Equine investing...Where the windows clean the PEOPLE

Tomorrow millions of casual fans will have their TVs tuned to the Preakness to see if Mine That Bird can notch another victory in his quest for the Triple Crown. There is also much interest in the filly, Rachel Alexandra, since a win by her would be the first by that gender since 1924. Kentucky Derby winning jockey Calvin Borel appears to have voted in favor of Rachel Alexandra. Borel chose to ride the filly in the Preakness after making an electrifying last-to-first move with Mine That Bird to win the Derby by more than 6 lengths. So much for loyalty.



Mine That Bird ,alone in his stall, wonders what happened to Calvin.


The hussy, Rachel Alexandra, looking swanky after a workout.






I have never been a major railbird, but have been known to make an occasional wager on a bobtail in the interest of sport and solid business judgement. In thirty years I have made money...twice. The first successful adventure in para mutual investing came in 1984 in Las Vegas. My friend and business partner, Bob Hanna, and I were in the habit of meeting at the Sahara Hotel race and sports book every Saturday morning in the Fall to place our considered and well thought out NFL wagers in the hands of the accommodating bookies provided by the establishment. After handing in our weekly wagers we would enjoy a leisurely lunch at the bar and speculate on how to spend our anticipated winnings. (The fact that Joe Conforte was looking for investors in the Mustang Ranch got considerable attention.)

On that particular Saturday, as we enjoyed our repast of hotdogs and whiskey, one of us glanced at a TV screen in the sports book where the first race was about to go off at Pimlico. It came to our attention that a 30-1 shot named Barroom Hussy was in the race. Simultaneously we looked at each other and said, "We cannot let a magnificent piece of horseflesh like that run without us having a rooting interest!"
The horse won. Many horses AFTER that race won for us as well. We were horse picking geniuses! By 4 PM we were also very much in trouble with our wives. Both of us had said that we would be home around noon and, well...we would have called, but cell phones hadn't been invented yet. Yeah, that's it. We were also VERY drunk.
Linda and Judy were plenty steamed when they found us at the Sahara, but abruptly cooled off once they spied the pile of bills stacked in front of us on the bar. As I recall, a fine dinner to smooth the marital waters still left us "bucks up" on the afternoon.
Naturally Bob and I had big plans for this run to continue on all Saturdays going forward. Alas, it did not.



A couple of years ago I had another winning day at the track. I was with my pal, Fireman Bill, at the Del Mar racetrack here in San Diego and it was a wonderful afternoon of moneymaking fun. My approach to the sport was quite different from the Barroom Hussy days. I hadn't had a drink in several years; so alcohol was no longer a partner in my horse picking decisions. Also, I had read a book on "picking winners". My system was now studious, reasoned, and analytical. In short, it was now a snooze. ZZZZZZZZZZZZZ.
By the end of the day I was up $7.42. Bored, but UP $7.42.

So, I'm still searching for a sure fire horse picking method. (Yes, I've given some thought to always going with the horse that takes a massive horsey dump just before the race. It doesn't work.)

I know the odds are long for Take the Points tomorrow, but I like him at 30-1. Papa Clem at 12-1 is also intriguing.

Maybe I should employ the wisdom of my old railbird pal, Champagne Joe, who once told me "Always go with the mob horse." Joe insists that it's money in the bank to check the Racing Form for horses whose owners have Italian surnames.

"The mob horses never lose."---Champagne Joe (June 17, 1990)




I wonder which horse is Tony Soprano's?

What's in a NAME?

The little kids across the street are named Ollie and Milo.
They're approximately three and one years old and are killer cute. My guess is that those names are popular again. It goes like that. Names that were a ticket to an ass kicking when I was a boy are now back in style. Ollie and Milo, like Floyd and Henry, were names of my grandfathers' generation. NOBODY who was born in the late forties or the fifties carried those monikers. We all had names like Bill, Bob, Chuck, David and Steve. The girls were Linda, Susan, Cathy and Kathy. My handle, Ken, was like many names "sort of" popular but never able to break into the top ten no matter what generation. I consider that a bonus. Under the radar inoffensive names are a kid blessing.

Names are on my mind lately because we have a grandchild due in the Fall and if life has taught me anything it is that Johnny Cash was definitely onto something with his song, "A Boy Named Sue". Names are often destiny. Every kid with a "get tough or die" name knows this. My father was christened Hubert Eugene Copper. Naturally his first words were, "Call me 'Cop".
Geezus! What were his parents thinking??!!
Well, having known them as Grandpa and Grandma, I know that they were taking care of all the Copper namesakes with just one kid. His brother was "Bob", but my dad took one for the family team as "Hubert Eugene". I don't know about you, but that move, like a ripe diaper, smells of child abuse to me. He became "Cop" to everyone who valued their life and wanted to keep their teeth. His sons were Ken, not Kenneth, and Steven Ted, not Steven Theodore. We owe him for that.

