Looking at the guy in front of me who was half of my head covered in blood but smiled at me, Rulun would never associate him with a gambling tycoon.

In both the appearance and the temperament that the guy exudes from his whole body, he is simply a gangster, at most a high-level gangster.

"Mr. Corleon, everyone said that you were good at filming, but you didn't expect that you were so skillful." Anderson Sheldon looked at me and smiled happily.

The old housekeeper next to him called and began to wrap his head around him, but Anderson didn't seem to take it seriously at all.

"Mr. Sheldon, I'm really embarrassed to smash you." Seeing that I was so polite, I became soft-mouthed, after all, I made me like this.

Anderson Sheldon didn't mind at all and smiled at me, "Mr. Corleon, it's my glory and glory to be hit by you."

Hahahaha, several people laughed at each other.

The VIP seat, which was filled with smoke just now, became peaceful.

"Anderson, why did you come to Los Angeles? Don't you hate the West the most?" Coolidge asked looking at Anderson.

Anderson shrugged and said, "Uncle Calvin, I'm kicking out this for my dad, otherwise I wouldn't have run to the west."

Listening to Anderson's words, I was a little confused. After all, I didn't know this person at all.

Coolidge seemed to see that I was quite interested in this guy, so he turned to me and said, "Andrey, Anderson's father, Sheldon, is my close friend in college, no, it should be said that he is the best friend. When we were in school, we did all the bad things happening in school, such as scaring the teacher in the middle of the night, peeking at girls taking a bath and putting snakes into their rooms, are all our masterpieces."

"Later, our reputation was so great that we were targeted by the school. Then when we were doing a bad thing, we were caught on the spot. The school was very angry and wanted to expel us. You must know that my father was very strict with me at that time. If he knew that I was expelled, he would probably use his hunting rifle to blow my head. Sheldon stood up and took all the responsibility for me. He was expelled by the school, and I would continue to stay in the school."

"It can be said that without Sheldon, I would not have been President of the United States. Of course, it would not have been Calvin Coolidge today."

Coolidge was caught in a meeting about young life, and his tone was more of a hint of pride and nostalgia than a feeling.

"Uncle Calvin stayed in school and changed his mind. After he came out, he became a lawyer and became the president of the United States. After my father was fired, he ran to the east to hang out. He started from a gangster on the street, started with a small underground gambling house, and now he has become the largest gambling tycoon in the United States." Anderson Sheldon looked at Coolidge, looked at me again, and grinned.

"Andre, don't underestimate the Sheldon family. Now 80% of the share of the American gambling industry is in their hands. Everything related to gambling will definitely be marked by the Sheldon family. Even with horse racing, the Sheldon family controls the entire eastern racecourse." Coolidge pointed at Anderson Sheldon and squeezed his eyes at me.

Anderson Sheldon laughed and said, "Mr. Corleon, I am the one who manages the family's horse racing industry now. I never watched horse racing in the west before, so today I made an exception."

"Anderson, why don't you watch the Western Horse Racing?" I frowned.

Anderson clapped his hands and said, "Mr. Corleon, don't be afraid of you being angry. For us Easterners, especially those engaged in horse racing, we are simply ashamed to mention Western horse racing. In the east, if someone says there are horse racing in the west, they will be laughed to death by others."

"In the eyes of the Easterners, the Westerners are just rustic buns, and they can't be too rustic. Your cowboy hat is so ugly. When doing things, they do not have any gentlemanly demeanor, reckless, or roughness. This is what the Easterners think of you Westerners. Especially horse racing, this sport has always been regarded as one of the most elegant sports. In the racecourse in the eastern region, the competition places are all upper-class people. Their horse racing are all horses of the purest blood of Europe. These horses are tall and beautiful, and the riders are also the best riders. Many of them are knighted people, dressed carefully, and all the equipment in the horse racing field are extremely exquisite. Such horse racing is simply a gentleman show."

