It seems to me that when a horse travels well inside of 13 consecutive pylons during a stretch drive, passes the horse in front, then comes back onto the track to win a race, he should be disqualified. But on October 28 of last year, three judges – employed by the Ontario Racing Commission – ruled otherwise.

The race went something like this: driver Don McElroy, guiding the race favourite, Dream Well, sat in the pocket for most of the race. Greystone Dylan, the pace-setter, with driver Larry Nickle, carried the field throughout the mile and into the stretch.

From the basic race feed seen by the public, it appeared that McElroy, realizing he had no reasonable way out of second, steered Dream Well to the inside lane to overtake his foe and eventually cross the wire on top. By leaving the course and saving ground, he finished the race first, but to those watching, the result of the subsequent judge’s inquiry was a foregone conclusion: a quick DQ.

What ensued instead was a storm of disgruntled fans and participants stunned by the eventual non-call. Various explanations were discussed and dismissed on industry websites and backstretches, but the consensus remained; it was a travesty. Almost three months later, on January 13, 2009, the Commission reversed the decision, placing Dream Well back and altering the official order of finish. The press release read:

All ORC officials are called upon to make sound, deliberate decisions, based on the Rules of Racing. In some cases, the decisions are vigorously contested as ‘unfair.’ But that is the nature of officiating.

That is why the process of appeal is so important to ensure fairness and soundness of every decision. It is also in keeping with our mandate to protect the integrity of racing in an open and accountable manner.

For the connection of a few horses, the process was fair.

But for those who cumulatively wagered more than $13,000 on the race, for Western Fair (the racetrack caught unfairly in the storm), and for racing fans across the ­country, things were less equitable. Was there a good explanation given as to how that decision could have possibly been reached? No. Did the Commission post the reasons for the non-call on their website the next morning? No. Did they call an emergency meeting to ensure this could never happen again? No.

In Australia, stewards’ inquiries are televised live following the running of a race, complete with jockey interviews, discussion and decisions. In Hong Kong, judges break down every racing incident in remarkable detail, making those details available online. In Ontario, one of North America’s richest racing jurisdictions, you would expect that a judge’s inquiry would result in a detailed written record of decision – every time. You would expect the judge to walk over to the announcer’s booth and explain to the public what happened and why. And you would demand that in cases as controversial as the October 28 P.R. nightmare, Commission press releases and podcasts would be the order of the day to make some attempt to live up to their mantra – ‘to protect the integrity of racing in an open and accountable manner.’

In 2009, transparency is not a dirty word. Everything we do today is out in the open. We share thoughts, decisions and ideas constantly and are no longer content to accept rulings blindly. Seconds after an airplane lands in the Hudson River, viewers around the world are witnessing the story. Immediately after an NFL official views a replay, his explanation is broadcast to millions of viewers.
Today, responses are measured in minutes, not months.

On YouTube, thousands watched the replay of this otherwise non-descript race less than 24 hours after post-time. None of them saw the ORC’s Chief Judge publicly explain his decision - because he never did. Comments poured in, and discussion turned ugly.

As a racing customer, I can get over a call I disagree with. But when your decision takes money from my wallet, I deserve a detailed explanation – every time.