It’s January, 2009. A meeting is called.
The doors swing open to a large boardroom that loosely resembles the United Nations. Every major stakeholder in Canadian horse racing is present and each one takes his or her position behind allocated name cards.
A shadow at the front of the room speaks into a microphone. “Before you is the Constitution – the document that all future participation in racing will hinge on. It covers areas from horse stabling to purse distribution to marketing and product development. From relationships with government to advocacy and animal rights issues, from competition to technological growth strategies, we will leave this room speaking as one united voice.
“Under our new structure, we will focus on the horseplayer of today and tomorrow, using resources to drive harness racing and rebuild our sport. Horse racing will reinvest money into its future, not into its participants or its stakeholders.
“You may operate an independent business, but we are horse racing. It is our job to refine this document, to hammer out the conditions and debate what our sport will be. There will be tough decisions made and contraction will take place, but the greater good will prevail. We will debate intensely behind closed doors but we will leave this room as one and divisions will be dealt with here only.”
• • • • •
Could such a meeting take place? If so, could it result in a consensus? A common voice? If you’ve answered “yes” to those questions, flip to page 33. If you’ve answered no, turn to the next page. What will 2050 look like? It is today’s decision that shapes tomorrow’s reality.
2050: If you said no
“Mr. Murphy, 30 seconds to post time,” a voice calls out.
“Twenty-cent triactor key, eight with all. Sell my stake in the five and ask 4.80 on the 10. That’s all.”
“Actions confirmed,” a voice answers. “Thank you.”
With a sigh, Greg Murphy leans back into his chair as the next race rolls up to the gate. At 75-years-old, Greg makes fewer bets today with less of a bankroll than in years past. But he still finds it tough to get through an afternoon without betting the races.
“The action is fast,” he says to his 19-year-old grandson Walter, who watches on from the next couch. “Horse racing is a game for young people, not old men like me.”
Walter smiles and rises from his seat. “Grandpa, you’re not old,” he says with a smirk. “You just don’t know anything about betting the races.”
“Listen son,” Greg says in an authoritative tone, falling for the bait. “I’ve been betting horses for 50 years. And not these computer generated races either – real horses racing on real dirt, in the rain and snow, when it was 30 degrees below zero. That’s when horse racing was an industry, not some kid with a video game simulator in his basement pretending to be race secretary.”
“What’s a pace secretary?” Walter asks.
“Never mind,” Greg responds, insistent on continuing his rant. “We’d actually leave our houses to go to the track, sit in the grandstand and time horses as they warmed up. Jody Jamieson, Randy Waples, John Campbell. These guys could drive a racehorse.
“And the horses… When I watched Somebeachsome-where win, not a word of a lie, people were actually crying as he crossed the finish line. I’ll tell you – try standing four feet from a horse like that and then talk to me about virtual racing. Convince me then that some animated horses bouncing along a screen is the same thing.
“And there were horsemen back then. They bred them, broke them, trained them and brought them to the track. The North America Cup raced for $1.5 million – that was big money back then.”
“Did you ever win that race Grandpa?”
“No, they paid that money to the people who raced the horses.”
“What jackpots were available?”
“There were some, but not enough. The tracks never really did get it,” Greg says, his voice beginning to soften.
“Around the mid-20s when the simulators got really big, racing had no way of coping. By the early 30s, IRSL, the International Racing Simulation League, was offering a guaranteed $5 million pool every race. Not much compared to online video game betting these days, but still pretty good.
“Picture it: there I am in 2030, in my 50s, supposedly saving for retirement, and the track is charging me 12 per cent on every bet I make. Amazingly, around the turn of the century they were still charging more than 20 per cent. The simulators were taking pennies on every dollar bet with races every minute on the minute. The technology was there to recreate real form cycles and produce comprehensive data, available for free, without having to wonder about drugs or whether a horse was really in-to-go or just tuning up for a bigger race.
“At the track, they still had something called pari-mutuel betting. You’d bet on a horse and then when the race was run, you’d get whatever odds he was when betting stopped. The whole world figured out other forms of betting, except for us in North America. We got shoddy, unpredictable odds and the Canadian tracks had tiny betting pools.
“The industry thought that they could build the sport back to greatness by encouraging breeding and ownership through investment into purse money. But all that happened is that an increasingly smaller group of people kept all the money and continued to take from the game. The breeders made money, owners made money, drivers, trainers, vets, industry associations – they all took money out. Who was supposed to put the money in?
