50 to 1: A Bet Worth Taking

Long odds, but what a pay out if the gods are looking down on you with favor.

 Few have seen this nearly-perfect, indie film, “50 to 1”. The film takes its name from Mine That Bird’s odds at the 2009 Kentucky Derby. Bird’s unlikely road to victory inspired the movie. The odds on the making of the movie, described by Producer, Director, and Co-Screenwriter, Jim Wilson, and Co-Producer and Co-Screenwriter, Faith Conroy, in the extras on the DVD, appear to have been pretty long as well.

Bird’s story was so amazing the film had no need to embellish this fairy-tale win. 

The movie opens with a punch: Chip Woolley (Skeet Ulrich), coming to the aid of a stranger, Mark Allen (Christian Kane), in a bar brawl. The two scraggly cowboys become friends but soon after loose touch. A decade later Mark and Chip meet up and Mark Allen hires a down-on-his-luck Woolley, as a trainer.

Allen learns of an opportunity to buy Mine That Bird, the 2008 Canadian Champion 2-year-old male horse, and sends Woolley to look him over. Woolley is not particularly impressed with the small, somewhat lopsided Bird, a Kentucky-born gelding who originally had been purchased at the Yearling Sales in 2007 for $9,500 by a Canada trainer. But when Woolley sees Bird run he changes his mind.

Mark Allen, on behalf of the New Mexico partnership he co-owns, buys Bird for $400,000. Allen’s partner Leonard “Doc” Blach (William Devane) is not impressed by either Woolley or Bird. Allen, loyal to his old friend Woolley and trusting of Woolley’s assessment, offers to buy Doc out if Doc ultimately is unhappy with Bird.

Doc looks to be the more horse-astute of the partners. Bird’s initial races in the U. S. are not impressive: second place in the Borderland Derby and fourth place in the Sunland Derby.  Woolley is struggling and in the midst of his other troubles crashes his motorcycle, shattering his leg.

Meanwhile, Woolley and Mark Allen, along with everyone involved, are astonished when Mine That Bird receives an invitation to the 2009 Kentucky Derby. Even though Bird’s career earnings in graded-stakes races had qualified him for the invitation no one believes Bird has a serious hope of winning.

The New Mexico owners and their families, and Woolley as trainer, decide to accept the invitation as the lark it is likely to be, and an experience of a lifetime. Unlike the million-dollar horses against which Bird will be competing, Bird is not flown to Kentucky. Instead, Woolley, his leg still in a cast, drives Bird from New Mexico to Louisville.

 The movie portrays Churchill Downs and Derby events as elegant, the bourbon plentiful, and the other owners derisive of Mine that Bird and the rustic cowboys who brought him. Pretty close to the mark as I recall news and events in Louisville that year.

The New Mexico cowboys, as they are known at the Derby run-up, have luck riding with them as they secure the Derby-winning Calvin Borel as their jockey. The film makers had similar luck securing the affable Borel to play himself in the movie.

The rest, as they say, is history. Even though you likely know the end result of the race, it’s still a thrill to see the small Mine that Bird, played by Sunday Rest, start out about eight lengths behind the pack and then make his move to an astonishing six lengths win.

The movie, like the horse and its owners and trainer, is a long-shot worth betting on. It’s available on DVD and Netflix. 

Before You Assume the Risk—Think—What If I Did This Instead?

Assumption of the risk is one of those legal concepts you don’t hear much about these days. But it could be a useful tool in analyzing some recent events and behaviors that led to disastrous results for the person assuming the risk and sometimes others.  News stories of late seem to ignore or gloss over the risky actions that set the disasters into motion. A few recent news stories illustrate this concept.

Last week, a jury found Eddie Ray Routh, the shooter of Chris Kyle (the former Navy SEAL of “American Sniper”—of the movie and book--fame) and Chad Littlefield, Kyle’s buddy, guilty of murder. Not surprising. Routh admitted the shooting. And proving a defense of not guilty by reason of insanity is a high standard under Texas law.

