Chapter 4 - Is Racing Honest?

About the surest thing in horseracing is to wager that a man, seeing a race for the first time, will be handing out inside tips by the time the fifth race rolls around. And he probably will end up playing them himself and be astonished when he goes broke.

The next surest thing is to bet that of any 100 persons stopped on the street, 95 will say that racing is not entirely honest and that four of the other five probably will hedge with some qualification such as: "It's probably honest most of the time."

Racing must put most of the blame upon itself for the general feeling that a track is little more than a mile oval roulette table which somehow can be manipulated by those in the "know." The average person, seeing little or no publicity about racing, often is surprised that it is regarded as a sport.

His principal knowledge about racing comes from stories of fabulous winnings in the Irish sweepstakes or about the man or woman who stuck a hatpin through a program and came up with a $4,000 "daily double."

The movies and television have convinced many persons that races are decided the night before in some smoke-filled hotel room where thugs stand guard over the kidnapped child of a track official or horse owner. He is warned by telephone that Old Baldy's number better be up there on the board or else.

Sometimes the theme is varied and a couple of jockeys sneak into the back room of a pool parlor and there, in husky whispers, lay the plot for a little bit of double crossing. A good jockey these days can earn more than the President of the United States, and why the movies believe several such fellows would sneak into a pool room to plan a "sell out" might make the subject of a better movie than the original version.

Movie patrons also are all too familiar with the story of grandpa who owns one horse and who must keep on the move to avoid his creditors. His granddaughter keeps watch over both man and horse as they prepare for the big $100,000 race. With feed dealers refusing to supply any more oats and with the roof of their stable home leaking, the old man can no longer watch his horse stand and shiver so he takes to drink and doesn't sober up until he gets a call to come to the stewards' office to pick up the $100,000 check. For the dear granddaughter was busy while the old gentleman was out. She persuaded the stewards to accept a late fee, convinced a top-flight jockey that her granddad's horse was a shoo in and then stood at the rail to sing to him to spur him on.

One of these days a movie producer will visit a race track and this old plot will collapse. Because he will see that "it's not life or death" in a $100,000 race since the second horse will receive $20,000 or $25,000. That's a lot of money and it can be converted into a lot of hay.

The newcomer to racing often is surprised not only to find it is considered a sport but also that it is supervised more meticulously than any other sport. In fact, racing rules are probably more stringent than the regulations governing any other sport.

This quest for honesty does not stem entirely from the tracks spirit of good will and good fellowship toward the little $2 bettor. A track these days is a gold mine and with millions at stake, operators, indeed, would be foolish to wink at any dealings that might kill the goose that is laying the golden eggs.

Before the horse steps out of his stall on race day, he is subjected to more examinations than a 60-year-old man applying for a $200,000 life insurance policy. The track officials want to be sure not only that he is himself and not a horse of another color but also that he has had nothing stronger for breakfast than water and oats. Paddock judges again inspect the horse before the race to make certain he is the same horse described on his social security card. They don't want Speedy Jim to flash across the finish line at good odds when the horse actually entered was old Hoof Beats. Since no way has been found as yet to take a horse's hoofprints, the tracks have done the next best thing—they have tattooed the horse's identification into his lips so that even the most absent-minded owner now has no excuse for trying to palm off one horse as another creature.

Men and cameras are trained on the horses constantly until they are back in the barn again. Patrol judges keep lonely vigils around the track to see that every horse and rider conducts himself as becomes the sport of kings and two-dollar bettors. Placing judges are given mechanical help through cameras that photograph the finish. And saliva and urine tests after the race betray if by chance the horse stopped along the back stretch and got his second wind from a drugstore.

Hope burns just as high in the chests of the boys who like to look for short cuts as it does in the two-buck bettor. With such tremendous sums at stake, now and then something not recommended by Hoyle does slip past. But only in the movies do shadowy characters meet behind the stables to fix a race. At a real track, trying to fix a race would involve dealing with so many owners, trainers, jockeys, stable hands, track officials and others that the fixers would need the key to Fort Knox to pay off. And then they might find that the party most concerned —the horse—failed to run according to script.

