Rip Snorter's Blog

I've posted this on one of the threads, but it needs to be said more than once, a lot more often than once:

Disasters bring out the best and the worst in people, in Americans.  It's going to do that during this one.

For a while yet everything that can be done is being done in the disaster area by the people who are trained to do it, hired to do it, have volunteered to do it.  We all want to help somehow.  There's nothing at the moment we can do except give our hopes and best wishes to the people who are there, either as victims or trying to do their jobs.

For the moment providing shelter, food, water, medication and waste disposal facilities for both victims and disaster workers is going to be the primary goal.  An infrastructure exists and is moving into place as inexorably as the hurricane moved in from the gulf.  It will take time, but it's happening and will continue to happen.

Giving money 'for hurricane victims' for the moment is a bit like giving money to the schools by buying lottery tickets.  Some tiny percentage of it will reach victims, while most will be sucked up into the administrative structures of the organizations making their bread and butter off human misery. 

There's not a shortage of money for dealing with the initial phases of this disaster.  The US taxpayer has payed dearly for a long time and will pay a lot more now to handle this disaster and the aftermath.  The funds are there, and they'll be replenished by taxpayers, supplemented by taxpayers.

We all want to help, but at the moment there's nothing we can do with the exception of offering shelter, those of us near enough, to refugees in our own homes.  That would be a boon and a blessing.  But we'll find not many Americans once they consider it, want to help THAT badly.  Sometimes they'll make new friends, and sometimes they'll lose the guns and the silverware.

Once things settle a bit and the needs are actually established in a week or three there'll be plenty of places Americans who still remember there was a disaster can provide some assistance.  If they listen carefully they'll learn of thousands of smaller, sometimes more difficult matters spinning off this event, sometimes involving more personal sacrifice than a dollar or two thrown into the storm.  Americans who still want to help after the emotional storm of the television blitz dies and football's got their attention will have plenty of opportunities to do so.

But this isn't the time.

If you want to give money, it stands the best chance of getting to the actual victims if you do it through your churches, as opposed to the relief organizations.  The pipeline's not so long and there aren't so many salaries and offices in between your hand and the broken domiciles you thought you were aiming your money toward.

Storms begin 'way back, the poet said.  This one did, they all do.  Those levies have been a long time  on the road to failing, the flooding didn't happen today.... it happened during all the years we've all known it was going to happen and didn't do what was needed to prevent it.

Today is the storm and the debris.  Let the debris settle a bit before you respond to the internal scream that says you need to do something for these victims.  Human charity is too rare and valuable to be squandered by drowning it in a pool of flood water.

The television crews are doing their jobs, exciting your best emotions, your sympathy, twanging your heartstrings.  Let them do it.  Savor it.  Sympathize with those victims.  Pray for them.  But don't do anything fast, rash, to satisfy your need for instant gratification.  Hold on to that desire to help and consider long about how you can make it count.

Jack

 

It’s true, we’re an animal friendly village. 

We tend to get along reasonably well with the neighbor dogs running loose, with the coyotes that encourage the neighbors to bring their dogs in nights, with the snakes, spiders, roadrunners, lamas, even the occasional bobcat or bear.

True also, we occasionally kill one of the above when it makes enough of a nuisance of itself.  But there’s not spite, no satisfaction in doing it.

But all that’s not to say we’re a ‘friendly’ community in other ways.  We’re not.  The old land-grant families hate the developers, the real estate interests, the residue from the times when this area was peppered with hippie communes, and newcomers.  Our Catholics don’t care for the Presbyterians, the only other church in town.  And the Presbyterians driving around in their Volvos and BMWs with NO WAR IN IRAQ, or SAVE THE WHALES bumper stickers would like the place a lot better if opinions were less robust concerning the gentle matters dear to them.

They tend to suffer such indignities as having their front doors egged when they post anything suggesting the current war’s not what they had in mind for the nation.  My next door neighbor had a definite look of hurt when she removed hers.  But she has a name for those who do such things.  “Anglo-hating a**h*les!” is a moniker I’ve heard her use on occasion.

This sign's her idea of disaster mitigation.  Owning something green around here during times of drought can be an invitation to all manner of personal misfortune.

In earlier times they weren’t so friendly to animals, but they got along better with one another because they were all alike.  Same ethnic background, same religion, same generation after generation of first cousins married one another.

Unfortunately, the Apaches kept killing down their numbers and forcing them to abandon the place for a few decades.