But have you ever wondered what might have happened if Kyle and Littlefield, when they realized Routh was delusional or “straight up nuts,” as Kyle described Routh in a text to Littlefield as they were driving to the shooting range where their shootings occurred, had decided to take Routh for a burger and bowling or even to play paint ball instead.

I also wonder about Kayla Mueller, the young aid worker who was taken hostage by ISIS terrorists after she had gone to help refugees in the Middle East and then crossed over to Syria with her Syrian boyfriend. What if she had decided to come home instead and teach in the inner city or help at an American orphanage? She still could have been killed or injured in trying to help those less fortunate. But at least her parents wouldn’t be on national television wondering aloud why the United States hadn’t sent a Special Forces team sooner to try to rescue her.

In a recent article in the Louisville Courier Journal, the front-page story told of a teenager who shot and killed his adoptive parents and sister. Then he loaded his Mom’s SUV with a backpack of firearms (four .38 caliber revolvers, a 9mm pistol and a double-barreled shotgun) and headed to Baltimore, only to die when he opened fire on police. The mayhem he had left in his adoptive home was discovered after the shootout with police.

The article made the point the adoptive parents were good, caring people, the mother a social worker who helped troubled children. The adopted son was not considered one of those troubled kids. By all accounts he had been a quiet, respectful, church-going youngster. He had had a little disagreement with his foster parents during whom they had taken away his computer and cell phone. But everyone who was interviewed for the story was astonished that he had done such a terrible thing.

I, as one reader, was astonished the article never mentioned where the youngster had gotten all the guns. But wait, I shouldn’t be. This is Kentucky. I guess most families have a small cache of guns so their teenagers can practice with real weapons whenever they feel like it.

In all of these cases, the concept of “assumption of the risk” comes to mind. Just because you take your kids or foster kids or the whole family to church does not inoculate them from having a moment of bloodthirsty thoughts. Or from becoming homicidal if they have that tendency. And even trained experts can’t predict which of those sweet kids might have a moment of insanity or a breaking point.

I was a good, responsible kid, a polite, church-going teenager. I never considered shooting anyone. My Dad had guns and he taught me to use them.

But I, too had at least a moment or two when I considered suicide. I’m happy to say those moments did not occur when my Dad’s guns were close at hand. But how many other young people have such thoughts? If they have an easy way to act on a fleeting notion the consequences can be deadly. Leaving those weapons where someone has access is assuming the risk they will act on a crazy notion and kill themselves or others.

Using assumption of the risk to analyze a victim’s behavior might appear to be a way to blame the victim. And I guess it is in a way. In no sense does it mitigate the criminal responsibility of wrongdoers. And it’s no excuse for terrorists. But it is a concept that we who want to avoid becoming victims should think about. And also, maybe we should consider the risks we are unnecessarily assuming on behalf of good Samaritans, law enforcement or military personnel when we as civilians head off to war zones, give weapons to people we identify as “nuts” or keep guns that are not under lock and key. When bad things happen in such circumstances we’ve assumed the risk for ourselves and others.

Background Note

Assumption of the risk is a concept that originates in civil law and was a subset or type of contributory negligence. It’s pretty self-explanatory. If you walk onto the railroad tracks, ignore the train whistle, and then are run over by the train you have assumed the risk of being hit by that train. At one time, assuming the risk under some state laws was a complete bar to collecting any damages in a civil suit. But juries, and even judges on occasion, tended to not want to let a guilty defendant off. In some cases a person assumed a risk but the other party’s negligence was so great that the jury would find for the plaintiff even thought the plaintiff also was guilty of some negligence. As in the case of a driver who knows his car brakes are almost shot but he drives anyway. He can’t stop in time when another driver runs a red light. A jury is going to want to let that first driver collect from the driver who ran the red light.

As a result of juries trying to come to some sense of rough justice even if contributory negligence didn’t allow for it, the courts or the legislatures created a new doctrine: comparative negligence. This new principle provided that relative negligence could be parceled out to each according to their percentage of risk.

