Briefly, Sleeth kept Toni Exuim second behind Lotta Fuel as that one took the front off the gate. The half and three-quarters elude me and do not matter because Sleeth came first over into the short stretch and glided to the lead to win easily.

Natasha was stunned with joy and I said, “Cash your ticket. You need to experience the thrill.” I watched. When she came back to me, I gave her my ticket to cash. Not every night in the life of a professional gambler would offer such rewards. But all of the strict rules allowing such success were grace in the line of fire. And the magic of math and luck.