Up the hill from here about 3-4 miles is where the earliest residents lived.  A place called Sandia Man cave.  Those folks lived here about 10-12K years ago, and were a lot less animal friendly.  There’s cause to believe they might have killed off the last mastodon in New Mexico, even.  They lived there at a time called the Folsum/Midland era… A time when the mega fauna were coming into short supply because of the Clovis era ancestors of these guys, who had a fierce appetite for saber-tooth tiger and elephant meat.

The only mastodon bones ever found in a Folsum/Midland site were in the Sandia Man cave.  They got the last ‘un, and they did it in a fairly patriotic manner.  The orchards and vineyards here do a lot better without a lot of mega fauna wandering around forever knocking down adobe houses and fences.

Sometime I’ll show you some pictures of the Sandia Man cave, some of his tools I’ve found around, and maybe tell you some more about him.

Jack

 

 

 

 

 

That roadrunner pictured in an entry a few days ago came back yesterday with his mate.  All the roadrunners I've seen in my life, I've never seen anything to rhyme with their behavior among their kin I've watched all my life.

I heard their burbling calls from inside and surmised the one from the other day was back.  When I got outdoors all the dogs in the area were raising the dickens, all looking toward the lilac bushes along the property line.

Burrrrrble.  Burrrrrrbleburble.

Lilacs.

Burbbbble.

From the top of the neighbor's latia fence 50 feet away.  Two of them.

The one in the lilacs flew into the branches of a tall cedar tree by the house, followed by the one on the fence.

Burrrrrble.

Suddenly the game changed.  In less time than it takes to write it those two roadrunners were doing a chase on half a dozen jays in the tree, maybe 50, 65 feet above the ground.  The bluejays were as surprised as I was.  On the ground a roadrunner is a dangerous hunter, but those jays never figured on them going airborne assault.

Neither did I.  Never seen nor heard tell of anything of the sort.

The world's changing.  You can't keep 'em down on the farm anymore.

Jack

 

The tough part's doing nothing.  Which is the only meaningful thing a person can do.

For decades everyone's known somewhere behind that locked compartment of consciousness that one of these days just the right storm would rage out of the Carib into the Gulf, would stalk, building the huge breath while making up its mind just where to make the target this time.

But the years, decades, generations between the bad'uns make everyone forget.  We humans have, after all, limited attention spans.

So, there's this job down there at a local level.  Emergency Manager.  No emergencies here, but the pay's okay and Charlie has that half-wit cousin needs a job.  It's a place where he can't do much damage, out of the way, and we have to have someone to wear that hat.

So Charlie's cousin has himself a nice cushy job and the relatives don't have to worry about him.  The State guys come around and pester him, demand that he gets some training, create some plans, exercise them.  Beg and cajole.

And Charlies's cousin promises.  He really intends to do it.  But the County or City doesn't want to pay for him to sit through all those useless training sessions.  Besides, his other job is emptying the trash in the courthouse, sweeping the floors.  Who's going to do that when he's off learning a lot of useless stuff just to check things off the requirements list.

Stall 'em.  We'll do it next year.

Then the big one comes slouching in off the Gulf.  And when it's all over all those relatives and locals want to know why they got caught with their pants down.

Poor old Charlie's cousin hangs out to dry.

No one remembers.

Happens every time, just the community names change.

Jack

 

 

 

 

Late 1964, Rex Labor and I were part of a group of Peace Corps trainees on the island of Hilo, Hawaii, whom the Peace Corps decided it could survive without.  They gave us airline tickets back to the mainland, but Rex and I left the plane at Honolulu, planning to go to India on our own, deck hand on a sailboat bound for Australia, something.

Here’s what happened next:

Next day we went looking for work.  Rex took a newspaper and headed down to check out the openings on Waikiki.....I headed for the bars on Hotel Street looking for a job or a hooker to prime me for my job search.  Tomorrow I'd go down to Waikiki to find my busboy job at the Hilton Hawaiian Village.  Today I had more pressing matters.

In a while, I came to a booth with a pretty Gypsy lady; flirted a bit, talked around the issue.  Was certain she was a hooker.  Finally, she demanded, "You want a gypsy good-time?"

"Yeah!  A Gypsy good-time!"

She took me into an attached room with nothing but a cot, sat me down.  "$10"....she took my money and assured she'd be back in a moment.  I sat there and knew when she brought in a snaggle-toothed crone that I'd just lost a sawbuck for another of my lessons in life. 