"Look at your westerners' horse racing. Choose a flat ground, erect a few wooden rails, build a circle of walls with stones, and pull a few bad horses. A group of people wearing jeans, cowboy hats, smoking tobacco and spitting for weeks have gathered around and shouting and yelling. This is not a horse racing, it is clearly a blasphemy to this noble sport."

"So, the Easterners will not talk about horse racing with the Westerners at all, they will not watch their horse racing, nor do they care about their horse racing. Of course, the Easterners will never talk about horse racing in the Westerners."

Although Anderson's words were very concise, they basically explained the spiritual differences between the living styles of East and West, especially the horse racing.

Hahahaha. Coolidge and I looked at each other and started laughing while shaking our heads.

Anderson Sheldon looked at us, with a puzzled look on his face.

"Why, you two don't believe what I said?" Anderson Sheldon frowned and said to me, "Mr. Corleon, do you think you can hold this St. Moses horse racing with such a high bonus. How many Easterners have participated so far?"

"And your canned food is now very prestigious in the United States and the people like it very much. But how many professional horse racing people are willing to compete with your canned food? No. No one will do this. Believe me." Anderson Sheldon patted his shoulder.

I laughed so hard that tears were almost flowing out, and said, "Anderson, I believe what you said. I believe it, but I don't agree with you, and I'm very disappointed with you Easterners."

"Are you disappointed with us Easterners? Why?" Anderson showed a hint of mockery on his face.

I pointed to the westerners on the field and said to Anderson: "Anderson, what you said is true. We westerners are rude and not as gentleman as Easterners, but we are born like this. The west is vast, with vast grasslands, and next doors that can’t be seen at a glance. There is a tradition of hard struggle since the great migration. We are rude, but we are brave, straightforward, and love life. We do not have the hypocrisy, cunning and vanity of your Easterners."

"We show what we have in our hearts, never being artificial. Westerners have always been so straightforward and without any concealment. Take horse racing for example, you easterners have never experienced the true meaning of the horse racing ground."

"The real horse racing is not the kind of vanity you proclaimed about, which is piled up with money. Such a game cannot be called a horse racing at all, and the horses running in your racecourse are at best some pitiful walking dead without any passion."

"Look at these horses from our westerners, they may not be as beautiful as those of the race horses from your easterners, and they have the masculine spirit from nature, the desire for life and the desire for running!"

"Flying, surpassing, and running towards the light is the meaning of horse racing. You eastern people have not realized these at all."

I said these words and looked at Anderson Sheldon, who was dumbfounded, and smiled.

"good!"

"Mr. Corleon said it well!"

The westerners in the VIP seat all shouted loudly.

I said what they were thinking.

Papa, Anderson Sheldon clapped his hands and gave me a thumbs up: "Mr. Corleon. You are an artist, an absolute artist. The first time I have heard someone analyze horse racing so thoroughly. Your point of view is very inspiring. I take back what I just said."

Although this Anderson Sheldon looks like a playboy on the surface, he is straightforward and has no fancy things. So my impression of him is getting better and better.

Anderson walked up to me, pointed to the can on the field, warming up and said to me, "Mr. Corleon, do you know why I came to Santia?"

"Why? It's not for canning, right?" I narrowed my eyes.

Anderson licked his lips and said, "Since I came to the West, I have always heard people talk about cans on all kinds of occasions. At high-end cocktail parties, on the streets, in cafes, in parks, the elderly, children, men, and women, almost no one doesn't talk about them."

"At the beginning, I thought it was a very delicious canned food in the western region. Later, after I inquired, I found out that it was a horse, and it was a short, ugly but fast horse."

"I have never watched the western horse racing field, so I have become interested. So I'm here."

Anderson Sheldon looked at the cans on the field, shook his head, and showed a disagreeable look.

He really doesn't believe that canned food is a horse that can run over a thoroughbred racehorse.

"Anderson, have you ever seen the canned game?" I asked.

Anderson shook his head: "No. Actually, this is the first time I've seen your Westerners racing horses."

"Then you can watch it first. After you finish watching, you won't say that." I moved a chair and sat down.

Anderson Sheldon didn't say anything, and pulled a chair and sat down beside me, concentrating on the racetrack.