For the thoroughbred is just about the most temperamental bit of flesh on earth. A race horse is subject to more whims and moods than a big businessman with an ulcer and shattered nerves. When an owner has "one of those days" he can stay in bed and wait for the sun to come up again. The horse, with no choice about whether he races or not, is apt to make his protest by sulking or by running a dull or erratic race.

If the horse should rise and shine on race day, filled with the zest of good living, he may change his mind at the post. The saddle girth may be too tight or too loose. The jockey may sit too far up on the horse or he may not sit up far enough. The horse may shy slightly just as the starting gates open and that may cost him so much yardage he can never make it up.

The jockey may apply the whip and the horse may not want to be whipped this time. The jockey may let the horse settle into his stride too slowly, or the jockey may try to bring him along too fast. A blowing piece of paper or a white shirt may scare the horse. A jostle or bump may throw him off stride and cost him the race. Since there is little more than a minute of action in many races, one slight mistake by either horse or jockey can cost the race.

Once the horse flashes first across the finish line, he still can lose. He may have bumped or crowded other horses and thus be disqualified. His jockey may have committed an unsportsmanlike act and again, the horse's number is taken down.

Paradoxically, as racing keeps attracting more fans and as total betting soars higher and higher into the stratosphere, the sport continues to receive little space in the sports sections of most newspapers.

Metropolitan papers do print entries and results from all major tracks, but smaller papers may never mention racing except for a few stories on such extravaganzas as the Kentucky Derby. Even then most sports editors show their lack of understanding of racing with such headlines: "Three-year-old wins Kentucky Derby." They fail to grasp that the banner really would be news if a three-year-old did not win because only three-year-olds are permitted in the race.

Many papers which do print entries and results do not embellish them with stories but print the list "straight," just like the bare box score in baseball. There are a number of reasons for this silence.

In the first place, tracks themselves are so sensitive to criticism and to fear of "reform" movements that they seem happy to abandon the sports pages by default. They have no publicity bureaus sending out streams of gossip, chatter, and informative tidbits such as pour forth from the typewriters of publicists for baseball, football, boxing and other sports. The tracks seem to feel that if there is no mention of racing, no one will get the idea of attacking it.

Some of this default, however, stems from the apparent indifference of the tracks toward providing fans with the equivalent of "stove league" gossip. Baseball thrives on such manufactured stories as whether Slugger Tom will turn in his bat after this season, whether Speed-ball Bill's arm will come back, or whether Manager Jonas will be given the bum's rush before the team comes back for its next home stand. Let a rookie show some form in his first game, and sports writers will thrash their typewriters to get out predictions that here is the outstanding choice for the title of Rookie of the Year. Tomorrow, the rookie strikes out and the writers just as gleefully as they extolled his virtues now proceed to bury him beneath salty prose.

Racing has no such enthusiastic press corps. With the exception of the specialized racing papers, there are few full time turf writers. And with some 20,000 thoroughbreds—including those dignified more with the title than with ability—writers can never hope to cope with "personalities." Thus Ragged Ann which races today at Pimlico is shipped away to Chicago and there is no one to record her going in the public prints. Or Sheriffs Delight injures a hoof and is shipped to the farm, but again the horse must slink away in silence.

There is no dressing room color about jockeys except on the few occasions when tempers flare and one jockey slashes another rider, but the gash must be deep and bloody before it makes news. The trainer, who is extolled in song and fiction, seldom sees his name in a regular newspaper.

Only the movies seem to have remembered racing as they go about making and re-making the old wheeze about the horse whose daring courage in the stretch foils the villain just as he is stepping on the porch to foreclose the mortgage. Most movie fans can go back for another box of popcorn when the race starts because they know they won't miss a thing. To make the old story more palatable, the movies always send to the post a few heavies who dope horses, slug owners, kidnap jockeys, maim trainers and even threaten the sultry blonde who helps prepare the horse for the big race while her invalid father sips another mint julep to ease his suffering.

The baseball or football fan, wherever he may be, can vicariously enjoy his sport through the eyes and ears of the writers. The turf fan who lives in a state which does not permit racing or who lives in a distant section of a state which does have one or two tracks, has little chance for vicarious thrills. He can't even hold post-mortems with another fan on yesterday's results like baseball zanies do, for such talk may be an admission that he has been consorting with those illegal wizards of odds—the bookmakers.

