by Trey Nosrac

Upheaval in the marketplace and workforce is in the headlines these days. Tariffs, undocumented workers, slashed government programs, stock market chaos, and defunding grants will likely send many people into the employment woodchipper.

Losing a job is upsetting, especially if you enjoy that job. Many of us have experienced this pain in our working lives. Dreams get shattered when business doors shut. The end of a job leaves people without money, purpose, and relationships. Each business, including sports, must answer the fiscal bell or face a knockout.

For many workers, trouble in an industry or business often feels like a distant rumor, but the rumors can quickly become a shocking reality. It barely crossed my mind that the print magazine industry would decline with such speed.

At one time, my job was writing on multiple topics for at least a dozen magazines. Work was plentiful, and regular clients ranged from a magnificent, glossy history magazine published for over a century to a humor magazine based in Chicago that lasted only a few months. The print business devolved from powerhouse to near oblivion in what seemed like the twinkle of an eye. Only two of those print magazines survive. Ironically, they are harness racing magazines, partially subsidized by industry assistance for the membership.

Stuff ravaged the magazine industry, including the internet, reading habits, postal rates, market reach, printing costs, and advertising effectiveness. The businesses became unprofitable. Quality did not affect the bottom line. The carnage from the folding of these magazines touched the investors, the editors, the staff, the freelancers, the printers, and the readers. We all grieved the passing of a glorious industry in our ways. Nobody did anything wrong. Everybody was hurt. One day, it was here; the next day, it was gone.

The reaper can strike in sports. My family were Jai Alai fans. Three or four times a week, we would visit a fronton, often an hour’s drive, to enjoy the mesmerizing sport. My mom and dad would be thrilled at wagering a few dollars and hollering at players to catch or drop the ball. We did not consider the sport could disappear. Yet it disappeared, as did dog racing and Florida harness horse racing.

These dynamics happen every day in countless fields and marketplaces. The lifelong employer and forever business are relics. In our sport, we watch this happen in racetracks near and far, in Michigan, Illinois, and Florida. You know the list. We all wince at the news of a lost racetrack. We reminisce about the good old days and quickly return to our part of the field, hoping for the best, hoping the reaper misses us.

As my friends in the magazine industry, the Jai Alai business, the dog racing business, and at Pompano Park can attest, when a company you enjoy disappears, the emotions are many: shock, disbelief, anger, bitterness, anxiety, fear, frustration, and powerlessness. The loss feels unfair, and you look for others to blame. These feelings are human nature.

It is also human nature to avoid long-range planning. We are more apt to keep our heads down, hope for the best, react, and adapt. The simple fact is that only a handful of people in the harness racing universe have the power to do anything. Among these, an organization of breeding farm owners seems to be the most likely transition team. My ignorance of what goes on behind the scenes is extreme, but making preliminary plans and some funding for transition may be wise.

Before the axe fell, when the writing was on the wall at Pompano Park, would it not have been comforting for the Florida people who loved that track to make some contingency plans – perhaps privatization of the sport, maybe a robust, fair racing circuit, or possibly combining the training centers in the state for a new type of program? These may not be solid enough jobs for many people; however, these shadow programs, even without the revenue from gambling, would be something to cling to.

The future of harness horse racing could be a hundred wealthy people racing for their money or hobbyists racing for blankets. A smaller footprint might not be the future we want, but it would be better than oblivion. If it is our future, let’s get behind it.

Before becoming Jai Alai, our little sport must have some doomsday plans.