In the racecourse, after sufficient preparation, 20 horses lined up in a row.

The canned cans are ranked number one with bright red hoods. Whether it is the bright hood or its thin figure, they look so eye-catching among a bunch of tall horses.

"Mr. Corleon, those horses cans you to death with just one squeeze." Anderson joked.

I spread my hands and signaled him to look down.

The competition began with a gunshot. After the gunshot, the two horses shot out like rapid arrows.

In today's game, the performance of canned food is different from the previous ones. In the usual game, the canned food will retain its strength in the first few laps in the last two or three laps. But today, the canned food is like taking stimulant, with four short legs rotating desperately like a wheel, the huge tail is raised high, and the whole body bursts out with shocking power and speed like a large horsepower engine!

"I, my God!" A few minutes after the game began, Anderson Sheldon stood up suddenly, holding on to the railing with his hands tightly. His eyes were so open that the balls inside almost fell out.

"Mr. Corleon! Is this a horse?! God?! How did it do it! How could a horse in such a small field run so fast??" Anderson Sheldon danced and screamed in front of the VIP seat.

The competition was completely as expected. The 19 tall horses on the track were finally thrown behind by cans. When the cans passed the finish line, they threw the second place at least half a circle.

"Andre, the canned food is getting better and better. Now there is no horse in the west that is its opponent." Coolidge was overjoyed as the canned food in the winning place was proudly enjoying the runway.

"can!"

"can!"

The people waved their arms and cheered at the winning can, expressing their deepest love for the horse.

At this time, Anderson Sheldon was completely in a state of dementia.

"Mr. Corleon, is your horse sold? 10 million! I'll pay $10 million!" Anderson Sheldon looked at me, with a crazy light in his eyes.

I shook my head.

"I think it's too little?! Then it's 20 million! 20 million!" Anderson started to increase the price like a lunatic.

"Anderson, even if you pay 200 million, Andre won't sell it. Canned food is his lifeblood. In this world, except for his two precious sons and DreamWorks, the most important thing to him is this horse." Coolidge patted Anderson Sheldon's shoulder with a smile and cry.

"That's a pity! It's a pity! Such a good horse! Such a good horse!" Anderson Sheldon beat his chest and stamped his feet, and then murmured: "Those Eastern horse racing people did not see the magical posture of canning. It's a great regret! It's a pity!"

"It would be great if you Easterners could come over with horse racing and compete with cans, so they would have a new view of Western horse racing from now on." I said, walking down the VIP seat and coming to the track.

Anderson Sheldon followed me like a follower and ran down.

Walking to the can, I reached out and touched its body. The can closed my eyes with great pleasure.

"Mr. Corleon, can I touch it?" Anderson Sheldon said pitifully at me.

"Of course." I laughed silently.

Then, Anderson Sheldon, like a believer, saw God. He reached out his hand and touched the can with devout reverently, just like a hungry wolf seeing a fat lamb.

"Mr. Corleon, it's a pity to keep it in the west!" Anderson Sheldon said to me unwillingly.

I shrugged helplessly, "What can I do? The men from the east are not coming."

"Mr. Corleon, why are you waiting for them to come? They don't come, you can find them!" Anderson Sheldon looked at me and shook his head vigorously.

His words made Coolidge and I open our eyes wide.

Yes! If the Easterners don’t come, we can find them to come!

I don’t believe they will continue to turn a blind eye to their doorstep!

"Andre, Anderson is right! We can find it! This requires the can to go to the east, challenge the famous horses to step on them all under their feet. The can is not canned! It will become a legend!" Coolidge was also excited.

"Uncle Calvin is right! Mr. Corleon, if the can is taken to the east, it will definitely create a myth in the history of horse racing!" Anderson Sheldon grabbed my hand, his facial features twisted with excitement.

"But we are not familiar with horse racing in the east." I spread my hands.

Anderson Sheldon rolled his eyes and shouted at me: "Mr. Corleon, the one standing in front of you is a tycoon in the United States' horse racing industry! If I'm here, don't worry!"
To be continued...