Deconstructing Del Mar runners for success and romance

by Frank Cotolo

My harness racing handicapping/wagering campaign at Los Alamitos via Del Mar Racetrack simulcasting in the late ‘80s was profitable. I was able to claim I made a living betting pari-mutuel racing. It was not the level of living most people would accept but I am not most people. My lifestyle was lean and romantic. But it was not greedy. I wanted for little but the basics. I was happy living in a world of artistic minimalism. Meeting minor requirements with joy made me the modern Henry David Thoreau.

Luck was on my side in many instances. I had no control over that (do not let anyone tell you that you make your own luck because it is not so). I was enjoying an undefined, but loving relationship with Natasha. And my professional approach to betting on horse racing was a verified success which I understood was part math and part commitment and part attitude and part luck. My efforts to make a profit gambling were reduced to simple steps when handicapping and betting and that left me time to make extra money writing for money in various genres.

Then the harness racing season ended and I faced the Robert Johnson crossroads. If I were to maintain my solo profession, I needed a money source as healthy as betting on harness racing was since I moved south. The answer was obvious. The Del Mar thoroughbred season was approaching. Could I do as well with the runners as I did with the trotters and pacers? In the past, I held sway, making some dollars on Hollywood Park and Santa Anita thoroughbred meets. But I was a full-time writer then; not devoted to gambling as a primary source of income. And then there was the big change: handicapping the runners, which could only be successful if I measured their performances with accuracy in order to trust my personal odds line (POL).

It was obvious I was not as confident writing a POL for thoroughbred races as I was for harness races. The only way to build enough confidence was to become active making POLs and maintaining my wagering skills. Great, I thought, another labor for Hercules. It is a laugh to equate me and my gambling life with the legend of an ex-god, but I was good at writing comedy, so I thought it through. Like Hercules I established a fixed cycle. I had tools. I re-read some of the texts by the gentleman thoroughbred handicappers of my early Hollywood days, led by the precious influence of Mark Cramer.

My series of difficult feats were challenging. An accurate POL for a harness race was simpler than one for a thoroughbred race. Thoroughbreds are a tenuous breed. Their performances pale to the standards that make standardbreds powerful. Distance and speed and surface and endurance and the very flesh and bones of runners are tender elements compared to the bold and bounteous standardbred. For me it was the difference between a poodle and a pit bull.

“Can you make it work?” Natasha said.

“If I do not overthink it. There are a lot of pieces to the puzzle,” I said.

“And it is not on a TV monitor.”

“That may help. It is a beautiful track and they race on weekends.”

“We could have Sunday picnics when the weather’s good.”

“We live in San Diego. When is the weather not good?”

Most males I knew gambling on pari-mutuels deplored sharing any time at a racetrack with a woman. No wonder. Those guys did not come anywhere near as prepared as me. All I did was watch the tote board and bet or not bet based on my charts. And the time between thoroughbred racing was plenty for eating and drinking and Natasha.

As opening day approached, I spent time reviewing thoroughbred-handicapping texts and adjusting my five-digit bankroll so as to begin the campaign with care and not pay too much for lessons learned while in action. I owned an Apple Macintosh computer and set it up to keep all of my records on the accuracy of my wagering in the expanded race types, dirt race stats and turf race stats and race distance stats and speed stats. Many of these topics were moot for harness racing handicapping but needed to be addressed for the delicate blue-blooded royalty of the equine species.

“They’re so different,” Natasha said when I guided her through my preparatory material.

“It means I will be doing a lot of watching and taking a ton of notes before I back any of it with my cash.”

Not only that. I knew my new job was bound to affect some of my time with her. I trusted she was worth any price incurred when she was with me at work and that she would withstand the rapture versus the ruin of my profession.