"Here it is!  A Gypsy goodtime!"  She and the crone danced back and forth in front of me, all of us laughing. 

My life has been rich in gypsy good-times. I've been a man wealthy in Gypsy good-times, but that one was best.

A Gypsy-good time when the coconuts fell beside us and mangos piled high under the trees blocking the sidewalks where Rex and I grumbled in our cots picking off sunburned skin to throw to the giant roaches. 

We were young in that country.

From: Day of the Lost Souls
Copyright©2003 Jack Purcell

Rex Labor became a lifelong friend.  Today he’s in China teaching English to adult Chinese.

But the point of this yarn is to convey that I, and maybe a lot of other lottery players obviously don’t mind a Gypsy Goodtime if it’s well conceived and executed.  Probably most of us could even appreciate it.

Probably that crone is dead sometime these last forty years.  Even the younger Gypsy woman’s probably lost to history, not available as a consultant to major lottery operations.

I’m suggesting the lottery management needs to go to the pros, if they want to make a good job of this sort of thing.

There are still plenty around.

Jack

 

It came to mind too late to edit this in to the other entry, but I want to say it.

These are the times when the giants, Microsoft, Dupont, of finance and commerce are as vulnerable as everyone else to civil litigation by hungry lawyers and consumers when they get caught trying to pull that last fraction of a percentage of skim off the top.

I generally mislike the concept of civil litigation, holding the view that consumers have a responsibility to gore their own oxen, buy responsibly, and not buy if it's not what's best for them.

However, fraud and deceptive trade practices are both criminal and civil offenses in the US today.

No criminal prosecutor is going to touch the matter of those deceptive jackpot billboards.

But if some hungry shyster lawyer examines what's being represented by Powerball, as opposed to what's actually being offered,

If some hungry young attorney looks at all that, I was going to say, and decides there are legal grounds for a class action suit by players, decides to do it,

I'll be the first player on the list to sign up.

Jack

 

Sooooo

They've added a couple of white balls to Powerball, says they, gonna get us a lot bigger jackpots because that's what people want.  What's the big deal about a couple of white balls?

There's not a big deal about a couple of white balls.

But there's also not a big deal about the substance of what they've done concerning larger jackpots.

The fact is that while Powerball hasn't necessarily created larger jackpots, they can sleep easy nights knowing they've created the illusion of larger jackpots.  Smoke and mirrors, blog readers, can be just as profitable as as the real thing where Powerball's concerned.

As you're aware, the size of the announced jackpot bears only coincidental relationship to the actual number of real US dollars availabe to be given away to jackpot winners.  50 odd percent under the old system, because they announce the annuity as the jackpot size, and the annuity is merely a projection of income in interest earned from their investment of the exact amount of the lump sum payment at low interest for a given time.

So if Powerball wants to announce higher jackpots, all they have to do it lengthen the time they control the lump sum to let it grow longer, and Voil'a, jackpots skyrocket without a penny more in dollars actually available to a lump sum winner.

Cute.  You couldn't get by with such a shell game.  Neither could I.  But when you and I do smoke and mirrors scams involving get-rich-quick schemes the authorities have a name for it. 

Fraud.

But we're so used to those kinds of behaviors, on an admittedly smaller scale, from Powerball and Mega Millions that we'll all just raise our heads and gaze a moment, then go back to grazing.

It honestly isn't a big deal.  Some small actual increases might happen in the lump sum amounts, which is all that matters.  My thought is the two higher white balls will actually be an improvement, because they've increased the second tier prizes and will pay for them in real non-illusory dollars.

I don't mind the change, one way or another on the main PB context.  It might translate to an improvement for most players, overall.  But I do appreciate it when a con-artist shouts from the rooftops what he is, exposes himself to the public in such a benign way. 

 

I interprete it as a a preview of coming attractions.  But when a car salesman begins his spiel with, "Now, I'm not precisely a liar and a thief.  But you can't believe a word I tell you unless you examine every word through a microscope.  Here, let me tell you about this car over here.  Then I've got a REALLY nice one to show you."

It's difficult to find fault with that.

I do regret what they've done with the multiplier, Powerplay.  I think they've made a mistake, even from their own perspective.  That one was a big money maker and a seriously lousy option for any player who wasn't a fairly consistent winner.  I suppose they just think if people are stupid enough to buy Powerplay with the multiplier almost always 5X, they'll still be stupid enough to buy it with the chances being roughly equal between 5X and 2X.  And it will keep them from having to give away so much money on those rare occasions when players hit anything the multiplier pays for.