A newspaper in a state which has no racing seldom sees the wisdom of using any white paper to tell what went on in the tracks around the nation. Besides, it too might be self-conscious that the forces of righteousness and goodness are pointing an accusing finger in its direction.

As a result, the little publicity that racing does get comes with a dollar mark attached. A track that sets a new wagering record or which has a daily double that pays off in telephone numbers may get some space the next day. But a little story that an ordinary housewife, who handicaps by sticking a hatpin into a program, has hit a $2,000 daily double is not going to convince anybody that racing is a sport.

A Chicago paper once put on a handicapping contest in which contestants were to make selections for the eight races at a Chicago track. A man in a small town downstate picked seven of the eight winners. He sent in his entries in the name of his wife who was a prominent church worker. Many in the town raised an eyebrow at such a pastime for a church worker, but within a week she had received nearly 5,000 letters from all over the United States begging her to disclose her system.

Every now and then a "fast one" does slip by and makes news. Over in England, a betting clique made a fortune in 1955 by substituting a ringer for a mediocre horse. All the group's wagering was with bookies in northern England, and then the plotters nipped the telephone wires to prevent the bookies from laying off the wagers with commission houses in other parts of the country. That would have been a tip-off that the horse was "hot" and would have invoked suspicion.

Merrie old England, which likes its horse racing also to be cricket, called in Scotland Yard, security officers and just about everybody except Sherlock Holmes in an effort to run down those who put a stain on the white escutcheon of racing.

In the United States, the old shell game of substituting a good horse for a poor one, is just about played out. Once in a while an owner or trainer, usually at a minor track, is suspended for spurring on his horse with some beverage that contains a hop as well as a kick.

Jockeys, too, are grounded now and then for trying some short cuts. A Canadian jockey checking in at an Ohio track brought along his sister. Before the jockey had a chance to accept a mount, he was thrown out for possessing a buzzer—a battery device that scares a horse out of a year's growth and makes him head for shelter with the best speed possible. The sister was carrying the buzzer in her handbag, and jockey, sister and the public still are wondering how track detectives caught on so soon.

Practically every time a long shot wins, someone goes home with the conviction that the race was "fixed." The bettor who picked him believes it was "science," but those who wagered on the beaten favorite are certain the stewards should look into the situation.

Owners, except those in the sport purely as an obligation of being a gentleman, expect their horses to earn their keep and also to return a profit. When an owner acquires a new horse, either by purchase or by having one of those he bred come of racing age, his trainer sits down and has a heart-to-heart talk with the animal. There is much more to it than carting the horse off to the races and letting him fend for himself.

The trainer finds out if the horse is a sprinter or a route runner. A sprinter usually has speed and stamina to carry him about six furlongs. A route runner may do his best in races of a mile and an eighth or longer.

About the only way the trainer can be sure is to try out the horse in sprints and distance races. But this simple method is complicated by both track conditions and the type of opposition the horse must face.

Few horses are in the "big time." All the horses, for example, that run in the Kentucky Derby do not turn out to be "big leaguers." It comes as a shock to many owners to learn that the horse for which they paid a stiff entry fee to have him run in the Derby is really not "big league" but probably no better than Class A.

The 20,000 race horses in the country come in all assorted sizes and abilities. To obtain some degree of uniformity, different types of races have been set up including weight for age stakes, stakes, handicaps, allowances, graded allowances and claiming races. Each classification is an attempt to bring together horses of about the same caliber so that the race is closely contested. Fans would not come out many times to see a race if one or two horses ran away and hid from the others. It would be like the Yankee outfield suddenly showing up on a Three-Eye league team.

Most of the horses run in claiming races. Any horse in a claiming race can be obtained by any person who puts up the claiming price before the race. Most tracks, however, restrict claims to those who have horses running at that track.

If an owner wants to claim a horse which is running for $3,000 he deposits the $3,000 with the racing secretary before the race. As soon as he does, the horse belongs to him but will not be delivered until after the race.