Vacation from my stuff

In glancing through the Maui News this morning there was a meeting of “Clutterers Anonymous”. The meeting was held at St. Theresa’s Church. No doubt such meetings are a great idea. As clutterers deal with their issues they will be able to get rid of their clutter. Then they can have a tag sale so other people can pick up some real bargains. And then they too can join Clutterers Anonymous to get rid of their extra stuff at some future date. It has the potential to be a self-perpetuating cycle.

But I don’t need to join Clutters Anonymous. At least not right now since I’m on vacation. One of the best things about being on vacation is not just seeing something new—for me it’s as much about not seeing some things. That is, leaving my clutter behind. Yes, I confess, I have some clutter.

But while we’re on vacation I can pretend I do not have clutter. Staying in a one-bedroom condo we have everything we need. Where are my snow boots, my coats, my jackets and scarves? All back at home. Ok so we went on a trip to a warm climate. But also back home are the piles of incomplete projects, the stacks of things on my desk, the boxes of writing ideas, the piles of whatnots. The kitchen gadgets I seldom use. The clever stuff I bought and now don’t use and is just taking up valuable space at home. For now all of that stuff is out of sight. And for the most part out of mind. How liberating.

There’s at least one more reason I didn’t make it to the Clutters Anonymous meeting this morning. I didn’t get around to reading the newspaper until well after the time for the meeting. So I’ll think about all this clutter issue another day. Until they combine Clutterers and Procastinators Anonymous meetings I don’t really have a chance.

The Post Holiday Report--Gift-Giving 101

Well, it was just a day or two after Christmas when I read an article, the definitive gift-giving guide. How’s that for timing?

Anyway, the article,

http://well.blogs.nytimes.com/2014/12/23/shopping-for-the-perfect-gift-dont-sweat-it/?smid=nytcore-ipad-share&smprod=nytcore-ipad

(Research suggests that you might consider giving gift cards — because the less specific the gift, the more it will be appreciated.)

claims what almost everyone really wants is—no, not money, not new clothes, not a new Rolex or even a Rolls, is, wait for it--a gift card. Certainly not gifts the giver has loving picked out. There’s just too much pressure on both the giver and receiver when actual gifts are exchanged. The giver has to really know the recipient. And the recipient has to act like the gift is perfect.

If the gift isn’t just right the recipient feels bad.  And even if it is, the recipient takes the perfection for granted and the giver doesn’t get much reward in having found that perfect present. Sometimes, if the present is too perfect, the recipient will already have it.

Even cash supposedly is not the prefect present since recipients will feel  they have to use it for something useful as opposed to buying what they want. Hence the gift card is the only perfect present. Or so says the so-called expert.

I’m wondering--was this article was sponsored by the companies promoting credit card gift cards? Maybe that’s my suspicious nature. Or maybe it’s my experience with other people who have given me the perfect gift.

I don’t know if my “giftees” wished I’d just bought gift cards. But I, for one, received the prefect gift, several times over. And I found those gifts offer an interesting commentary on how well, and how many different aspects of my personality, my family knows.

In addition to some lovely and particularly treasured presents, such as hand- made gifts from my grandchildren (the best presents ever), jewelry, hats and all things warm and cuddly (no, I didn't get a puppy for Christmas--we already have one), most of my family also gave me reading material for Christmas and my birthday which follows Christmas in short order.

The fact that they gave me books is not a big revelation. It’s well known in my family I was the type of child who went to the library once a week and carried out the maximum permitted number of books. And then couldn’t wait to return them after reading all, and check out another back-breaking load.

But the variety and range of books is what’s particularly of interest. From our older son and family I received a serious book, “The Sixth Extinction (An Unnatural History)” by Elizabeth Kolbert that has been described by David Grann as an “An epic, riveting story of our species that reads like a scientific thriller” and also a subscription to Harper’s magazine. That son recognized my interest in science and all things political.

