Last Thursday, I skulked out of the office at 3:30, peeking around each corner as I neared the exit, only to run into the boss in the parking lot. Figures.

It was five days out from Grand River's marquee event, Industry Day, and I really had no business skipping out early. But, I had tickets to see Coldplay at the Rogers Center, so after a few awkward pauses at my car, I was gleefully away.

The show was amazing — 45,000 people, and I think my friend Jeff and I were the loudest of all. (Jeff is a very talented host for the Woodbine T-Bred show, but a really lousy singer. Can't have it all.) Like any truly captivating experience, time flew by and we were mildly dismayed to arrive at the end.

Two hours of bliss later, we were herded through the lobbies, shuffling slowly to the exits. Fifteen minutes of slow progress, and I suddenly realized I had left my jacket on my seat. Brilliant.

Still electric from the energy of the show, and loathing the thought of weaving back through the crowds, I popped past security and re-entered the stadium.

Gasp! The spell was broken. The band had long since gone, of course, but in the glare of the real-world lights, the stage was already dismantled and the four massive screens packed away. I was overcome with irrational disdain for the clean-up crew. Dozens of them in yellow shirts buzzed about like super-efficient worker bees, carting away my last remnants of this breathtaking event.

Driving home, I had lots of time to ponder my silly reaction (thanks to the LUDICROUS amount of construction zones on the 401, thank-you MTO). I perhaps obsess about these feelings more than most because my job is to market harness racing and host events. In doing so, I often compare my own uber-excitement to the desired outcome in my job. I concluded that my disappointment about glimpsing behind-the-scenes was simply a testament to the power of the show.

For example, when Chris Martin cursed playfully on stage, the crowd giggled and cheered. They found it endearing, probably because it furthered their conviction that despite his demigod status, he's just a regular schmoe like them — someone they could grab a beer with after the show. Of course, that would never happen, but just the delusion of it furthers their affection. Whether Chris Martin realizes the same is irrelevant. In the end, it's a lot of power, and smart bands/businesses like Coldplay leverage power to make smart marketing manoeuvres.

Truthfully, it's now the day before Industry Day; I've had more caffeine than sleep, and I'm definitely rambling, but I think there's still a point in here somewhere . . .

I think it goes like this: On the heels of my track's own major event, the Coldplay concert was a nice reminder of how potent an experience can be when large crowds of people gather with a common love.

Racing festivals and events should be staged with the same intent as concerts: to instill and/or further a passion for the product that will keep it in their minds (and wallets) for the rest of the year. To do that, you must really penetrate their psyches with tactics both overt and covert: make them ooh-and-ahh at the sophisticated video displays, but also cry with the well-placed crowd sing-alongs, and laugh with the occasional casual swear word.

There are racing-related translations for these elements, but they'll have to wait for another blog entry.

In the meantime, I would be remiss if I didn't urge you to join us at Grand River Raceway for Industry Day this Monday. It's gonna rock — and hey, it's a horse race, so the odds are pretty good that there will be some casual cursing involved! : )