The Riff
I started working with a personal trainer.
A new personal trainer woke up body parts that had been peacefully retired for 20 years. They are not pleased.
Not because I wasn’t going to the gym.
I was.
The problem was that somewhere along the way, going to the gym had evolved into doing the exercises I already knew how to do and avoiding most of the ones I probably needed to do.
Apparently this is not a comprehensive fitness program.
I wanted some direction with weights and resistance training. Somebody who actually knows what all those machines do besides providing somewhere to put your phone.
So I hired a trainer.
I’m not going to use his real name.
Not to protect his privacy.
To protect him.
We’re going to call him Megan Trainer.
Because Megan Trainer has awakened muscle groups in my body that have been peacefully dormant for approximately 20 years.
And I don’t think they’re happy with him.
These muscles had lives.
They had retirement accounts.
Some of them had moved to Florida.
Then Megan Trainer showed up with a stopwatch, and suddenly they’re being asked to report for work.
I can feel them organizing.
There’s whispering coming from my hamstrings. My calves have unionized. I’m pretty sure my glutes are somewhere drawing up plans.
“We rush him on three.”
Meanwhile, Megan Trainer is standing there completely unaware of the uprising, cheerfully saying things like:
“Okay, we’re going to do another set.”
No.
We’re not doing another set.
Apparently I’m doing another set.
You’re standing there counting.
And there were squats.
Lots of squats.
Regular squats.
Squats holding things.
Squats involving benches.
Squats apparently designed by people who felt the original squat wasn’t sufficiently unpleasant.
At one point I started wondering if there was some sort of personal issue between Megan Trainer and my thighs.
Then the workout ended.
I felt pretty good.
Tired, obviously.
But good.
And then I attempted to walk.
Bambi legs.
My body had suddenly lost its understanding of the concept of upright. Forward was also becoming surprisingly complicated. Every few steps my legs seemed to be having a private conversation:
Left leg: You got him?
Right leg: I thought you had him.
Left leg: Nope.
Gravity: I can take it from here.
Apparently there are muscles whose only job is keeping you from collapsing into a decorative planter.
I had not been using those.
So this morning, if Megan Trainer happens to read this, I have one piece of advice:
Watch your back.
Not because I’m coming after you.
I’m having enough trouble getting out of a chair.
But somewhere inside my body are several extremely angry muscle groups that hadn’t been bothered since the George W. Bush administration.
And they know where you work.
Which brings us naturally to baseball.
Because yesterday, for the first time in a while, our picks actually exercised the correct muscles.
The Autopsy
Yesterday we went:
2-1
Look at us.
Nobody touch anything.
St. Louis Game 1 ML ✅
Cardinals win 2-1.
This was probably my favorite result because it came directly from something we’ve been trying to add to the model:
Momentum gets a vote.
St. Louis had won seven of ten.
Cincinnati was entering a strange five-game, four-day stretch with a bullpen that had been getting plenty of exercise.
The numbers liked St. Louis.
The situation liked St. Louis.
The momentum liked St. Louis.
So we took St. Louis.
They scored twice in the first and basically said:
That’s enough.
Turns out it was.
Simple handicap.
Simple bet.
No exotic wrapper.
No new rule.
No autopsy equipment required.
I could get used to this.
Atlanta ML ❌
Twins win 4-2.
And Minnesota basically won this game immediately.
Four runs in the first inning.
Then nothing.
For the rest of the game, Minnesota’s offense apparently had dinner reservations.
Atlanta got two back in the fifth but never finished the comeback.
I don’t see a new rule here.
We didn’t bet Atlanta because they had won for us the day before. We ground the matchup independently and ended up back there.
The handicap was reasonable.
The result wasn’t.
Move along.
Dodgers/Rockies F5 Over 5.5 ✅
Now this was fun.
Yesterday I wrote:
The Dodgers can do most of the work.
Colorado is invited to participate.
Colorado apparently checked Maybe on the invitation.
After five innings:
Dodgers 7, Rockies 1.
The Dodgers covered our entire total themselves.
Ohtani went 4-for-5 with two home runs.
Which means that weird little matchup note about Ohtani seeing Sugano and deciding baseballs belonged somewhere near Wyoming turned out to be useful.