My husband gave me mysteries, one by Dennis Lahane and another by David Baldacci. He knows how much I love to read thrillers and mysteries. There go some hours I should be sleeping and am instead trying to figure out the plot. My brother and his significant other gave me a literary novel as well as a subscription to "Poets and Writers". He knows my love of writing. And our younger son and his boo (as best I can tell that's young people talk for sweetheart) gave me a game, “Apples to Apples", a not too complicated but fun diversion for a small group involving word play. He recognized my joy in sharing fun with family and friends and also my love of words.

Somehow, each family member knows and tapped into a different aspect of my personality in their gift-giving this year when they chose my presents. And that, even more than the presents was priceless. If my gift selections were not as thoughtful and well planned as theirs perhaps my “giftees” would rather have gift cards next year. But I certainly would not.

Happy Holidays: The Spruce Report

Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukah and New Year, and all the holidays in between and after.

There’s still way too much to do before any of the holidays can arrive.  Was it Noel Coward who said “Christmas now has us by the throat?” Well he should know—since he’s named for the Christmas holiday. As for me, I’m just in a mild panic. The presents aren’t ordered, the cards not yet sent and our Christmas tree is not yet up or decorated. If I were Santa’s elf I’d be on overtime or maybe out of a job. 

At least we have a wreath on our door. If we can get the outside lights up no one will be the wiser we’re so far behind. So this year we are multi-tasking: I’ve started this Christmas note while my intrepid spouse is looking for the timer for the outside lights. 

Real Time Report:  Was that Santa rushing by with presents as I typed?  No, that was my husband.  He was in the attic looking for the timer. 

Usually I report on the holly berries I can see from the window of my office. That is, in those years when we’ve not yet had cold and snowy weather. Once real winter arrives the birds eat all the berries. I could try to make some climate change point that the weather must be warmer this year since the birds haven’t eaten the berries yet.

Real Time Report:  Now my spouse is back from the basement, grumbling about things not being put in their place.  And then he’s dashing by to check the garage.  No timer in the garage.  

Instead I’m going to report on the astronomical growth of our blue spruce in the front yard. I don’t have any idea what that means as far as climate change. But I do have some idea of the practical implications for putting Christmas lights on a tree that has grown to be almost as tall as our two-story house.

        Real Time Report:  my husband has made another trip to the attic.  The timer was hidden in a   plain, unmarked bag.  The better to stay hidden each year.  But that means it’s time to start stringing those lights.  So I’m taking a short “break”.

Every year, for the past twenty-two, we have strung little colored lights on the blue spruce in the front yard.  When we first moved to this house the spruce was about ten feet tall.  My husband could easily toss a few lights around the spruce without any help and it looked fine.

       Real Time Report:  I’m back working on the lights. My job is to check the strands to be sure all the lights work.  It’s too cold to stay out here and do any more right now.  Maybe I better go back to my Christmas note, with a hot toddy so I don’t catch cold.

Now that damn spruce is nearly two stories high and twenty feet across.  So why are we still doing it?  First, there’s the satisfaction of knowing we’ve nicely decorated our front yard.

Real Time Report:  As we string the lights I discover my job also was supposed to include separating the polarized strands from the non-polarized strands.  Oops—need to unstring the last few strands.

 Then, there are the neighbors who start to say things in July, like, “Sure looking forward to seeing your tree all lit up again.”  Finally I suppose it’s the idiocy of not wanting to give up something we’ve done for years.  And the fact that a few years ago when I checked with a couple of those outdoor light-hanging companies they wanted $5,000 to string lights on our tree.  If we should get good at this light-hanging thing we’d have a new career opportunity for our old age.

Real Time Report:  We’re halfway there.  Time for the ladder.  And maybe another hot toddy break. 

Each year after we get the lights on we feel that wonderful sense of accomplishment.  Yeah, right.  Stringing this tree is more like a recipe for disaster than for a hot toddy.  Half the time the lights don’t work, the ladder isn’t tall enough and the jerry-rigged extension pole doesn’t extend like it should to reach those top branches.  

Real Time Report:  All that’s left is to flip the switch.  Fingers crossed.  Good thing it’s getting dark.  The better to be wowed by the lights.  And . . . we are.  Yippee!  They’re all lit!  Until we turn away.  When we turn back only the very bottom lights are lit.  Argh!

