Let’s see, the first resolution I’m highly likely to break is to not get emotional about a horse. Wall Street’s despicable Gordon Gekko was probably right when he advised Bud Fox the same thing about stocks.

But stocks are pieces of paper. They are neither majestic, nor handsome, fiery, brave or charismatic. I know the emotional affair I’ll have with a thoroughbred is the first knock-out performance I see by a newly turned three-year-old on the road to Louisville.

Then I’ll assess what all my colleagues are writing or saying and spend the rest of my Triple Crown chase trying to beat that horse because all the value has gone out of his portfolio.

I promise not to be upset with Bobby Frankel but I will, either the first time he says something stupid or, after Country Star embarrasses every filly she beats on her way to Louisville, he milks every bit of Derby publicity he can generate then runs her in the Oaks, anyway.

I won’t write down all my bets. I refuse to keep track of my action for the first six weeks then get tired, bored, have my Pilot run out of ink, and stop. I already know that my areas of emphasis will be young horses, from maidens to stakes, turf races at any level, and any added-money race for horses of all ages.

These are races where I have an edge because I’ll outwork the competition or because four decades of practice comes in handy. Another resolution I might keep is to stay clear of turf sprints. No one I know can figure these things out consistently, even if they know enough to key on the specialists which dominate winning results.

Another resolution I’ll break is my promise not to play more than two simulcast tracks at a time. But I know I’ll find a maiden, turf, or stakes race irresistible, then wonder why I lose my patience when I can’t find the data I downloaded.

I promise to keep my composure when dealing with well-known disingenuous owners, trainers, jockeys and politicians from both sides of the aisle. But there’s no chance, no chance, I’ll ever be able to pull this off.

Instead, I’ll find myself smiling when I walk away from horsemen who think I’ve just witnessed my first horse race. But politicians who show no respect for my BS meter will just tick me off.

I resolve not to beat myself up after I find a handicapping nugget I overlooked for lack of focus, or for a Super Dime I lost because I didn’t complete the play. And I will call the man in the mirror a stupid SOB and remind him that if a horse can be fourth, it can finish third.

Duh.

Hey, I just remembered a few resolutions I’m likely to keep. I will avoid small-field, wet-track races--especially when the program seller tells me speed is golden when I walk into the track--all low-level claimers at high-profile venues, and late-run-biased Polytrack surfaces. Horse racing is hard enough; jockey racing is impossible.

There’s one more resolution I‘m likely to keep: Never again to believe would-be presidential ideologues who justify their position by swearing that we have to kill our enemies there so we won’t have to kill them here. Or put my trust in an opposition party that failed to meaningfully address the illegal acts of our executive branch and for essentially rubber-stamping the loss of our constitutional rights in the name of homeland security.