“For a while there, the government paid the bill through a percentage of slot machine revenues but that gravy train quickly ended.
“Decade after decade, the sport failed to resonate with the public. Racing disappeared from the fairs, paddocks were a closed shop, keeping the horses and the fans apart. Star horses retired and were shuffled off to stud before anyone knew their names.
“When the Canadian government legalized sports betting at tracks, sure purses went up again, like we saw when slot machines were introduced. But racing only suffered. Why bet a horse when you can bet tonight’s hockey game? All over the world, gambling was growing. The flood gates were opened and it was only a matter of time.”
“Grandpa, let me ask you one question,” says Walter. “You never owned a horse or anything. Why does it bother you so much the industry died? Surely there are enough sports you can gamble on and watch in person? And you can’t tell me that was right what they were doing with the horses in the cold and all that.”
“Stop with your animal rights nonsense,” Greg responds. “One slick advertising campaign with a backstretch, a hidden camera and a few bad apples and the sport was dead. A few city by-laws were passed by left-leaning politicians and then a couple provinces jumped in. Over one decade, horse racing was essentially banned. And the sick thing is that some of the racetrack operators led the charge.
“Horse racing was always an expense line for them. First chance they could get to run their casinos and entertainment centres without the trouble of horse racing, they took their shot. All of a sudden, the sport is banned and the province and the operators rejoice. But what about the breeders, the horsepeople, the fans? Nobody gave a damn about them and it wasn’t until the sport was dead that they finally figured that out.
“As tracks started closing, some of them tried the simulator business, but it was an industry run by technology companies, not racetrack management. They really had no chance. The casinos were kept or sold off but horse racing was essentially done.
“Sure they have the odd exhibition there at Woodbine, and they still run the Queen’s Plate and a few big races, but it’s nothing like it was. Do you know that around the year 2000, there were roughly 27,000 harness races a year in Canada? Slot machines in Ontario alone brought in about $2 billion to racing in the first 15 years of the program…
“We knew the party would end – racing for all that money and barely investing any of it back into the growth of the sport. We told them all, and they pushed money back into more purses and breeder rewards. Did they listen to the customer? Did they listen to the politicians who told them to become self-sufficient or else?
“There is one saving grace I suppose.” He shakes his head. “Your kids will never know what they’re missing.”
2050: If you said yes
Walter Murphy doesn’t usually go to the racetrack on a Sunday afternoon, but today he and his grandfather Greg have made the trip.
“Grandpa, why don’t you come more often?” asks Walter. “Surely you still like going to the racetrack. Is it because you haven’t picked a winner since 2032?”
“Listen son, I’ve cashed more winning tickets than you’ve had days on this planet,” says Greg. “It’s just the crowds. It’s not like it used to be when I could go up into the grandstand and not be bothered by all these young people. And 20 bucks to get in? Are you kidding me?”
“Big deal Grandpa, it’s 50 to see a movie.”
“Racing just isn’t the same today,” says Greg. “I remember when the sport was grassroots. People were involved in racing because they loved it. Now it’s all big businesses with sponsors and celebrities.”
“It’s called progress, Grandpa.”
“What’s happened to the younger generation?” snorts Greg. “All this technology was for you. With the quality of holograms today, I can watch races in my living room from every track in the country. My Personal Betting Assistant places 2,000 to 3,000 bets a minute by buying and selling positions on horses. I ask the computer to evaluate Return on Investment stats for every horse over the last 20 years for trainers with 25% win averages, and it tells me exactly what bets to make and makes them for me.
“I request to buy any position at 20-to-1 or higher and sell any position at 18.8 or lower, staying within my bankroll. It’ll bet every track in the world instantaneously if I want. If you ask me, it’s a flawless retirement strategy without having to fight the crowds. If only we can convince the track to drop takeout. They take one-quarter of one percent off the top of every bet! It’s robbery.”
“But you make all kinds of money betting the races! Why complain?” Walter protests.
“You should see my statements at the end of the year! They take millions from me. This industry wouldn’t be anything if not for the bettors. I remember when people used to go to the track to play slot machines, but I stuck with the horses and the tracks ultimately benefitted. Now those machines are antiques and I’m still here.”
“But Grandpa, it’s not all about technology today,” says Walter. “Remember, you were part of the ‘throw away’ generation. Today, experience beats tech hands-down. Harness racing is one of the best promoted gambling activities in the world. It’s not like it used to be when horses were kept in barns behind the scenes and gambling was hush-hush.