Tomorrow we’ll try to diagnose what’s wrong.  For now I’ll close by saying we’ve had a good year, and been healthy, happy, and lucky enough to see our family and friends, though not as often as we would like.  Best wishes for a happy, healthy and great holiday season.  

Don’t forget to drink your hot toddy.  It helps mellow out that Christmas decorating experience.

Rabbits--Part 2

I swore I wasn't going to share the latest rabbit story until I could get a particularly gruesome image out of my head.  Not a Stephen King or “Fatal Attraction”- type image exactly, just what happens now and then in life.  The totally unexpected, like pennies from heaven.  Or in this case, a rabbit head from the sky.

My husband who had been working in the yard to get it winter ready, shouted to me he needed some help catching Blazer, our large adolescent, and I should say fast, collie, in the back yard.  Our dog had gotten some dead animal.  Blazer was racing around the yard, bunny ears protruding from one side of his mouth.  I rushed to help.

One word of background.  Those of you with dogs and who live where the wild things are may be thinking what pansies we city dwellers are—why not you just let the dog eat whatever he caught?  Well, for those of you who don’t have collies let me explain.  We've learned from a collective experience with six collies over more than fifty years that collies often have a digestive system reminiscent of your old maiden aunt who can eat only cream of rice most days.

Changing the diet of a collie is perilous, even if it’s from one brand of good dog food to another.  Our collie eats a selective meat-, gluten-, and grain-free kibble containing only fish and cooked veggies.  Rabbit heads definitely are not on his menu.  Maybe this is the result of over-breeding of collies. But we did not want to be the ones to make a stand for heartier collies at this point in time and experience the consequences of his dining on a totally new food group.

I knew immediately the two of us oldsters had no chance of catching our speedy collie.  My husband already had tried chasing, luring with treats, and verbally commanding Blazer to give up his prize.  Despite the fact Blazer had graduated with flying colors from two dog training classes, no way was he voluntarily giving up this prize.

The only chance we had was to try to outsmart him.  I ran back inside and pulled out one of the special treats that were saved for special times: a “Greenie” bone.

Blazer would not let me come near him if I ran towards him.  So I feigned a lack of interest in what Blazer had and was doing.  My husband and I talked as I laid the Greenie bone on our steps, my husband at the ready with a “poop bag” in hand.  Blazer approached, dropped the bunny head, and took the Greenie.  My husband swooped in and scooped up the rabbit head.

Blazer dropped the Greenie and looked around.  But he is an “out of sight, out of mind” kind of dog for the most part.  He appeared to quickly forget his prized treasure.

Then we were left with the task of trying to find the rest of the rabbit body.  We scoured our yard and under bushes without success.  We prayed to the dog gods that he hadn't already eaten it.  Since Blazer had been in the yard only a short time that seemed unlikely.

As we took Blazer to the park for his evening walk my husband recalled hearing a loud thump against the house earlier in the day while he was working.  And a gaggle of crows noisily flying off our roof at the same time.  Mystery solved.

Well, now that the image of our collie running wildly through the yard, a dead rabbit head, stiff ears sticking out of one side of his mouth, is out of my head I suppose I've given that image to you.  I hope the image does not stay long.

We also are hoping the rabbit whose head made a sudden appearance in the back yard is not one of the baby bunnies we had carefully rescued this summer after their mother built an ill-advised nest under a bush close to our house.  That’s one mystery I don’t think we will solve. 

Pulp Fiction Contest

I've submitted an entry in the New York Times pulp fiction contest. You can read it, and recommend if you like, at this link under the “Comments” section. You also can submit your own entry.

http://cityroom.blogs.nytimes.com/2014/11/12/back-for-more-return-of-the-pulp-fiction-contest/?smid=nytcore-ipad-share&smprod=nytcore-ipad

2 days ago ... ... a dame, a 1950s book cover: “Tough Kid From Brooklyn.” Tell us how the story begins. It's City Room's 2014 New York Pulp Fiction Contest.