My son-in-law, Doug, is insisting that the new baby, if it's a boy, tote the middle name of Danger. He reasons that it makes for a dynamite pick-up line for a young man to be able to drop, "Danger is my middle name" on an impressionable young female.
I agree wholeheartedly and endorse the choice. My wife and daughter remain skeptical, but in time will come around. It's SO cool I can hardly stand it!

First names?? Well, that is up to Katie and Doug. I know they will settle on a good one. I'm just hoping that it isn't one of those non gender specific goofball names like: Scout, Wingspan, Rumor or North Dakota. However, Lugnut or Spam could grow on me.

Interesting names like Tuesday have a way of working out.




Maynard, seems like a ticket to Loserville.





All Barneys are fat morons.





Chatsworth Osborn would doom the kid to a career in Polo and a childhood

of running for his life.

The kid isn't due until October, but we'll know the gender by June 2. The four months lead time should render a sock-o name for the youngster. I'll be in there battling for the little nipper.
Grandpa knows best!
How do the names "Stubby" and "Gooby" grab you? Or, if it's a girl..."Shuggah Free"?

Looking Up Old Friends...

We spent the past week in Washington, D.C.
The first few days were devoted to meetings and the latter part of the week we reserved for spending time browsing the memorials and monuments. I had hosted a radio tour five years previous with listeners who wanted to experience the dedication of the World War II Memorial and it left me wanting more. That was my first time in Washington and I felt foolish for never having been before. Everyone should spend some time in our nation's capital if only to put your high school history lessons in perspective.

The Second World War memorial hit me like it did the first time. There is so much about it that captures the enormity of the conflict and the essence of the teamwork it took to conquer the patent evil represented by Nazi Germany and the Empire of Japan. It's almost impossible to imagine how close they came to triumph and how very different the world would be had they prevailed.
I looked up my dad's name in the registry of those who served and felt proud of his Naval aviation service in the South Pacific.
It was touching to see a group of WW II vets from Northern Michigan in attendance the first day we were at the memorial. Many were in wheelchairs. We are losing them by the thousands each day and we will be a poorer country when they are gone.


The Korean War Memorial doesn't get the attention that it deserves; somehow that mirrors the war itself. The futility of the "conflict" is well captured in the statues depicting soldiers slogging through a field in full combat dress. The first time I saw it was in the rain and it was perfect. On a warm Spring day the troops looked miserably hot. Fitting.



The WALL always moves me. This was my war...the one I was lucky enough to miss. I've blogged before about how close I came to spending time in Southeast Asia and visiting this memorial makes me appreciate my extreme good fortune.
Some of my friends are here...on this wall. I got orders plunking me down in the middle of Kansas; others got a ticket to Vietnam. Each year that passes brings a greater realization of just how unbelievably fortunate I was. I slept on the ground in the Midwest and trained for the defense of NATO while dodging nothing more dangerous than cow pies. Timing is everything.

My high school friend, Lenny Borchard, didn't have a college deferment. He hit the Vietnam jackpot. We graduated from Spencer High School in Spencer, Iowa in 1966. I, like many others, got a student deferment to attend the University of South Dakota and wasn't snatched by the draft until 1970. Lenny was a farm kid who worked at the Big D grocery store all through high school and became a full time employee as soon as he graduated. He liked the work, (it sure beat farming), and he was on track to be a manager one day. The local draft board, however, had other plans for him. He was in the Army and fighting in Vietnam by 1967. He was dead in March of 1968.


I found his name on panel #46. I touched it.
What a waste of a good guy.

We were friends... not close friends, but certainly friends. We played baseball together with Hall, Erickson, Boyd, Swanson, White and other high school goof-offs. Lenny could hit the ball a TON. We had classes together. Made fun of the same teachers...
You get the idea.
So I stood there at the Vietnam memorial, twice in the past week, and thought about luck and chances taken. I thought about how easily things can go awry; how it could have been Lenny standing by the wall looking at and touching my name. It' all one big crap shoot.

My takeaway... I promise to always appreciate the, now 41, extra years of laughs, triumphs, and even mistakes that Ive experienced that Lenny didn't. And, I'll take more pleasure in my wonderful wife and terrific kids and, this Fall, new grandchild. All blessings that "Borch" never had. He was a good kid and would have been an even better man.