“There isn’t a restaurant I walk into without hologram racing and wagering in it. When we want to get away from it all, we come to the track. We grab a few beers in the glass enclosed paddock and make voice activated bets as we walk around the grounds. Usually we reserve a box and watch the races from there, but not always.”
“When you’re 75, talk to me,” says Greg. “I can bet the races in my pyjamas, make money, and still support the game.
“You know I just read that horse racing is now the number one agriculture and gaming industry in Canada. Once they started focusing on the customer, the rest fell into place. Sure purses took a hit and a few tracks closed, but it didn’t take too long to see the turnaround. Bettors became owners, owners became breeders and soon kids who dreamt about playing in the NHL started realizing that harness racing was a real way to become a sports star. There are now 38,000 kids registered in the miniature driving circuit, third behind soccer and hockey. They learn horsemanship early – it’s really great.
“Canada exports its national harness racing product to 76 countries around the world. We were the first to offer relay harness races, real-time inter-global hologram racing and the first nation to link every track to a $100 million guaranteed jackpot pool.”
“You should see the touring courses where races are held through towns and villages,” says Walter. “Boy, is that something to see. I can place my bets from a second floor café in Montreal and watch racing through the streets.
“And the round-robin survivor-style match races are amazing too. There are 480 horses racing head-to-head in consecutive races over two weeks. The winner of the final bracket wins a $1 million purse. Last year’s initial triactor returned $620,000 on a 10-cent base bet.”
“You and your experiences,” says Greg. “I remember when horses only raced a mile and no more than eight or nine could start at a time. Grooms wore jeans out to the winner’s circle and admission was free – anyone could get in. There weren’t any light shows or music when the horses came out – there was a bugle call and that was it. The horses went from the paddock, came in front of the grandstand for post parade and raced - nothing else. Twenty minutes later they did it again. After four hours, we went home. It was a night out.”
“Why would anyone in their right mind have gone to the races back then?” asks Walter. “It sounds like the betting was poor, the entertainment was non-existent and people were asked to sit for four hours to watch 20 minutes of single file racing. Are you serious?”
“Yeah, in hindsight, it was lacking in some areas,” says Greg. “It wasn’t until the industry stopped fighting and started spending tens of millions of dollars on growing the game that things changed. They created a development, promotion and marketing strategy and reinvented the sport. 40 years later, and despite several major bumps in the road, you can enjoy what they’ve accomplished.”
“Well, I’m sitting here in the sun enjoying the races and you’re probably counting the hours to get home into your pyjamas,” says Walter as he walks up to the rail.
“You have to give them credit,” says Greg, ignoring his grandson. “Horse racing was almost dead 40 years ago. The vultures were circling, governments were poised to start taking back slot money and everyone was fighting for their share of the pie.
“But somehow, miracle of all miracles, they sat down and began to do things right. A Commissioner’s office was formed and was well funded. All race office activities were centralized and managed in one place.
“Today purse money is pooled and distributed based on customer demand. Eighteen to 25 horse races are the norm. And the motto, ‘life changing payouts every day’ only came about in the 30s. Years before that, you’d be lucky at a shot at a decent payout once or twice a year.
“Once the league office began taking money out of the purse pool and designating it as jackpot funds, things took off. Soon you could make a bet in every convenience store in Canada. A consolidated national product was produced and it took off.
“The first North American betting exchange was approved around 2017. Within three years, players were matching billions in bets. There was betting during races and handheld devices made it that much easier for on-track participants.
“A national Fair initiative was started, taking the product cross country. You can’t go to a County Fair, Swap Meet or City Parade without seeing horse racing. Adrenaline, our national festival, now has 49 Canadian dates and last year attracted 3.5 million people to the track. A Canadian team recently won the World Handicapping Championship in Moscow.
“Grandpa, most importantly, who do you like in the fifth?”
“Well without my PBA, I don’t know what to bet. I think I’ll just bet drivers…”
“Will you please hurry up!”
“Okay, give me a triactor wheel – Jamieson keyed on top of Waples, Whelan and Forward.”
“Four young female drivers? I thought you were a traditionalist.”
“Sometimes you have to go against the grain and out on a limb,” says Greg. “There’s no sense playing it safe when you’re making an all-or-nothing bet.”