In my case, they'll be correct, though less frequently and fewer times.  Unless I'm AWFULLY certain of my numbers I'm not going to pay a dollar for a possibility for a 2X multiplier on a dollar ticket.

All in all, however, I'm fairly pleased with the changes.  I do like those two new white balls in the mix, I can live without Powerplay, and the rest is merely Powerball officials taking this opportunity to announce to the world that they can't be trusted.

A win/win situation any way you cut it.

Jack

 

 

 

 

 

This little drama happened a few minutes ago in the front yard:

 

You bloggers narrowly missed seeing a cat learn a one in a lifetime lesson about who's okay to hunt, and who a cat is far better off only pretending to hunt.

Jack

 

I see on one of the threads that another major hurricane's stalking around in the Gulf of Mexico .... threatening New Orleans at the moment.  Brings to mind a lot of strange memories.

One of my careers of this lifetime was spent as State Floodplain Manager for New Mexico... wore another hat with it toward the end, Emergency Management Coordinator with a bit of disaster preparedness thrown in.  I was paid on annual grants to the State by the Federal Emergency Management Agency.  Spent a lot of time off in Emmitsburg, MD, New Orleans, Galveston, Oklahoma City, etc.

I suppose the thing that impressed me most during those years was how thoroughly we've boxed ourselves in with regards to natural disasters.  The Gulf Coast filled with people, then pumped out all the petroleum from underneath, so's to cause the entire region to subside beneath the waves, if not kept out by the intervention of man.  The last time I looked the San Jacinto Monument was threatened.  From the top of that spire you could look around and see nothing but submerged streets that used to be high and dry.

In riverine areas the erosion of banks is undercutting whole neighborhoods inland along rivers almost everywhere if they have any flow.  In California, they've built so heavily in wildfire, mudslide and earthquake areas that every tremor assures an enormous amount of damage.

And on and on.

During those sessions at the National Emergency Management Training Center, Emmitsburg, MD, guys in the same job I was in from all the States gathered a week or two at a time.  Evenings we used to sing an old Kingston Trio song:

THE KINGSTON TRIO  - "The Merry Minuet"

(Sheldon Harnick)

They're rioting in Africa.
They're starving in Spain.
There's hurricanes in Florida
And Texas needs rain.
The whole world is festering with unhappy souls.
The French hate the Germans.
The Germans hate the Poles.
Italians hate Yugoslavs.
South Africans hate the Dutch
And I don't like anybody very much!
But we can be tranquil and thankful and proud
For man's been endowed with a mushroom shaped cloud.
And we know for certain that some lovely day
Someone will set the spark off
And we will all be blown away.

They're rioting in Africa.
There's strife in Iran.
What nature doesn't do to us
Will be done by our fellow man.
 

I suppose that just about says it all, except nature doesn't do it, precisely.  We do it to ourselves.  We build in subsidence areas, riverine flooding areas, earthquake areas, coastal hurricane areas, mudslide and wildfire areas, and we feel fairly put out when it floods, shakes, slides, burns.

But there's always the president to declare it a disaster, throw in a river of taxpayer money so we can build again in the same location.

Until next time.

Jack

 

 

 

 

Someone sent me this in an email:

MY LEFT FOOT:

"I've got my foot back," says Ezekiel Rubottom, 21, of Lawrence, Kan. "That's all I wanted." After it was amputated due to a bone infection, Rubottom kept his left foot in a bucket of formaldehyde
on his front porch, but police confiscated it because "We had to make sure that no crime had been committed," a police spokesman said. But they returned it after "verifying" it was his by looking at his medical records, which noted his recent amputation. (Lawrence Journal-World) ...You'd think it would have been easier to "verify" it was his by looking at the end of his leg.

The story brought to mind the annual hoopla and chest-pounding over at Acoma Pueblo.  Happens every year, whenever Fiesta begins to crank up, the Acoma feels the need to remind whites that around 1620, the Spanish Governor pulled some serious ugliness on the tribe.

Onate, first governor of New Mexico, visited the sky city while he was doing a rudimentary re-conquest establishing the Spanish presence here.  Acoma tribe didn't precisely welcome the Spaniards with open arms, but they did accept them and promised to be governed by them.

Onate left a few soldiers and some priests with them, obviously taking them at their word.

The seat of government was at San Juan Pueblo, north of present-day Santa Fe.  So it took a bit of time before Onate got word the Acoma had killed his soldiers and priests, dropping them off a cliff.

