End of the line
by Trey Nosrac
My pal Rodney Remington was reeling from being DOGED from his government job. We sat in green canvas lawn chairs under a morning summer sun, watching our fishing bobbers drift on the placid surface of Mel Butterman’s farm pond.
Rodney pushed his John Deere baseball cap forward until the brim touched his mirrored sunglasses. He stroked his tidy beard and explained his unexpected unemployment, “It all began when I got an email from Elon asking for five things that I did at work this week. I cc’d sixteen co-workers my reply.
1. Reduced my porn searches by 50 per cent.
2. Did not wield a chainsaw.
3. Sent resumes to Canada.
4. Changed all my passwords to Latin.
5. Handicapped harness races.
“A nameless, faceless Musk protégée did not get the joke. A follow-up email instructed me to, ‘Place my items in a cardboard box and wait for a guard to escort me to the parking lot.’ They did not even realize I’ve worked from home for six years, so some poor guard may still be hunting me down in a big building in Washington.”
“Bummer,” I chimed in.
“Trey, things in the workforce can happen fast. One day, I was minding my own business, doing nothing. The next day, I was, well, doing nothing.”
I nodded and said, “People who work in the harness racing world live on the edge; they are at the whim of outside forces to pay purses. The people work their tails off and don’t make serious money. It’s a challenging sport economically.”
Rodney smiled and said, “You are Exhibit A for people in harness horse racing losing money at every level of participation.”
I gave him a quick military salute. “Racing is my favorite way to lose money. The horse racing game rests on a bedrock of shifting sand, dreams, and carrots.” I twitched the rod to move my bobber. “What exactly was your old job?”
“Ironically, I worked in human resources, so technically I could have fired myself. Most of my time, I verified resumes of applicants, which, I must admit, was getting silly because people use AI to write their resumes these days. What popped up for me for verification was getting bulletproof.”
Shaking my head, I said, “Different world, pal.”
“And getting weirder. But I get a year’s severance and some pension money. I won’t need to take a lie detector test or pass a political loyalty test, so I’m good. I may not even look for another gig.” Rodney stood to reel in his line and check his worm, then asked, “What would happen to harness racing if a chainsaw suddenly came your way?”
“Nothing good. In my experience, when a racing state racing program goes belly up, they don’t return.”
“No Plan B?”
“Not to my knowledge. Horse racing has depended on gambling money for a hundred years, and a tsunami of sports gambling options has washed over our shores. We went from the only bet to a bad bet.”
Rodney tossed his line back into the still water. The bobber made a comforting plop, and little ripples radiated as he picked up his coffee thermos and returned to his chair. It was quiet.
I broke the silence and said, “I have a Plan Z.”
“For harness racing? Do tell.”
“Well, imagine a scorched earth scenario. Doomsday, with no gambling, casino help, and no market for horse farms. A few survivors who were on a cruise return to the devastation and want to resurrect harness racing.”
“I’ve seen that movie 15 times. What would the sole survivors do?”
“Accept what is gone. Don’t bother with remnants of what was, the various schedules, classifications, commercial racetracks, and yes, pari-mutuel gambling. Everything is toast. The rebuild will be without everything we are familiar with. The new foundation is for people who enjoy racing a horse pulling a sulky in competition against others. How many people will fill that bill is to be determined.”
“That doesn’t explain much. What’s the structure? What are the economics?”
“The key word in the total rebuild is total focus.”
“Those are two words that don’t make sense.”
“The sport has always been a treadmill of 10 different things that dilute interest. Why not be super focused in the new world and have all eyes looking at the same thing at the same time frame? The new structure would be straightforward: only trotters, a specific season, and horses aged 2 through 4 in state or private horse programs. The game’s reboot would be more social.”
“But where’s the money? You need some cash. Participants need to race for something.”
“Whoever is doing this rebuild would knock on doors for funding using agricultural grants, state grants, and private endowments. Without the drag of gambling as our backbone, stressing the benefits of employment, greenspace, recreation, therapy, social interaction, youth opportunities, local fair improvements, and historical grants will all have more clout.”
“That won’t make much of a purse structure.”
“True, players will still pony up out of pocket to participate, probably nominations to five or 10 thousand per horse. You put all the money in a pot and race with a point system to pay a stipend back to the players. Maybe a handful of players will make some money, and many folks may get back a little, but nobody gets rich.”
“No gambling money?”
“Doubtful, that barn door will likely be closed.”
“That sounds like a long shot, a very long road.”
“It’s better than no shot or no road. Maybe it would be fun, different, less business.”
Rodney sipped his coffee, gazed at the still pond, and said, “Count me in for the small, social, post-apocalyptic harness racing program. I have some cash, like horses, and need a new hobby. I could use the fresh air, and it looks like I won’t have anything to do – again.”