Any purse the horse wins belongs to the original owner. But anything that happens to the horse during the race is the tough luck of the new owner.

In Florida, four men entered a claim for the same horse. They drew lots to decide who got him. During the race, the horse broke a leg and had to be destroyed. The new owner not only lost his money but also had to pay $25 to have the carcass removed.

Trainers out to win a purse may maneuver for the right spot as subtly as they can without incurring official displeasure. A workout is never as satisfactory as actual racing conditions. If the horse prefers a route, the trainer may drop him into a sprint to "sharpen" him up. Or he may enter the horse at an inflated claiming price which means the horse will be required to carry more weight.

If the horse's performance satisfies the trainer, he may drop him down with the right company and at the right distance and hope for the best. Every time a horse wins he usually incurs a penalty of additional weight to carry unless he is stepped up in class. The trainer will step him up a few races just to get the extra weight off through losing some races. When the trainer feels the weight assigned now suits the horse, he cuts the rip cord and lets him go.

All of this "maneuvering" by horse and trainer is not dishonest nor is it as simple as it sounds. In the first place, if a horse wins a $3,000 claiming race who can blame the trainer who feels the animal might do well at $4,000 or $5,000? Some horses have gone up through the ranks of platers (as horsemen call "claimers") to compete in handicaps. It's about the same principle as in baseball. The player who is breaking down all the fences in a Class C league seems ready for stiffer company. He keeps moving up until he either reaches the major leagues or until he finds the company is too fast for him.

Besides, an owner who claims a horse for $3,000 Doesn’t want to risk losing him at the same price the next time out. So he may run him at $4,000 to discourage other haltermen from grabbing him.

Track officials are no better judges of horse flesh than trainers and owners. A track official can't tell an owner that his horse does not belong in $3,000, $4,000 or $5,000 company. Or that the horse must not be entered in a sprint or at a distance less than a mile and an eighth. It would be like the baseball commissioner telling a club manager that a particular player cannot be in the lineup if a certain pitcher is on the mound for the opposition.

Past performances are available to the fan who buys a racing paper. He can see at a glance under what conditions the horse has been racing and then make his own decision.

The old saw about a trainer "prepping for a spot" makes better reading than seeing. A trainer may sharpen up his horse with a particular race in mind. But three other trainers may have their eyes on the same spot. Or the race may be an upset because a mediocre horse suddenly decided that day to burn up the track, much as an ordinary baseball player will have a day in which he makes sensational catches and drives the ball out of the park.

Horses, too, have their day. When Assault won the Kentucky Derby, nothing on four legs without a motor could have caught him that day. Two months later, a milk wagon horse would have beaten him as he finished last in the Arlington Classic.

Owners and trainers do not operate in secrecy. The horses must go on the track for a workout for they can't run and chin themselves in the barn for exercise. Clockers for racing papers and betting groups line the rail like espionage agents in some movie spy drama. The clockers must recognize the horse in the nude for it carries no numbers and the boy on his back will be wearing a sweat shirt instead of identifying silks. Then, the docker must guess from which pole the horse will be let loose. The horse may gallop a considerable distance before he gets down to work.

The docker who recognizes the horse and clicks him at the right start still must figure out if the horse made the run "breezing," "handily," "under wraps," or "all out."

Some horses are "morning glories." They burn up the track in their morning workouts but show listless form in a race. They might not like the pressure of competition or the crowding on the track.

Other horses, like some athletes, see no point in extending themselves in practice. Their morning workouts may be dull, but when the bell rings, the starting gate opens and the crowd cheers, they get down to business.

Despite the overall supervision of the Jockey Club, the vigilance of track officials and the mechanical aids developed to check on racing, many fans persist in believing it is dishonest. Their views ebb and flow with the tides of their own personal fortunes. The man on the way to the cashier's window probably will agree that racing is scrupulously honest. The man who is tearing up his ticket probably will be ready to believe anything except that he made an error in horse judgment.

The racing fan, as he goes about the business of tracking down elusive winners, need not frustrate himself in worrying over the honesty of the sport. With a gold mine at stake, the question is best stated another way:

"How could tracks afford to be dishonest?"

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