If you want to put life in perspective, get to D.C. Skip the political b.s. and get yourself to the memorials... and look up an old friend.

I've Got A MILLION of Them!

The two or three of you who follow this Internet enhanced nervous breakdown may recall that, on occasion, I have been more than willing to pass on some "can't miss" million dollar ideas that have been swirling in my melon just looking for a home. Who can forget the Erotic Car Alarm?
Did you cash in on that one? It was a sure fire ticket to big bucks for someone. I generally fore go executing these brainstorms myself in order to continue the creative process. I am an IDEA guy you see and prefer to leave the actual work and glory to others.


Of course I miss an opportunity once in a while...
The New York Mets picking the pocket, or what's left of the pocket, of Citi Bank for roughly a bazillion dollars in naming rights for their new ballpark is a prime example. (Actually, the Mets are sticking up the Federal government since Citi is flat broke from doing deals just like this!)

But, I digress...

Here is a scam...er great idea that I floated in the early 1980s when I toiled as a morning disc jockey in San Francisco. I may have been slightly ahead of my time on this one; so feel free to resurrect it some twenty-seven years after the fact.

I had read a story in a Bay Area magazine or newspaper regarding the expense of the non-stop painting of the Golden Gate Bridge. The coatings of the bridge in what they call "International Orange" is a year round chore and it occurred to me that the city was missing the chance to pawn off this budget buster to a sponsor of some kind. I launched a small campaign to farm the job out to the Guldens Mustard company in return for the structure's naming rights. Guldens would be allowed to paint the bridge mustard yellow and dub the span "THE GULDEN'S GATE BRIDGE".

The radio station general manager mentioned that ideas like this made his decision to fire me an easy one. As you can see, he was a short-sighted moron. The dream is still there and it's yours for the taking. Get the Guldens people on the phone NOW!


Small minded idiots like Fritz are the reason that radio is in the toilet today!

Oooh, here is another one I've been sitting on: How does "Horse Opera Digest" grab you? You know...Just as soap opera fans have "Soap Opera Digest" to keep them up on their favorite soaps and stars, "Horse Opera Digest" would be the magazine for middle-aged guys who love nothing more than watching re-runs of Bonanza on cable TV at all hours.

The "Hoss" episodes are classics!

You should have no problem locating start-up money for this goldmine. (Again, I would do it myself but I'm an idea man.

It took me nearly ten years of sobriety to come up with this one...

Actually it came to me in one of my more thirsty dreams.

Twelve Step Liquors, " where you're never more than twelves steps from your next drink" smells like money in the bank to me. Take it; run with it!

Finally, what you see pictured here is the largest un-tapped pocket of natural gas known to man. Figure out how to tap this and you've solved America's energy problems for generations to come!

These ideas are all yours. Take them and make your dreams of fabulous wealth come true.

If you need me, I'll be right here noodling out more money making ideas. Well, either that or talking to my therapist.

You're welcome!

They Just Don't Get It...

Nobody seemed more surprised by the turnout for yesterday's "Tea Party" than the dolts in big media. It was almost comical to watch as the nimrods at CNN, MSNBC, ABC, CBS and NBC tried to minimize the stalwarts who are fed up with a tax system that asks only about half of us to pay the freight for keeping the federal government in business.

It would be something else if we actually saw our money being spent in a responsible way on things necessary for the country and its citizens continued survival and well being. But NO, those of us who still pay are being asked to fork over our hard earned jack for programs that exist only to perpetuate the careers of professional politicians who buy the gratitude and goodwill of an emerging class of perpetual dependants.

Less than 10% of the population of the United States that makes more than $92,400 per year pays 72.4% of our national income tax. That is WRONG! It is a recipe for fiscal and emotional bankruptcy of the country and it must stop NOW.

Nowhere in the constitution is there a guarantee of health care, welfare benefits or federally funded retirement plans. These are all merely "nice to have" if the country can afford it. (Hell, you could make a better case for a right to have free food.) This has gotten so completely out of hand that drastic measures are required__SOON.

This isn't a new dilemma created by our current recession. It was crafted by professional politicians, both Democratic and Republican, whose penultimate goal is to remain RE_ELECTABLE. After all, the business of politicians is to get re-elected and they are always ALL business.

America needs a flat tax NOW. Everybody needs to have some skin in the game. A country cannot long survive if half the population contributes nothing to the cause. A good start might be to require 15% for those making less than $100,000 and 20% for all citizens above that mark.

The insanity of the tax code now in place only invites disaster. The Obama administration and all politicians must cease their profligate ways or we risk losing the greatest country the world has ever known.

No more cooking the books. We're done enabling this nonsense.