And, of course, there was Sugano.
Side note: Shun Sugano was actually my nom de plume when I was writing Godzilla fan-fiction erotica anime novels.
Small world.
The Giant Scoreboard
Yesterday moves us to:
ALL SPORTS: 1,022-1,044-7
Still underwater.
But 2-1 is 2-1.
And still:
TENNIS: 0-1
Who the hell bets on tennis?
At this point that may remain on the scoreboard longer than Joe DiMaggio’s hitting streak.
My model.
My rules.
Today’s Grinder
Today’s grinder started with Bertie liking San Diego.
I didn’t.
The Padres had lost yesterday, and something about the whole situation felt off to me.
So instead of letting Bertie explain to me why the spreadsheet was smarter than I was, we dug deeper.
Padres cut.
This is becoming an important part of the process.
The model gets a vote.
Momentum gets a vote.
And apparently Benzo gets a vote.
Again:
My model.
My rules.
Then we ran into another problem.
The bets Bertie originally liked weren’t available on my board.
So rather than take a good handicap and shove it into a completely different bet because that was what the sportsbook offered, we changed the wrapper.
And somehow we ended up with something I actually like better.
Today We’re Betting Offense
Three games.
Three team totals.
We’re not asking the opposing offense to participate.
We’re not asking somebody’s bullpen to preserve an under.
We’re simply saying:
These three teams should score runs.
Atlanta Team Total Over 4.5 -118
Hello, Zebby.
Yes.
Zebby Matthews.
The man who helped create one of the earliest principles of this entire operation:
No guy named Zebby.
Today we’re not technically betting against Zebby.
We’re merely betting that Atlanta scores at least five runs while he happens to be in the general vicinity.
Atlanta’s offense is the thesis.
Five runs gets us there.
Dodgers Team Total Over 6.5 -122
Seven runs.
At Coors.
Yesterday the Dodgers scored seven in the first five innings.
That doesn’t mean they’ll do it again.
We’re specifically trying not to build a system based on:
THING HAPPENED YESTERDAY. THING HAPPEN AGAIN.
But today’s matchup independently pointed us back toward Dodgers offense.
So instead of needing Colorado to help us get over 11.5, we’re removing them from the equation.
Colorado may score twelve.
Colorado may score zero.
Colorado may spend nine innings discussing property values in Boulder.
We don’t care.
We need seven from Los Angeles, and if they bench Kyle Tucker, as I believe Doc will…. we might get some additional offense.
Watching Kyle Tucker play Baseball right now is like watching Ariana Grande play dating.
Philadelphia Team Total Over 4.5 -145
This started as a Wheeler First Five idea.
The sportsbook didn’t offer it. Might be too early. Who knows.
So rather than turn that into some unrelated full-game bet, we looked at what part of the matchup we still liked.
Philadelphia’s offense.
Five runs.
That’s it.
The -145 is a little heavier than I’d normally like.
But we’re not adding another game just because this one isn’t perfectly pretty.
Three survived.
Today’s Picks
ATL Team Total Over 4.5 -118
LAD Team Total Over 6.5 -122
PHI Team Total Over 4.5 -145
And we’re doing the whole round robin again.
Singles.
Doubles.
Triple.
All legs.
The accounting department still doesn’t publish actual stakes.
Mostly because they don’t exist.
Also because they’re currently trying to help me stand up.
Tomorrow
Today we’re betting entirely on offense.
Which seems appropriate because I currently have none.
Megan Trainer has turned getting out of a chair into resistance training.
My hamstrings are furious.
My calves have retained counsel.
And somewhere deep inside my thighs, I suspect a meeting is underway.
If Megan Trainer suddenly disappears, I know nothing.
I couldn’t possibly have been involved.
I can’t walk.
Tomorrow we’ll find out whether Atlanta, Los Angeles and Philadelphia can produce five, seven and five runs.
And whether I can successfully navigate a staircase.
At the moment, I’m not sure which one I’d price as the favorite.
Bad Picks. Better Stories.
This isn’t called Pick What I Pick.
It’s called Don’t Pick What I Pick.
Please wager accordingly.