The short version of what happened next is that Onate announced he couldn't be forever going over there recovering the mutilated corpses of his soldiers and priests, that something needed to be done to engrave it on the minds of the new subjects of New Spain that he meant business.

He pronounced that the left foots were to be removed from every man in the tribe who was present when the killing of the soldiers and priests happened.  He sentenced every woman of the tribe to twenty years of servitude.  He put all the chillerns of the tribe into servitude until adulthood.

Harsh treatment by any standard.

I suppose I'd like the Acoma better if they didn't feel the need to be reminding everyone of all this as though it happened last year, as though it happened to someone they know.

The world's a tough place today, though usually not as tough as that.  Janet Reno didn't have the foots removed from David Koresh and his crew, when they got cheeky.  She just spang burned them up and got it over with, which seems to me a more reasonable way of dealing with matters of this sort. 

But, of course, they hadn't killed, hadn't been convicted of breaking any laws, so I suppose it's right they got more leniency.  Not a good comparison, actually.

But this business of dredging up things that happened to ancestors of ours hundreds of years ago as a reminder that it somehow came down the pike of generations until now somehow we've ourselves been mistreated strikes me as an unhealthy view of reality.

We've almost certainly all had things done to our ancestors ..... things that just weren't right.  But those things didn't happen to us.  We were born naked, fresh start and all that. 

When we point to a group of people over there, Italians, say, and we say, "Those dirty skunk Romans enslaved my ancestors," or point at people of the Northern persuasion and say, "You guys killed two of my Great great granddads and eighteen of my great great uncles with all your high and mighty burning and raping of the old South,"..... fact is, you'd be right in saying, yeah, we did.  And that Great great grandma of yours was some fine lady, too....... but that didn't happen to you Jack.  You were born naked.  You started fresh.

Jack

 

 

 

It might be it’s impossible.

It might be as someone’s suggested, a part of Chaos Theory.

Or, maybe we just assume too much. Maybe we aren’t looking closely enough, but with enough distance to appreciate what we’re seeing.

I approach the numbers and understanding their behavior in much the way I approach research and searching for the Lost Adams Diggings. The product of decades of that activity has caused me to do my best to avoid assumptions. I always try to go back to the basics, see for myself, rather than trust that others found, whether it’s documents, or an easily overlooked side-canyon.

I’ve found that, no matter how many people are evidenced to have been into a canyon before me, there’s a lot they’ve overlooked. Probably, the people who search there after me will also find a lot I’ve overlooked.

I suspect the same is true with number behavior.

An example, among the many involving the Adams Diggings, came a while back. A treasure hunter sent me the following picture:

He was sure he’d found the Adams Diggings, based on what he’d seen from an airplane and photographed.

He’d even been there on the ground, but hadn’t performed a lot of the basic tests to discover where there was anything there.

I examined the photos he sent more closely.

 

I was seeing signs of a lot of human activity.  Trails, tailings piles, possibly an arrastra (crusher), and maybe an enormous sluicebox.  I asked him how these appeared on the ground, or maybe in his other photos.  I sent him the one above, and these to illustrate what I wanted to know about:

 

I also had some questions about this picture that was taken from the ground near a 'secret' entrance to the canyon:

 That's not the entrance he used, evidently he hadn't even noticed it, that cavity about 1 oclock in the picture.  But here's a closer look:

Look in the lower right in the shadow.  Specifically, look at the carcass of a truck there:

This man is an experienced, long--seasoned bush pilot and treasure hunter.  He had every opportunity to see all this, but he missed it.

It can happen to anyone, to me, to all of us.  We begin by making assumptions, build on those assumptions, and our eyes sometimes close to what's right in front of them.

I believe the same thing might be happening to most of us in trying to understand the behavior of numbers and lotteries.

Jack

 

 

 

I've been remiss lately, not giving you what you obviously visit blogs to see.  Blood and guts.

But the cats are partly to blame.  I've managed to cut them loose from their prey a lot during the last while, lizards and small snakes they hadn't done a clean kill on, critters that could be turned loose with some hope of a future life this time around, a life much improved for having won a jackpot.

But I don't free rodents.  Wouldn't have had a chance to do so if I'd wanted to.  So one cat's a happy camper this dawn.

With all the young coyotes training out in this immediate vicinity she's probably not going to see much of this on the market, though if she's not cunning and careful, she might become the thing there on the ground.

Jack

 

Overdraft:

From the Powerball site.

