Bob Carson

I pretended to be clueless. This proved to be disturbingly easy.

The office where my wife works hosted an outing at my local harness track. We sat at a table with six people that had never been to the racetrack; they did not know a trotter from a pacer, a perfecta from a petunia or a good trip from the guacamole dip.

They did not even know where the starting line was located. It took three races until they figured out that the horses on this half-mile track went around twice. They understood betting to win — but place and show remained problematic; perfecta boxes and part wheels were beyond comprehension. It was amazing how little they knew about our sport, yet despite this handicap they had a very good time. It was refreshing to hear them scream and squeal as the horses circled the track.

After an hour of lying in the weeds and watching the new attendees like a Russian mole during the Cold War, my wife blew my cover and revealed to the neophytes that I had great knowledge of harness racing. I began to dutifully and carefully explain the finer points of our game and helped them pick horses to wager on. After three of my well-reasoned selections finished multiple lengths behind the winner, some of the luster fell off my pedestal. Still they peppered me with questions.

“Why do the guys in the carts keep pulling back?”

“Why do they go in single file so much?”

“How much do I have to bet, what do I say?”

“You mean I only win a dollar and twenty cents!”

Autumn Schmidt graphic

The evening was fun. I had the unusual experience of being in the loop, in the know, on the ball. Harness racing came out a winner. Free food and drinks combined with socializing were wonderful new experiences for me. Driving home, I pondered if any converts to harness racing were made. My fear is the answer is no.

The potential new fans appeared to love the horses. The racetrack was a good host. They got excited watching the races. But I noted two items the beginners did not seem to enjoy — reading the program and betting. These parts of the handicapping game, which many of us find mesmerizing and intriguing, slowed down the good times for the novices. The potential new fans wanted action, they did not want to read, nor did they want to hike up to the betting window ten times and expose their ignorance.

The answer to this seems simple.

The next time a business hosts a racetrack outing, as the people pick up their tickets for the buffet and drinks, they should get another envelope with ten tickets. These ten tickets in the envelope, one for each race, will be for five dollars to win. Each sealed envelope will have a randomly selected number for each race in their envelope. In effect, this will be a close cousin to a raffle for door prizes, except instead of drawing winners from a fishbowl, the horse will give a few minutes of action during each race.

Our new visitors will not need to decipher the program — which to them appears to be as complex as the double helix code. Our new visitors will not need to traipse to the window (unless they cash). They will not even (this time) need to reach into their wallets.

The responsibility and blame for poor selections will be off their shoulders. Picking the wrong horse will not be their fault; it will just be bad luck to have found the wrong ticket for each race in the envelope. Also, five-dollar win tickets will not result in tiny payoffs. And it will be very simple to understand. In race two my horse is number six, it must finish ahead of the other horses in order to win. They simply need to root for the horse to win.

Of course if some new attendees decide to stick a toe into the world of real handicapping of harness races — no problem, but let’s make their first exposure as simple as possible.