And in OTHER news...

Random thoughts from a random guy...
Did you notice that everyone's favorite mop-up guy, Mitch from ShamWow, got busted in Florida for allegedly beating up a hooker?
Apparently the "Mitchter" picked-up a young lady in a Fort Lauderdale watering hole and brought her to his hotel room to check out the museum quality painting hanging on the wall...or something. When the cheeky pitchman tried to kiss her, she bit his tongue and he reacted in a hostile manner.

I'll let you be the judge, but it seems to me that Mitch might have taken a few to the head in this dust up. The police blotter photos seem to suggest that she got the better of our boy.
Where was Billy Mays when this went down?! Perhaps the two TV pantloads could have tag teamed the young trollop.

Rumors of a video tape showing the daughter of vice president Joe Biden snorting cocaine at a party kept the stooges in the mainstream media busy refusing to investigate the possibility that it might be true. Can you imagine them showing any of the same restraint had the rumor involved a daughter of Dick Cheney? Me neither...

President & Mrs. Obama spent the week looking wonderful as they charmed their way through Europe and points East. The countries we have bailed out time and again like nothing better than hearing what boorish horse's asses we Americans are. Let them call Castro the next time they need somebody to fight their battles for them.

And...by the way, here's the bill for World War II and the re-building of Europe. Shut up and pay it!

(We can touch the Queen ANY damn time we feel like it! Churchill said it was okay.)



The reunion of the Four Preps caught me by surprise. How about you?

Aged like a fine single malt...

There isn't much left of the radio business.

Kids don't pay much attention. The Internet is the tribal drum of a new generation and radio, to them, is ancient history. I was always aware of the ephemeral nature of the business when I joined the band of radio gypsies who made their living pushing the hits on a series of frequencies "town to town...up and down the dial". It was a lot of fun and, once you made it to the "bigs", a decent buck. When the call letters you were selling belonged to major market stations that boasted legendary histories you knew that you had made it and all you needed to hang on was to get decent ratings.

Bad ratings meant getting fired and spending time on the "beach" or, if you were lucky, a second chance at another station in the same market. Most of the time it required a move to a new city and the hope that the new station and its listeners dug your act and good ratings kept you there for a long time. The competition was brutal and true friends hard to find.

In 1976 I managed to escape from what was escalating into a bad situation with a radio station in Tampa. The place was in turmoil and under new management. I was hosting the morning show and had good ratings but knew lots of change was brewing. Time to start calling friends, sending out tapes, and looking for a safe place to land...

That August I stood in the office of Jerry Jackson, the general manager of KOGO in San Diego. Jerry had hired me after surreptitiously spending a week in a Clearwater, Florida motel listening to my show on WDAE in Tampa. It was one of the luckiest breaks of my life. Jerry was the finest person I ever worked for...period. He was a man of his word and a true friend who, sadly, died much too young. Standing next to me on that day in August was another new hire for KOGO named, Bill Moffitt. Bill had recently been canned from San Diego's KCBQ and Jerry, knowing real talent, had scooped him up almost immediately. I was 28 years-old and Bill was 32. It was the beginning of a lifetime friendship.

Bill and I worked side by side for nearly four years at KOGO. He handled the midday show and I followed in afternoon drive. We were just a couple of young guys who spent our formative years in Iowa and grew up dreaming the same dream of having a beautiful time on the radio. And...we did. Though we no longer partake, there was a glass or two of whiskey shared by the two of us in those days. (We called it "liquid show prep".)

(Bill Moffitt rolls his eyes as Lenny Mitchell sinks into his Lazy Boy)

KOGO was sold to a new group of owners in late 1979 and Bill jumped at the chance to return to KCBQ rather than endure the mindless stupidity of the Visigoths who were now in charge. I left for a morning job in San Francisco shortly after. Bill took some vacation time to help me relocate to "Halloween-by-the-Bay" and some serious fun ensued. (Maybe I'll write a book about all of that when most of the participants are dead.)

In 1986 I returned to San Diego to take the midday show on KCBQ where Bill was now happily doing afternoon drive. We made that last for nearly six years, an eternity in the radio biz. Both of us got blown out in late 1991 by one of the most incompetent buffoons I have ever met. Naturally, he is still running a station in Phoenix. The buffoons run everything these days. Bill took a video camera to his firing and recorded the stammering nincompoop as he was being dismissed. It was priceless!

Bill Moffitt is 65 tomorrow! Happy birthday pal! Where are the last thirty years?

Thanks for the laughs. Thanks for being one of the finest disc jockeys who ever honked the hits.

And thanks for being my friend...