$93.4M Winner Comes Forward!

 A master sergeant assigned to the 58th Training Squadron at Kirtland Air Force Base in Albuquerque, New Mexico has claimed a $93.4 million Powerball jackpot.

John San Cartier correctly matched all six numbers drawn on August 10. San chose the $52.2 million lump-sum option. After federal withholding taxes of 25 percent and state withholding taxes of six percent, he will receive a one-time wire transfer of approximately $36 million. The winning numbers were 13-31-36-38-49 and the Powerball was 2

I'd have sworn that check says 93.4 Million.

Needing to get these glasses checked.

Jack

 

If I ever write another book, Mel King will have to occupy a few chapters of it.  I’ve mentioned him a few times on this blog, but mostly, I’ve not been able to write much about him at all.  I’m still digesting what happened to him.

On one of the threads recently the discussion drifted to the War on Drugs.  I suppose if I’d never met Mel I probably wouldn’t thought much about that issue, would never have bothered to form an opinion about it. 

But in many ways, Mel was a product of that war, from the time it began during the Reagan Administration, he was one of the adversaries.  It changed him from a small-time marijuana growing woods-vet to a wealthy man.  It involved him in a major felony arrest, confiscation of much of his property, the mysterious death of a police officer, repeatedly on America’s Most Wanted television series, and constant harassment by the FBI, State Police and local police for the remainder of his life.

They wanted to believe he killed a Mountainair, NM, police officer because it was the only construction of the facts that didn’t expose the rotten core of the War on Drugs.  Shortly before he was murdered in December, 2004, he showed me an anonymous, hand-written letter accusing him of killing the policeman and threatening to come balance it all.

It’s time I began writing down a few things about Mel King anyway.

Mel King was a major, financially successful marijuana grower and large-scale broker in New Mexico for many years.  During that time he was also a long-term heroin addict.  (He first became addicted to morphine while in the hospital recovering from wounds he got in the Marine Corps in Vietnam).  The only way Mel got away with what he was doing for so many years was by being considered a complete maniac, and by making certain the authorities got their fair share of the proceeds.  He drove around in a VW van with bullet-holes in the windshield from the inside

When he got busted in 1987, with 150 pounds in his house it was because he made himself too big a nuisance to be allowed to go on.  He was attracting too much attention.

But even so, he never came to trial.  That 150 pounds of high-grade vanished from the evidence lockers.  The empty bags with his evidence numbers on them were found in the home of the policeman who made the initial stop during his arrest.  But someone murdered that policeman, probably for the marijuana, which is how they happened to find the empty evidence bags.

While he was in jail awaiting bail, Mel resolved to turn his life around.  He freed himself from heroin and when he was released he started a successful furniture business, did his best to stay clean for the remainder of his life.  Succeeded in being a trustworthy, successful man and one of the best friends I've ever had.

During the years I knew him, Mel was a deeply spiritual man.  He was honest, guileless, hard-working, sincere, courageous, and in many ways, wise.  We prospected a lot of canyons together, talked of many things over campfires listening to the wind in the pines.  He was also my partner during Y2K.

Mel and I disagreed on many things, but he believed, as I do, that he knew what happens to a man when he dies.  He never feared death and he never believed he’d done anything in this life to give him any reason to fear it.

I believe he was right.

Jack

Another place you might double-check your picks as a last step in the process.

PB last night:

9 11 26 35 51 32

These single digits:

9 1 2 6 3 5

Yesterday Mid-day pick 3 and pick 4s

8 8 7 
9 8 6 1 
   
6 9 8 
1 9 6 2 
   
9 8 8 
7 3 5 4 
   
0 9 0 
0 5 1 6 

1 7 4 
8 6 4 6 

0 9 0 
0 5 1 6 

4 3 3 
3 5 4 9 

1 3 7 
7 4 1 1 

7 7 8 
5 7 7 6 

4 8 7 
8 4 9 5 

0 2 1 
9 2 3 9 

0 4 6 7 
1 1 6 2 
2 2 7 1 
8 7 0 8 

4 7 7 6 
2 6 9 

4 2 3 
7 6 9 0 

9 3 6 

4 4 6 6
9 7 7

Number of times last nights PB draw white balls appeared exactly in the mid-day pick 3 and pick 4s:  

9  14
11  2
26  2
35  2
51  2
32 RB  0

RB transposed:
 
23  2

This isn't back tested.  I'd suggest doing a lot of it before you try to use it.

Jack